Sweet Child of Mine Read online

  Sweet Child of Mine

  By

  Billy London

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are no to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 Billy London

  Editor: Stephanie Parent

  Cover Art: Marteeka Karland

  Proofreader: Katriena Knights

  ISBN: 978-1-304-65538-7

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. This is a work of fiction. All references to real places, people, or events are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only. eBooks are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving eBooks is a copyright infringement.

  Contents

  Sweet Child of Mine. 1

  Chapter One. 4

  Chapter Two. 10

  Chapter Three. 17

  Chapter Four. 24

  Chapter Five. 30

  Chapter Six. 34

  Chapter Seven. 39

  Chapter Eight 43

  Chapter Nine. 48

  Chapter Ten. 53

  Chapter Eleven. 58

  Chapter Twelve. 62

  Chapter Thirteen. 67

  Chapter Fourteen. 72

  Chapter Fifteen. 74

  Chapter Sixteen. 80

  Chapter Seventeen. 88

  Chapter Eighteen. 95

  Chapter Nineteen. 98

  Chapter Twenty. 105

  Chapter One

  Abigail slammed her fist against the door in rapid succession. First and last time. She’d never been one to accept nonsense and her current predicament was no different. Glancing down at the twelve-year-old demon who stood sulkily beside her, Abigail pounded on the door again.

  “He’s here, isn’t he?”

  “I told you, I don’t remember.” The girl’s green eyes only reflected pure resentment. You’re a baby, Abigail dismissed with a raised eyebrow. You couldn’t possibly scare me in your wildest dreams. Unless it was proved I somehow am your mother. Then I’d be shit scared.

  “And what happened to your keys?” Abigail asked.

  She shrugged. “Forgot my keys.”

  Abigail harrumphed. “I’m sure keys were the last thing on your mind.”

  Liam McNamara better start acting like a fully committed parent if this wasn’t to be a regular occurrence in his life—people turning up on his doorstep to complain about his child, that is. She couldn’t believe it when she’d grabbed the girl’s T-shirt collar before she and her accomplices disappeared. Shaking some sense into the silly girl was her first thought. The second was to beat the madness out of her. Her overwhelming thought and final decision was to return Leila to her father with all the shame she deserved.

  Where the hell was the damned man? His delinquent child was a world away from the hushed tales of his bravery and tragic beauty in the face of his loss as a widower. Church folks didn’t half talk rubbish. His daughter was a menace.

  Finally the door swung open and His Perfectness appeared. Abigail’s throat dried. Maybe church folk didn’t talk so much rubbish.

  Liam’s gaze travelled between Abigail’s raised eyebrow and Leila’s scuffing toe. A blush invaded his skin as the realisation of why they were standing there and why Leila looked so damn guilty took over.

  “The hell, Leila?” He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry,” he offered automatically, his gaze turning back to Abigail. “Abigail, isn’t it?”

  He knew her name. That didn’t bode well. What had her mother been up to? “Yeah, it is.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted briefly. “Your mum has your graduation pictures in her purse. She hands them out, you know?”

  Jesus save her. Her mother was desperate enough to have Abigail wedded and with child to be handing out photographs over thirteen years old. At least her mother was showing she had standards. “That’s great. Don’t you want to know what your daughter has done?” she asked, lifting her eyebrows.

  “I can guess.”

  “Let me fill you in.”

  Liam rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Come inside. My neighbours don’t need any more entertainment from this house.”

  He stood to one side and Leila flounced past and went straight upstairs to her room, Abigail guessed. They both winced as a door slammed. Liam watched the space where his daughter had stood, his face twitching as he controlled his temper. Abigail stood awkwardly by the door, arms folded around herself.

  “Can I offer you a drink?” he said eventually, clearly remembering she was still standing there.

  She wondered if that was what he’d been doing—drinking? Dulling away the pain of the dissolution of his life? On closer inspection, when the all-encompassing brightness of his beauty could be blinked away, Mr. Perfect looked like hell. Dark shadows beneath his forest-green eyes were emphasised by the russet beard that was growing out of control. He had far too long a hair for anyone to take him seriously. Grief, he was a member of the Kings of Leon before they discovered the joy of a pair of scissors.

  “No. Thank you. I’ve got a café to clean up. Make it into something that isn’t covered in eggs.”

  He held up his hands in apology. “I’ll pay for the damage.”

  What? Is that it? Throw money at the problem and hope his daughter sees the error of her ways alone? “Are you going to tell her what she did was wrong, or are you just going to offer me money and hope I won’t say anything else?”

  His mouth tightened briefly. “I’m sure you know already. But Leila’s been struggling since her mother died. The therapist told me she’s just acting out for attention.”

  “This isn’t acting out,” Abigail said irritably, her temper rising. “This is vandalism. She’s at a very good school and if she doesn’t stop behaving as if the world owes her, she’ll be out on her ear.”

