“It doesn’t matter now. I’ll have missed Tess’s obedience class,” Kit said stonily, his eyes fixed on some invisible point in the windscreen.
“You didn’t tell me Tess had an obedience class.”
“I never had a chance, did I? I’ve hardly seen you all weekend.”
“Kit. I said I was sorry. But sometimes things come up—”
Swinging round to face him, Kit spat out, “You’re always late.” Red spots flared across his cheekbones and he rubbed the back of a fist across his trembling lower lip. “You say you’ll do something, then you don’t keep your word. You’re just like my dad.”
Kincaid clenched his hands round the steering wheel. “Give me a chance, will you, Kit? I’ve never done this before. It’s hard enough for me to juggle my job—”
“Then don’t bother.” Kit turned away, his lips clamped tight and his chin thrust up in defiant bravado. “It’s just the same old crap, isn’t it? My dad—”
“Just because I have a commitment to my job doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you. I’m not going to lose interest, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“Dad did. He—”
“Goddamn it, Kit, we’re not talking about Ian, we’re talking about me. And
Kit stared at him. “That’s bollocks. What are you talking about?”
“That’s daft. My dad’s in France.”
“Look at me, Kit.” Kincaid reached for Kit’s shoulder, but the boy flinched away. “Look at my face, then look at yourself in the mirror.” He flipped down the passenger side visor. “You are the spitting image of me at the same age. My mother saw it instantly. I see it every time I look at you.”
“I don’t believe you,” Kit said, but he darted a look at the glass.
Pulling his wallet from his pocket, Kincaid extracted two dog-eared photos. “My mother sent me this one. I was eleven.” He handed it to Kit, who accepted it reluctantly; then he held up the second photo. “This one I took from your mum’s office.” Vic and Kit stood arm in arm in the back garden of the cottage in Grantchester, laughing into the camera. “You can see the resemblance, too, can’t you?”
“No.” Kit shook his head and dropped the photo of Kincaid in the console. “I don’t believe it. My mum wouldn’t have …” His eyes strayed to the photo again.
“This doesn’t mean your mum did anything wrong, Kit. You know we were married before she married Ian. She must have been pregnant with you when we separated.”
“She’d have told me. Mum told me everything.”
“You must see that she couldn’t. She was with Ian by then, and she wanted you to think of him as your father.” And then Ian had abandoned them. After Ian’s defection, Vic had brought Kincaid back into her life, and Kit’s, but they would never be sure what she’d intended for them.
Kit kneaded the knees of his jeans with his fingers, refusing to meet Kincaid’s eyes.
“I didn’t know about you until that day I came to Grantchester. Your mum never let me know she’d had a child.”
A tiny rip in the denim grew larger as Kit picked at it. “You’re not my dad. You can’t prove it.” His barley-fair hair fell over his forehead, hiding his eyes, but the stubborn set of his jaw was clear.
Kincaid looked out at his quiet street in the early evening light. Next door a man and a boy washed a car, laughing as they got soaked in the spray. He could smell the smoke from someone’s barbecue, hear the high voices of children in the back gardens. It was the language of families, and he didn’t know it. “I
“Like this weekend?” There was a ripping sound as Kit pulled at the bit of fabric he’d worked loose. “Like you let my mum die?”
“Kit, I—”
“I want to go back to Cambridge. Tess needs her dinner and she won’t have been eating well with me away.” Kit reached for his seat belt, snapped the buckle into place. He hugged his arms across his chest and stared straight ahead.
They drove to the station in silence.
• • •
