Lucas and I wait, if not all that patiently.
Eventually, Shelby joins us all smiles and apologies and we walk together to the hotel. I’m glad it’s not far as Lucas is all angles and tension. And I’ve got the mother of all headaches.
Chapter Fifty-One
‘We should have a drink in the bar,’ Shelby says when we’re in reception. ‘A last snifter.’
‘I’m tired,’ I say. ‘I’d rather go to bed, if you don’t mind.’
‘I’m off.’ Lucas turns towards the lifts, making his escape as soon as he can. ‘I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.’
‘Goodnight, son!’ Shelby holds up a hand to wave. ‘It’s been great having you here.’
To Lucas’s credit he doesn’t say what I know will be going through his mind.
Then Shelby turns to me. ‘He’s a great kid. You’ve done a fantastic job with him.’
He’s talking as if he’s spent the entire evening chatting with his only child whereas he’s pretty much ignored both of us. I’m sure if he really knew what was going on in Lucas’s life – our life – he wouldn’t be quite so jolly.
‘One drink.’ He takes my hand and pulls me towards the empty bar. ‘A nightcap. Humour me.’
I feel that resistance is futile. Shelby is still wired and not ready to head to bed. So I follow him and we find a seat by the window that looks onto the street. Clearly, Shelby feels that no one will spot him at this hour. A weary-looking waiter comes to take our order.
‘I’ll have a Jack Daniel’s,’ he says. ‘Molly?’
‘I’m fine, thanks.’ My headache isn’t easing and I just want to lie down. The carpet is like a multi-coloured migraine and there’s tinny muzak playing over a speaker right by our table.
‘Have something!’ He rolls his eyes at me.
‘A Baileys.’ ‘A Baileys,’ I echo to keep the peace and a few moments later the waiter reappears with a drink that I don’t want.
This is my moment to tell Shelby, I guess. The two of us, alone. I could prepare him before he has to talk to Lucas about the forthcoming baby. Reluctantly, I sip my Baileys and think of how to frame the words to make the least impact.
‘It’s bloody hard work this, and I’m not getting any younger,’ Shelby says. ‘I have to hold my own with these kids. You’ve seen what it’s like. The pace is relentless.’
‘At least you don’t get water thrown over you all the time like Wishee-Washee.’
‘All that bloody dry ice, though. It’s playing havoc with my throat.’ He rubs it to demonstrate.
I’m sure it is, but my mind is saying First world problems.
‘The hours are back-breaking. I’ve had to do this twice today. It’s exhausting.’
I put down my glass and it clinks loudly on the table. ‘But you don’t have to do it,’ I remind him. ‘There’s no need.’
He visibly bristles at that. ‘I have to work.’
‘Do you?’ I think of the mansion standing empty, the posh car, the chauffeur, the housekeeper. There must be plenty of dosh in the coffers. If he sold the house and drove his own car, he’d never need to act again.
‘Have you noticed, recently, who’s funding Hope Farm? Those bloody animals are literally eating me out of house and home.’
Now it’s my turn to bristle. ‘You can stop at any time you like,’ I say softly. ‘We’ll manage.’
‘How?’ Shelby snaps. ‘Tell me how?’
It’s not the time to say that I managed perfectly well before Shelby came on the scene. Perhaps that’s stretching it, but we did muddle through. It was a hand-to-mouth existence and that has eased considerably since Shelby came along, but I don’t want him holding that against me.
‘I know that it’s thanks to you that we found the current farm we occupy and you have, no doubt, been generous – extraordinarily so. It’s been fantastic.’ I keep my voice as calm as I can. ‘You really helped to get us out of a hole, but I don’t want you to feel beholden to us. I don’t want you having to take jobs that you’re not enjoying. We can do more fund-raising, like the nativity.’
‘How’s that coming along?’
I can’t really tell him that it’s shaping up to be a disaster. ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Slowly.’
‘Christmas isn’t far away.’
‘I know. And this will soon be over and you’ll be home again.’ He doesn’t look as thrilled by the thought as I’d hoped.
Then his expression changes and his face softens. Shelby drains his glass and then looks over at me.
‘Shit. I’m an arse.’