  Liam stared at her for a minute, until she started to squirm uncomfortably. “Do you have children?”

  The question haunting her life at the moment. “No, I don’t. I just know the line between decent behaviour and criminal activity. Your daughter crossed it.”

  “She’s a child,” he reminded her. “She’s going through a lot without you throwing in your unsolicited advice. I’m sorry for your café. I’ll drop in a cheque in a few days. If you don’t mind… You can see your way out.” Without another word, he turned and followed his daughter up the stairs and out of sight.

  Hmph. Easy to see where Leila had inherited her attitude. With a sigh, Abigail turned and left the house, heading for her car. It wasn’t her problem. Thank God it wasn’t her problem. Abigail got back into her car and her mother leaned forward from the back seat.

  “What did he say?” Orna asked. “Did he apologise for her?”

  “Sort of,” Abigail replied, securing her seat belt.

  “What do you mean sort of?” Orna bristled. “His daughter egged your café! Sorry is the least he could do.”

  “Look. I drove her home, she said sorry, he sort of apologised. It’s not my problem.”

  Orna disagreed. “You’re getting old, Abigail. You can’t hold out for a man who hasn’t already done what you should have. He’s alone and he obviously needs help with his child. What else are you doing?”

  Sympathy for Liam trickled through her. She should reser
ve it for herself, but at least she was fully aware of her mother’s scheming. She doubted Liam knew how well his own mother advertised the “poor single dad” routine at their church. It was the only reason Abigail had been able to return Leila safely home.

  “As Liam kindly reminded me, I don’t have children of my own. I don’t know anything about them.”

  “You’re wonderful with children! You’re so good at Sunday school. It baffles me why you stopped attending.”

  Church exhausted her. Being a free babysitter on top of that was not her way of enjoying her weekend, especially now the café was open seven days a week and served a very lucrative Sunday brunch.

  “It’s not my place, Mum. He’s her father, I’m sure he’ll discipline her as he sees fit.”

  “Guaranteed the next time Leila McNamara decides to play little vandal, she won’t be escorted home, she’ll be waiting at a police station,” Orna predicted, sitting back in her seat and securing her belt.

  “School term starts in a few weeks,” she replied, moving the car in the direction of her mother’s home. “She’ll have too much homework to be a vandal.”

  “Vandalizing is a part-time job,” her mother snorted. “I’m sure she’ll manage. Sheila and I will just have to have another chat about them both.”

  Abigail caught her mother’s eye in the rear-view mirror. “Don’t involve me.”

  Her response was a shrug. “Suit yourself.”

  ***

  Liam knocked on Leila’s door only for the screech to penetrate every register of his hearing. “Go away!”

  He opened it and strolled in. No locks in his house. Not anymore. His daughter lay facedown on her bed, pillows on top of her head. Jesus, her room was a state. One Direction posters marred her pastel pink walls and tears were appearing on the paper, where she had picked away at it in boredom. She’d thrown piles of clean clothes over her desk, clothes he’d laundered with the patience of God’s most high, and the light bulb in her floor lamp was broken. Another tantrum? For the day when they would end...

  “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  “No.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. It had taken him a long time to learn not to show people what he was thinking or feeling, but damn if his child wasn’t testing him. “You can’t do things like that.”

  “I didn’t do anything!” Leila blazed. “I just walked past and she caught me and told me I had.”

  Liam lifted his eyebrows. She’d lied better than this before. “Why were you all the way in town? I thought you were with Rebecca?”

  Leila halted, clearly thinking about how she needed to phrase what she said. “I went for a walk. Everyone else was having a nap.”

  “Rebecca’s house is a twenty-minute drive from The Library,” Liam reminded her, naming Abigail’s two-floor café. “How would you walk that far?”

  “I took the bus.”

  For Christ’s sake. “Leila.”

  “What?” she yelled. “You don’t believe anything I say, so why bother?”

  It’d be so easy to agree with her, but what would that do but cause them both pain. “Tomorrow, we’ll go to the café and you can apologise properly,” he advised her, closing the door behind him. He heard the screech of frustration and the clatter of more belongings thrown around the room.

  Up until a few months ago, he’d have grounded her until she passed her A-levels. Now he couldn’t bear the conflict. It made every part of his soul hurt. Sarah’s parents’ suggestion that Leila stay with them for a few weeks was looking more and more agreeable. Even if they’d fill Leila’s head with crap about Sarah’s endless virtues.

  Pulling together the ingredients for a Spaghetti Bolognese, he turned on the radio for atmosphere. Just to have the sound of someone who didn’t resent him and everything he did ringing in his ears. The scent of food enticed his progeny down the stairs. Morosely, she opened the fridge and shut it again.

  “Ten minutes,” he promised, dropping the dry pasta into a pot of boiling water. She twisted her lips and leaned against the fridge.

