I have to drive to Oxford to do an interview for the Betrayal TV programme I’m producing, email my assistant with our New York contact numbers, read through (and decline?) the Girls Gone Mild proposal from i! TV, shop for a dress to wear to Karl’s party, get my hair cut, my eyebrows threaded and my nails done and take the dogs to Matt and Liz’s place in Sussex. Oh, and at some point I probably ought to reply to that email from my father.
The first communication of any sort I’d had from him in more than two years, it had arrived on Christmas Eve.
Dear Nicole,
I hope this message finds you well. I imagine you’ll be spending Christmas with your mother. Do give her my regards.
I’m afraid I write bearing bad news. I have been feeling rather unwell lately and after many doctors’ visits have finally been diagnosed with prostate cancer. The doctors assure me that my prognosis is good, the cancer is not too advanced. However, I am due to go into hospital for surgery on 2 January.
I was wondering whether you might be able to come and see me before I go under the knife? It is relatively minor surgery of course, but one never knows, does one? It’s been so long since we talked, there are things I feel I ought to say to you.
I know that for one reason or another our relationship is almost non-existent these days. You might not believe me, but this is a matter of great regret for me.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Happy Christmas,
Dad.
I still haven’t told anyone about it, not even Dominic. It’s not just that it would have put a dampener on our Christmas celebrations, it’s more that Dom can be a bit … prescriptive when it comes to my dealings with my father. It’s only because he wants to protect me, I know, but I need to figure out what I want to do about it by myself.
The dogs and I get to the northern end of the Common, the point at which it meets the A3. Usually, we would cross over the road and carry on through the Robin Hood Gate across Richmond Park, right up to the brow of the hill. Not today. It’s almost quarter past eight already. By the time we get back home it’ll be after nine o’clock. I might just make it in time to start breakfast before Maureen, Dom’s mum, is bathed and coiffed and downstairs ready to make me feel bad.
No such luck.
‘There you are,’ Dom’s dad says, looking up from his fry-up as I come into the kitchen. ‘We were wondering where you’d got to.’
Maureen is standing at the cooker, her back to me. ‘You are going to eat this morning, aren’t you?’ she asks, without turning round. ‘I’ve done you a couple of fried eggs and some sausages.’ I turn to close the door between the kitchen and utility room, but I’m too slow. Mick pushes past me, padding mud across the white kitchen tile.
‘Oh, do keep the dogs out of here, Nicole,’ Maureen says, wrinkling her nose in distaste at Mick, who’s now standing next to Dom, having a sniff at his breakfast. ‘You should never have animals in the kitchen. It’s so unsanitary. Just look at the mess he’s making.’
I grab Mick’s collar and drag him out, slamming the door before he has time to barge back in again. ‘Sorry, Maureen,’ I say guiltily, slinking back to the kitchen table like a scolded child. Dom squeezes my knee and gives me a wink.
We eat in silence, the minutes ticking by. Dom and his father wolf down the remains of their meal while I push the lukewarm bits of greasy egg white around my plate. I can’t bear fried eggs but I’m not about to tell Maureen that.
Eventually, Peter, Dom’s dad, interrupts the quiet.
‘So, when are you two off to the States?’
‘Thursday,’ Dom says. ‘Midday flight. Gets us there late afternoon.’
Maureen sniffs. New York is not a place she’s ever had any desire to visit, and therefore doesn’t see any reason why anyone else should want to.
‘We’re going to the golf club for New Year’s Eve,’ Peter says.
‘That sounds lovely,’ I lie.
‘Oh yes, it’s always quite a good night,’ Peter says, ‘isn’t it love?’
‘It is,’ Maureen agrees enthusiastically, ‘it’s wonderful. The O’Neills will be there, Dom, and the Harris clan, of course. You remember Simon, don’t you? He married such a lovely girl. They’re expecting their