“Can I come in and meet them?”
“No! Go home, Simon.”
She watched his face fall. “I thought you’d be pleased to see me.”
“You can’t turn up here unannounced. Not after everything that’s happened.”
“But I wanted to see you and...” He trailed off, staring at her with his brow creased as if trying to work out a difficult sum. “I guess I’ll go, then.”
He thrust the flowers toward her, and this time Libby took them—anything to get rid of him.
“Good-bye, Libby.”
Simon turned around too quickly and staggered at the top of the stairs. As he began to make his way down the steps, Libby could sense him focusing all his attention on placing one foot in front of the other. When he reached the bottom, she heaved a sigh of relief. She was turning back into the house when she heard a heavy thump and looked round to see Simon sprawled face-first on the paving stones.
“Oh, crap!” Libby dropped the flowers and ran down to him. “Are you okay?”
Simon didn’t respond, and Libby bent down next to him.He wasn’t moving, and she was about to shout for help when he turned his head toward her and grinned. Libby opened her mouth to yell at him, then spotted the blood.
“Jesus, you’ve cut your head.”
He put his hand to his forehead, wincing as he touched it. “Oops. That’s embarrassing.”
“You’d better come inside and clean it up.”
“No, I’ll be fine.” Simon started to pull himself up tentatively, like a toddler learning to stand. Libby took his arm and helped him.
“You can’t go home like this; you’ve got blood running down your face. Come on, there are plasters in the kitchen.”
Libby helped him back up the steps: not an easy task, as he was swaying left and right. She finally got him and the ridiculous bouquet of flowers through the front door and down the hall to the kitchen.
“There’s a first aid kit in here somewhere,” she said in a low voice, hoping the others in the garden wouldn’t hear her. But Simon ignored her as he walked through the kitchen toward the back door.
“No—” Libby started to say, but it was too late.
“Woo-hoo,par-tay!” Simon shouted, staggering out into the garden.
From Libby’s position in the kitchen, she could see past him to the scene outside. Frank, Esme, and Dylan all stopped talking and were staring at Simon. Frank and Esme both looked confused at the sudden arrival of another guest, but Dylan’s expression was different. He was sitting up tall in his seat, his eyes narrow as he glared at Simon with undisguised contempt. Libby stepped out into the garden.
“This is Simon,” she said to them all, but her eyes were fixed on Dylan. “He’s just here for one minute to—”
“I’m the father of Libby’s baby,” Simon interrupted, and Libby saw Dylan’s eyes narrow, as if this was confirmation of what he’d suspected.
“Oh, good evening,” Frank said, reaching his hand out toward Simon. But Simon ignored it, and when Libby glanced at him, she saw he was staring back at Dylan. For a moment nobody spoke, and she felt the energy shift.
“You have blood on your head,” Esme said.
“I’m just getting Simon a plaster before he leaves,” Libby said, but she didn’t move. Simon and Dylan were still eyeing each other across the table.
Frank must have sensed the tension too, because he gave a loud cough. “Would you like a drink, Simon? A glass of water, perhaps?”
“Got any beer?” Simon said, and he finally turned from Dylan and half sat, half slumped into a seat.
Libby hurried back into the kitchen. Rebecca kept a first aid box in one of the cupboards, but Libby couldn’t remember which one, and she started pulling doors open as fast as she could. In the background she could hear Simon’s slurring voice from the garden, and as she frantically searched, she imagined all the totally inappropriate things he could be saying to her guests. To Dylan.
At last she found the green box and rushed back outside. Simon was midflow.
“And then one year I took her to the Ivy for her birthday and afterward we—”