Hate to Love You(103)

Damn, a hot drink was what she needed but she wasn’t going to budge. Did she think I’d abscond with Ryan the second she turned her back? With an internal groan I left him skating and went to buy two hot chocolates from the kiosk. I pretended not to notice Francesca’s agitation while I sipped my drink and watched my son.

Francesca took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

Here it comes, my mind warned.

“I have cancer.”

Speechless, I gaped at her. My surprise was quickly overtaken by shock. Horror. Thoughts of Ryan and how her illness would affect him ricocheted in my mind and my heart clenched. Now I knew why Francesca had been so anxious to help me, so desperate to believe I was sincere and so willing to trust my promises! Shame washed over me. For years I had been dismissive of Francesca’s role in Ryan’s life, slotting her in the “grandmother” box because anything else was too painful.

But who had kissed him better along with James? Who had watched his first steps, listened to his troubles and been a steady, loving presence?

Francesca was Ryan’s real mother, not me. She couldn’t bear the thought of him suffering and was willing to put aside her feelings about me in hopes that he wouldn’t. I read the selfless love she had for Ryan and wished her reason for wanting to help me was anything but her illness.

True, my mind agreed, much to my relief.

“Are you having chemo?” I asked.

Her expression didn’t change, but in her eyes I saw the finality of death.

“I’m sorry.”

“I neither desire nor require your sympathy. James will suffer but it’s Ryan I’m worried about. He’s going to need you when I—”

For the first time a small crack appeared in Francesca’s stoic facade. Her eyes glistened with moisture and on impulse I took her hand. I flashed back to our car trip years before and wanted to kick myself all over again. How different things might have been between us had I behaved differently.

“I’m not going anywhere, Francesca,” I assured her. “The belligerent teenager who thought only about herself is gone. I swear I’ll be here for Ryan and James.”

Francesca withdrew her hand. “James has his son.”

Her inflection on his made me flinch. “He told you about Ryan,” I said dully.

“Yes, and then we had a little chat.” She opened her handbag and handed me an A4 manila envelope.

Expecting more legalese from James, I took out the sheet of paper inside and read the header, then cut a glance at Francesca.

“Read it.”

It was legalese all right, but not from James. The letter was from a genetic testing laboratory based in North West London, dated shortly after Ryan’s birth. I skimmed the contents, eyes popping the further I read. What the hell? I read it again, this time more slowly.

“There must be a mistake.”

Francesca huffed. “Do you think I would allow my son to take responsibility for a baby without making sure it was his? You’d already signed over your rights but I had the test done anyway, as soon as I brought Ryan home. James never knew. He had enough worries with divorcing Caroline and finding another job.”#p#分页标题#e#

I didn’t answer because I was still processing...

processing...

...and no, it didn’t make sense.

All the same a little thrill worked its way from my mind to my heart, and wonder began to overtake my shock. But I was too afraid to allow it free reign. The paternity test had to be Francesca’s idea of a joke, a way to torture me for what I had done. She was dangling what I’d always wanted in front of my eyes only to tell me it wasn’t true.

But was she that twisted? A manipulative cow, sure, but not a sadist.

“James can’t be Ryan’s father,” I insisted.

Francesca arched her brows. “I understood quite the contrary from your speech.”

Cheeks burning, yet giddy with burgeoning hope I glanced at Ryan, seeing an amalgamation of James and myself in his features. “No ffff...way.”

“Even without the test I would know James is Ryan’s father,” Francesca said, her voice full of pride. “Watching my grandson is like watching my son all over again. He talks like James, walks like him and has the same mischievous personality.”

“Did you show this letter to James?” I asked eagerly.

The glacial look returned to her face. “Of course. He was distraught when he returned from Valencia. He decided you should also know the truth. For Ryan’s sake,” she said pointedly.

I winced, then took the plunge. “Did James say anything...about me?”

She observed me for a few moments and a small, satisfied smile appeared on her face. “Your actions destroyed the possibility of his love more effectively than I ever could.”