17. Louise

I sat in front of Ross Moore, the company HR manager, and tried very hard not to lose my temper.

Ross pulled up a file on his computer and began to read: ‘Zo? said, and I quote, “I feel that Louise has no empathy. She is very cold and difficult to communicate with. She doesn’t show any compassion for my social anxiety. She dismisses my issues as if they’re not real.”’

I remained silent.

‘Louise, this is the second serious complaint we’ve had from Zo?.’

I exhaled deeply in an attempt to control my rage. Thankfully, this could be quickly cleared up with some honest facts.

‘Zo? has taken eight days off in the last two months for “mental-health” issues,’ I said. ‘The other – hard-working and uncomplaining – young interns have to pick up the slack when she decides not to come to work, which is unfair on them. When she does bother to show up, she is usually late, hung-over and unapologetic. It’s total and utter bullshit, not to put too fine a point on it.’

Ross took off his glasses. ‘I understand your frustration, Louise, but we have to be very careful around our employees and the area of mental health.’

‘What about my mental health? She’s wrecking my head and wasting my precious time with her never-ending bullshit and her made-up migraines that she only ever seems to get on a Monday morning after going on a bender all weekend. She’s too stupid to make her Instagram account private, so everyone can see her partying on Sunday night and pulling the migraine excuse on Monday.’

‘Look, she’s Walter’s goddaughter and he’s asked me to keep an eye on her and make sure that she’s happy here. I know it’s not easy and she doesn’t seem particularly cut out for the law, but we need to tread very carefully. Perhaps if she felt that you were a little more sympathetic and encouraging, she might be more productive in work.’

I was so sick of Zo? and her crap – and of my colleagues trying to put the ball in my court constantly, as if my behaviour were the problem and not hers.

‘I am well aware of her relationship with Walter, which she uses constantly as her get-out-of-jail-free card. For someone with self-diagnosed social anxiety she never misses Friday-night drinks, client lunches or any excuse to have fun. Her anxiety only seems to kick in when she’s late delivering notes, files or contracts.’

Ross chose his words carefully. ‘We’re living in different times from when we started our careers, Louise. Young people now are more open and in tune with their issues and anxieties and, in the main, that’s a good thing. You, me and all the senior employees here must adjust and be more conscious of the emotional wellbeing of all our employees.’

I had real issues and anxieties, lots of them. I knew what it was like to lie awake at night panicking about life. I worried constantly about Clara and her future. I barely slept for months after her diagnosis, but I still gave my all at work. I was struggling with the grief of losing my mother, the person who cared most about Clara after me; I was sleep-deprived because I was lying awake at night worrying about Clara’s father – going back and forth over the pros and cons of looking for him and finding him, what it would mean, how I would control it … My head was melted, but I still got up every day, went to work and behaved like a professional.

I had sympathy for people with actual mental-health problems, but Zo? was an overindulged, spoiled princess who chose her mental-health days strategically. I couldn’t stand that kind of deception.

I stood up. ‘Ross, I have a daughter with additional needs. She suffers from real anxiety, off-the-charts anxiety, yet she gets up every day and does her best to try to fit into a world that makes no sense to her. I cannot deal with Zo?’s bullshit. You need to move her to another department before I throw something at her.’

Ross laughed. ‘I must advise very strongly against any violence. That would be impossible for me to defend. But seriously, Louise, for your own sake, go easy on her. Walter is very fond of his goddaughter. In the meantime, I’ll see if we can get her moved to Conveyancing.’

‘Please do.’

I left and went outside to get a coffee and cool off. I was on my way back to the office when my phone rang. It was the private investigator, Benedict Tyrell. I’d hired him to find Clara’s dad. He was an English colleague of the guy Quentin had hired to spy on his cheating boyfriend. Apparently, the European private-investigation world was relatively small and most of them knew each other. Benedict was based in Italy, so I’d hired him to help me.

‘Hello?’

‘Louise, it’s Benedict.’

‘Well?’

‘I’ve found him.’

My heart stopped.

‘Alive?’

‘Alive and kicking.’

‘Where?’

‘In Italy, in a little village not too far from Rome.’

‘Married?’

‘No.’

‘Kids?’

‘No.’

‘Gay?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, God, he’s not a priest, is he?’

Benedict snorted ‘No. He’s just a middle-aged bloke who runs a small olive farm and lives with his mother.’

A middle-aged man who lived with his mother? It sounded a bit odd.

‘His mother? Is he … I mean, does he seem normal?’