  “Bottle sauce? Again?”

  “Faster,” he shrugged, glancing up at her. “It’s this or cream crackers. Take your pick.”

  “Do we even have any garlic bread? What’s the point if there’s no garlic bread?”

  “I’ve put some in the oven. It’ll be ready in time with the pasta. While you’re standing there, can you grate some cheese?”

  She pouted. “I don’t want cheese.”

  His eye twitched. “I do. Make yourself useful.”

  She gave a snort of disgust. “No wonder Mum left.”

  “Leaving both of us behind. You’re not grating the cheese.” He looked away from the bubbling sauce to see his daughter, fists clenched, face flame red. “You’re upset?” he guessed. “New playlist, baby. I’m bored of this.”

  “I hate you.”

  She wanted conflict? Fine. It was obviously unavoidable. “You and the rest of the world. So let’s try and change things. Remember that boarding school your mother so kindly found and pushed for you to go? Fancy giving it a term?”

  Leila sucked in a breath. “I’m not going to a fucking boarding school!”

  He smiled grimly. “That one word just brought you a step closer. You’re on trial, little girl. Because this...” he pointed at her with a tomato-red wooden spoon, “stops now.”

  “You wouldn’t,” she challenged. “Granny won’t let you.”

  “Funny that and yet, I still have a cheque made out to the school, ready to be sent by courier. I know the flight schedule for every plane from Heathrow to Norway. I’ve got your passport. Plus I’d be the one booking your flight, so Granny’s not going to have a say in it.”

  “You wouldn’t...” she repeated, her voice weak.

  His laugh was bitter and pained. “What choice are you giving me?”

  Shaking her head, Leila turned heel and ran up the stairs. The whole house shuddered with the force as she slammed her bedroom door. No, they were not doing well at all. It was as if Sarah’s parting shot was to come completely between him and his daughter. Now every time he looked at her, doubts filled his mind. Doubts that even now refused to be silenced. Made worse every time Leila misbehaved, acted in a manner utterly contrary to the sweet girl he’d fallen in love with from the moment she’d come screaming into the world. Neither was he making anything easier for himself.

  The pity in Abigail Yeboah’s eyes was enough to make him feel pathetic and weak when it came to his child. Leila was grieving, and his own disgust with his wife didn’t make it easy for him to speak kindly of her. The tantrum would end soon and she’d want to eat. It was probably a good thing he’d removed her TV and iPod from her room. She’d have to come downstairs eventually.

  Chapter Two

  “…perfect for each other and…”

  “Mum,” Abigail interrupted the conversation between Orna and Sheila McNamara, Liam’s mother. For two women who were all about Christian composure and modesty, they didn’t half gossip. “Have you finished? I need to close up.”

  It was almost eight p.m. and her patrons knew how strict she was about closing. Everyone else had left the café in peace. Except her mother and her friend. The café sported floor-to-ceiling windows, and with the bright lights of the colander-shaded lamps and the spotlights inside the herb boxes that lined the premises, it was a beacon to the darkness outside. Someone would invariably try to come in and demand food. That same someone would be given short shrift if it was outside opening hours.

  Sheila gave Abigail the once-over. “Is that what you wear every day?”

  “An apron and jeans?” she murmured. “Yes. Easier to work in than four-inch heels and a suit from Next.”

  Orna gave a sniff of disapproval. “You’ll never meet a man if you dress like a construction worker.”

  “Maybe this will attract a woman instead.” Abigail shrugged, ignoring their gasps of horror, and collected the cream tea
plates and cake stand to take to the kitchen. “I really do need to close up.”

  Sheila glanced to the door. “Can you wait? Liam’s coming to collect me.”

  Abigail halted. “I thought you and Mum came together?”

  “Yes, dear, on the bus.”

  She could see the wheels turning in both women’s heads, and nothing of what they were thinking could at all be good for her. Turning into the kitchen, she placed the dishes into the sink and gripped the sides until the urge to tell them both to stop moving her around like a chess piece disappeared. Obviously her life was empty and soulless without a man to share it with. A woman with a child had baggage. A man with a child was a saint. Living up to his role. A real man.

  Taking a deep breath, she returned to the café and looked expectantly at the two gossipers. “Well?”

  “Ah, there we are. Liam’s here.” Sheila got to her feet as he strolled inside. She kissed her son on both cheeks. His gaze moved from his mother to Abigail.

  “Hi, Abigail.” He looked sheepish, as if ashamed by what he’d said to her the night before.

  “’Sup?” she muttered, feeling like an irritated teenager.

  He cleared his throat. “I did want to say thank you for driving Leila back home yesterday. I know plenty of people who wouldn’t have bothered.”

  She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Where is she?”

  He jerked a thumb behind him. “Sitting in the car. We’re not friends at the moment. I’ve confiscated everything she ‘loves.’”