they’re very independent women who ended the relationship once they found out they were pregnant. Your mother always made it clear that you three were my main family.’
I don’t know if that’s better or worse.
‘So you just abandoned all these children?’ How could he be so heartless?
He shakes his head. ‘No. They wanted to raise the children themselves. If we were in the area we’d pop in for a cuppa.’
‘Jesus, sounds very cosy,’ I snark.
‘What are their names? Ella asks, before pushing her head back down.
Dad smiles. It’s sickening. ‘Well, because they wouldn’t take my surname, our surname, I requested that they all have flower names.’
You’ve got to be kidding me. Just when I think the guy can’t get any more ridiculous.
‘So there’s Posy, Blossom, Fleur, Iris, Marigold, Primrose and Dahlia.’
I count as the names are listed.
‘Dad, that’s seven. Please don’t tell me you honestly can’t remember how many children you have?’
‘Oops, yes you’re right,’ he chuckles. Actually chuckles, like he’s miss counted how many chickens he keeps. Not actual biological children!
Mum starts laughing too. ‘I always forget about little Dahlia.’
How can they forget a child? What is this utter madness?
‘Little Dahlia? How old are these girls?’
I was hoping he’d only shagged round for a few years when we were young.
‘Dahlia is thirteen,’ Mum says with a sweet smile. ‘The others are eighteen and upwards.’
Suppose I can’t expect them to remember ages if he can barely remember he has nine daughters!
The information presses down heavy on my chest, suffocating me. I have seven other siblings out there. Seven other parts of me wandering this earth. What if they’re like me? What if they want to be a part of my life?
‘This is just too much for me.’
I have to get out of here before the walls close in on me. Away from all of these truth bombs. It’s too much to process. I was just getting over being robbed and now I find out this.
I run.
Chapter Thirty
I find myself running out of the pub, needing the fresh air in my lungs. I keep running, needing to rid my body of the anxiety induced tension taking residence in my muscles.
I stop when I’m at the bottom of the pier. Clooney is already sat there, his legs dangling over the edge, sucking from a cigarette, smoke encasing him.
Why is it he looks so bloody sexy smoking? I’ve never liked smokers. But something about the way he leans over one makes me wish I was that very thing he was sucking from. Jesus, Phoebe, get a grip.
I lean over, pressing my hands to my thighs, trying to breathe in some oxygen to my burning lungs.
‘Fuck!’ I shout between breaths. It feels good to swear.
He leans back, an amused smirk on his face. ‘Went well then?’
I snort a laugh. ‘Yeah great. My parents are fucking kooks.’
He smiles, blowing out his smoke. ‘I think they’re great.’
I cross my arms over my chest. ‘You would. Having only met them for five minutes. You’ll never guess what that man just told me.’
He puts his cigarette out on the pier. ‘Go on.’
I take a deep breath. ‘Brace yourself,’ I warn him.
He smirks. ‘Consider myself braced.’
‘He’s been having open relationships for years.’ I wait for him to process that. His face remains annoyingly impassive.
‘Shit.’
‘And not just that,’ I rant, pacing back and forth. It feels good letting it all out. Shouting at someone, anyone. ‘He’s fathered seven bloody children!’
His mouth pops open, his head hanging forward. ‘Feck. You’ve gotta be kidding me.’
‘Do I look like I’m kidding you?’
He takes a proper look, surveying over my features. ‘No.’ He smiles but it’s soft, sad almost.. ‘You look like your entire world just fell apart.’
It’s making my chest burn, making me want to burst into tears again. Dammit, he should know after last night that I can’t handle people being nice to me when I’m feeling shitty.
‘I’m fine,’ I insist, my voice wobbly. I wrap my arms around myself.
He jumps up. ‘Come here.’ He opens his arms and I practically run into them. I hate that I’m so needy, especially for him.
But this is what I need right now. I need comfort and reassurance. I’m ashamed to admit that it feels better coming from a man. Probably because my own father betrayed me. Oh god, I have Daddy issues. I’m so cliché. This hug is more assuring than a huge from Ella ever has been. It could be a hug from any man.
Oh, who am I kidding?
He strokes the back of