‘Yes. I did a bit of digging and there don’t seem to be any red flags. Marco is just a simple bloke who lives a simple life and seems very happy. He was married briefly years ago but it didn’t work out. He goes to the local bar for a few beers on a Friday night, likes football and runs his olive farm in a lovely place called Pico. About an hour’s drive from the airport in Rome. It’s a beautiful little town.’

My mind was racing. He was alive. Clara’s dad was alive and we had found him.

‘Are you sure it’s him?’

‘Positive. I did a DNA test from a glass he drank out of in his local bar and he’s a ninety-nine point nine per cent match for Clara.’

I felt faint. I reached out to the wall to steady myself. I’d found Marco, but now what? What did I do next? I couldn’t think straight. I told Benedict to email me all the information. I needed to think, figure out my next move. I needed my sisters. I took out my phone and sent a message to our WhatsApp: Crisis meeting, 8 p.m. Nina’s wine bar.

I arrived at the wine bar first, as usual, and was already one glass of wine down before Sophie and Julie arrived. Julie plonked herself beside me as Sophie sat on my other side. Her hair was tied back and looked greasy, which was so unlike her.

‘Stop,’ she said, patting her hair down. ‘I know it’s awful, but Robert has bloody nits again. I’ve just spent an hour combing eggs out of his hair – it’s so gross. Jess never had them. I almost gagged. I’m so paranoid he might have given them to me that I put the anti-nit product in my hair too.’

‘I spent half my life combing nits out of the triplets’ hair,’ Julie said. ‘There was one kid in the class whose parents just would not deal with his nits. The teacher had told them over and over that he had nits and his hair needed to be treated, but they refused to believe it or do anything. How they couldn’t see the full nit clan having a party in this kid’s hair is beyond me. Anyway, the teacher reached the end of her tether and caught one of the many nits in his hair on a piece of Sellotape and taped it into his homework notebook.’

‘No!’ Sophie giggled.

‘Yes. And she wrote, “This came from your son’s head. Please deal with the problem.”’

We all cracked up laughing.

‘That’s my kind of woman,’ I said.

‘What did the parents do?’ Sophie asked.

Julie rolled her eyes. ‘They tried to have the teacher sacked for shaming their child, emotional abuse, trauma, blah blah blah, but the headmistress stuck by her.’

‘Good for her,’ I said.

Sophie and Julie ordered drinks and I ordered a second glass of wine.

‘So what’s going on?’ Julie cut to the chase.

‘I’ve found him.’

‘Who?’ Sophie asked.

‘You’ve met someone.’ Julie beamed. ‘I’m so happy for you, Louise, you deserve it.’

‘No. I’ve found Clara’s dad.’

They gasped.

‘What … when … I mean …’ Julie spluttered.

‘Tell us everything,’ Sophie said.

I filled them in on what I knew about Marco.

Julie held my hand. ‘Oh, my God, Louise, this is huge.’

I nodded. ‘I know.’

‘So what are you going to do next?’ Sophie asked. ‘Have you decided?’

‘You have to meet him before you say anything to Clara,’ Julie said.

‘Obviously. I guess I’ll have to visit him. Check out if he’s normal, nice, worth it, whatever.’

‘This is a lot to take in,’ Julie said gently.

‘Yeah, it is.’ I felt my voice quiver. The emotion I’d held back all day was now surfacing. It was huge. It was potentially life-changing. If he was open to knowing Clara, it would change everything. If he wasn’t … well, I’d have to pretend he was dead and hope to God that Clara accepted it. I’d probably have to buy a plot and get a fake headstone erected. Was that even possible? My head throbbed.

‘First of all, are you a hundred per cent sure it’s him?’ Sophie asked.

‘The DNA match is ninety-nine point nine per cent and then I saw his photo. She has his nose.’

Clara had an upturned nose. It was very cute but no one in our family had one. It was unusual and distinctive. After talking to Benedict, I still had a sliver of doubt in my mind, but when I saw Marco’s photo, I knew he was Clara’s dad.

‘Can we see him?’ Julie asked.

I pulled up the photos of him on my phone and showed my sisters. They leaned in eagerly.

Silence.

‘He’s very … Italian-looking,’ Julie said.

‘I see the nose,’ Sophie added.

‘He … he’s … he’s got kind eyes,’ Julie stuttered.

‘Yes, and … and … he looks robust,’ Sophie said.

‘I’d say he enjoys his pasta.’ Julie started to giggle.

‘And tiramisu.’ Sophie snorted.

‘And cheese.’

‘And cream.’

They cracked up.

‘Piss off.’

Marco was, let’s just say, on the chubby side.

