Disclaimer: Still not mine, and never will be
Chapter Four
Gillian didn't talk much during the plane ride – at least not about her father. They chatted about unimportant matters, and Cal did a good job of distracting her by moaning about Emily's new boyfriend. "He's spending so much time at the bloody house, I ought to start charging him rent."
She laughed. "He seems nice."
"Nice, well, yeah, he seems nice enough," Cal grumbled.
"You're hopeless," she smiled at him.
"Well, I'm her father, got to look out for her, haven't I?"
A dark cloud seemed to pass over Gillian's face, and Cal mentally kicked himself. "I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean to…"
"It's okay, Cal. Please don't feel you have to pussy-foot around me or my feelings. The last thing I want is for you start censoring yourself, choosing your words with such precision because you think I can't handle it, or to stop talking about Emily. She's important to you, she's important to me, and don't think that reminding me what a good father you are will make me feel worse about my own situation. Okay?"
"Okay." They shared a brief smile before lapsing back into another comfortable silence, which Cal eventually broke. "Did I tell you she blew her entire monthly allowance on a pair of shoes the other day?"
Gillian smiled, relaxing back into her seat. "No. What colour were they?"
Cal's expression made her giggle, and he delighted to hear it. However difficult the following days were going to be, however difficult she was finding it right now, just being on a plane hurtling back to the place she hadn't visited for half a decade, if he could still make her smile, or even better, make her laugh, then there was hope.
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Having Cal with her certainly kept Gillian occupied during the flight, and for most of the time she was able to focus her mind on other things. Pushing negative thoughts aside and focussing on something else was a handy skill she'd picked up when she was younger – thanks for that Dad, she thought wryly.
But when the plane touched down, Gillian felt that familiar feeling – a rush of sadness, of longing for a past and a childhood she'd never had, a sinking feeling of dread and an overwhelming desire to turn and run in the opposite direction. Sensing her shift in mood, Cal rested his hand lightly on hers. "Alright, love?"
She nodded, drawing strength from his presence. "Let's go."
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Gillian hadn't taken the drive from the airport to her mother's house for a long time, and yet nothing seemed to have changed. Some shops were different, she supposed, there seemed to be more houses and less trees, and the streets seemed busier, but ultimately it was the same. The same roads, the same skate park, the same long driveways and expensive cars. As her old house came into view, Gillian took in a sharp breath. Vivid images flew into her head of the last time she was at this house – more accurately, the last time she left this house. Racing down the steps, half blinded by tears, ignoring her mother's shouted pleas to come back…
Gillian, Cal noted, was deep in thought – and not happy thoughts, that much was obvious. As the taxi pulled up outside the address she'd given, she sat as though glued to her seat while Cal paid the driver, who then hopped out to help them with their luggage.
"Love?" She didn't answer. "This is the right place, yeah?"
She snapped out of her reverie, and nodded at him. "Sorry. Yes, yes this is it."
"Nice place," he commented, admiring the sprawling house in front of him. Large windows, a porch with a swing, an expansive front lawn bursting with flowers. He'd never visited Gillian's Californian home before, and although he wished he were here under better circumstances, he couldn't help but be intrigued and – he felt guilty for even thinking it – slightly excited at the possibility of glimpsing another side to her. In many ways, he knew her so well, and had met her family before - her father twice, and her mother four times, if he recalled correctly, but he'd never been to the house where she grew up, never seen that part of her life. She'd told him things of course, but actually being here was opening up a whole new world to him – a chance to truly see how Gillian Foster came to be Gillian Foster. And as much as he'd give anything to avoid her having to go through this pain, the chance to understand her a little better was an attractive prospect.
They walked slowly up the drive together, Gillian pulling her little suitcase behind her, Cal carrying his large holdall. She slowed her pace as they neared the door, but he was certain it wasn't a conscious decision; she didn't even seem to be aware she was doing it.
They climbed the steps to the porch, and Cal saw her glance wistfully at the porch swing. He wondered how many times she had sat out there on that swing to escape things inside the house that she'd rather not bear witness to. She stood on the doorstep for a few moments, preparing herself to knock. Just as her hand reached towards the door it swung open.
"Gillian!" exclaimed the woman who stood before her. Five foot seven with dark coppery hair that showed not a hint of grey and bright blue eyes that always seemed to sparkle; she was exactly as Gillian remembered her. She didn't look like she'd aged at all in the last three and a half years, but then Gillian wouldn't put it past her to indulge in a few botox injections or some such to keep herself looking youthful.
"Hi, Mom," she said softly, stepping forwards awkwardly into her mother's outstretched arms. Cal stood quietly, watching the two women embrace. He knew Gillian hadn't seen her mother for a long time; perhaps with her father out of the picture, they'd be able to rebuild their relationship. He hoped so, for Gillian's sake.
They broke apart, and Gillian took a small step back, distancing herself from her mother and standing nearer Cal. It was a gesture not lost on him, and, from the look on her mother's face, he had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't lost on her either.
"Cal Lightman," she said, addressing him for the first time. "I should have known you'd be here by Gillian's side."
"Mrs Dixon," Cal said, reaching forward to shake her hand. "I hope I'm not intruding; there are plenty of hotels I can stay at…"
"Call me Caroline, and don't even think about going to a hotel. And don't think by what I said that I'm not pleased to see you again. It's been a long time."
Gillian flinched at her mother's comment. "Yes, Mom," she said, a slight edge to her voice. "I know it has."
"And that wasn't a dig at you either. Stop being so sensitive, Gillian. All I meant was that it's nice to see Cal again, and that I'm not surprised you brought him with you. Last time I visited the pair of you were practically inseparable. How's your wife, Cal?" she asked, barely pausing between sentences.
"My ex-wife is fine, thanks," Cal said, noticing the brief smile that darted across Caroline's face.
"Well, that's good," she said breezily, ignoring his comment about Zoe being his ex. "Come on in, then, don't stand on the doorstep all afternoon." She turned and walked back into the house, leaving Gillian standing still, shaking her head.
"Does she look sad to you?" she asked, turning to Cal.
No, she didn't, but Cal felt the question was largely rhetorical – or if Gillian was expecting an answer, it wasn't to the question does she look sad to you? but why doesn't she look sad to you?
"Come on, love," Cal said, picking up his bag. "Let's go in." He stepped past Gillian into the bright and sunny hallway, glancing briefly at the sign that hung on the wall: God Bless Our Happy Home.
Slowly she picked up her bag and reached for her small suitcase. "Welcome home, Gillian," she muttered to herself as she followed Cal inside, closing the door behind her.