Julie wiped tears from her eyes. ‘And a lovely shiny head.’

Sophie creased over.

‘You’re the worst sisters ever.’ I tried to be annoyed, but their laughter was infectious and it was a welcome release from all the tension I’d been holding.

‘Sorry, Louise, but I had an image of some tall, muscly Italian hunk,’ Sophie said, ‘but he’s small, round and bald. It’s a bit of a surprise.’

‘I thought a hot Italian stallion had swept you off your feet for that one night of passion,’ Julie said, through her giggles, ‘but it was the Italian Danny DeVito.’

‘Danny DeVito!’ Sophie whooped.

We laughed until our stomachs hurt.

‘Sorry,’ Sophie said, when she’d caught her breath, ‘it’s just that you always go for really good-looking, well-groomed, successful men and Marco is … different.’

‘I’m not going to lie, I was surprised myself. But I guess in my wine haze I found him attractive.’

‘Hang on,’ Julie said. ‘I know I’ve just been slagging you, but he’s probably really charming and he does have kind eyes and it doesn’t matter what he looks like as long as he’s a good person.’

‘And, on a shallow note, Clara looks like you – apart from the nose, which is his nicest feature.’ Sophie grinned.

Julie drained her wine and ordered another. ‘I’m coming with you,’ she said. ‘I want to be there when you meet Marco. You should not be alone.’

‘Yes! Me too. I’m coming. No way you two are leaving me out of this,’ Sophie said.

‘Don’t be mad, you’re all busy.’

Julie snorted. ‘Busy sourcing stupid bloody scarves and hats.’

‘Busy dealing with delusional young women who all think they’re going to be the next Gigi Hadid. I’d welcome a break.’

‘Let’s do it, Louise, come on,’ Julie said. ‘Let’s go and find Marco together. Remember how supportive you were when I thought Harry was having an affair and it turned out he was just going to Paris to meet Christelle for the first time? Well, I want to be there for you, like you were for me.’

‘And you let me live in your apartment rent-free when we lost everything. I want to support you in any way I can,’ Sophie added.

I cleared my throat to push down the emotion rising inside me. ‘Thank you. I’d love you both to come along. I can tackle anything with you two by my side.’

Julie took my hand in hers. ‘We’re your sisters, we’ll always be here for you, and I know how hard it’s been since Mum died, for you and for Clara.’

‘Yeah, it really has been,’ I admitted.

We raised our glasses in a clinking toast and drank deeply.

Julie put her glass down. ‘Now, can we talk about Italian Danny DeVito again?’

We ordered another round of drinks and planned our trip to Italy to meet Clara’s father. I was dreading it: Clara was my everything, and it was my job to protect her. She wanted to meet her dad so I had to facilitate that, but I was terrified of how all this change would affect her. She was so fragile. I was very glad my sisters were coming with me. Having them there would make this awful experience easier to bear.

‘I have a suggestion to make,’ Sophie said. ‘Will we bring Dad?’

‘To Italy?’ Julie frowned.

‘Yes. He’s lonely, he’s lost, he’s mad about Clara and Louise, and you said he’s been making a big effort to be more involved with her. Maybe we should include him.’

‘I don’t know. It’s going to be really emotional and delicate and I can’t be worrying about Dad when I’m trying to figure out this massive decision.’

‘Julie and I will look after him. You wouldn’t have to do anything,’ Sophie added.

‘I actually think it’s a good idea. I feel a bit guilty that we aren’t spending more time with him. Dad could be helpful. It might not be a bad thing to have a man with us. Just in case Marco turns out to be a tricky character,’ Julie pointed out.

I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want Dad putting his foot in it or trying to control the situation or give me advice. I knew what I had to do. I needed quiet background support, nothing else.

‘I think he’d love to be involved and he’s good at advice. He was amazing when Jack lost everything. He gave me brilliant advice,’ Sophie reminded us.

‘We’ll make sure he doesn’t do or say anything to interfere, although to be fair, Dad is pretty subtle, unlike Mum.’ Julie laughed.

‘She’d certainly have had something to say about everything and everyone,’ I agreed.

‘Dad will be easy. He’ll just be in the background, quietly supporting you,’ Sophie said.

I needed to think about it. My head was spinning with everything that was happening.

‘Leave it with me. I’m not saying no, but I’m not saying yes either. I need to process everything for a few days.’

‘As soon as you’ve decided, let us know and I’ll book our flights,’ Sophie said.

Julie reached over and hugged me. ‘It’ll be okay. We’re all here for you.’

I knew they were, but at the end of the day it was my daughter’s life and happiness that hung in the balance.