Pictures of You

Chapter 68

68

Drew

I must be a masochist, accepting their invitation to meet for lunch. I haven’t seen Evie since the day Mum died, and haven’t seen Oliver since that terse interaction at her graduation a few days earlier.

She sends me a text message every year on the anniversary of Mum’s death, and I ignore it, just as she asked. I wouldn’t be here today, wishing I were anywhere else, except that her text message this year was four days late: I thought of you on the anniversary. I’m sorry this is late. Things have been bad. Oliver and I are handling a life-and-death family emergency. And, actually, we need your help.

When I didn’t reply, she sent another: Please, just give us an hour to explain. This is bigger than the three of us. I wouldn’t ask if we weren’t desperate. I’m sorry, Drew. For everything.

When they arrive in the doorway, I watch as he helps her shake off her coat and hangs it on the coatrack near the door. She’s in white trousers and a cream turtleneck. Absolutely polished, down to the painstakingly straightened hair. She looks good. I wish she didn’t. I hate myself for the way I react to her, every single time.

Oliver is moody and agitated, making sharp, nervous movements as he waits for her to walk ahead of him. A stranger would see a man possessed with worry. But I know him. I don’t have a shred of trust.

They weave through the restaurant tables and over to where I’m sitting. I stand up and confront Evie, not knowing how to handle this reunion, given it was never supposed to happen, at her request. Handshake?

She tosses her handbag onto the seat and throws her arms around my neck in a hug—clinging on for longer than she should in front of her husband, in that way that seems to communicate volumes without words. It’s the same thing she did at her graduation, and I meet Oliver’s unimpressed glare over her shoulder as I slip my hands around her waist in response. What am I going to do? Totally reject the woman the way she specifically instructed me to?

She lets go and the three of us sit down. I just want to get this whole uncomfortable catch-up over with. “What’s this about?” I ask, before we can even look at the menus.

She glances at Oliver, as if they’re about to launch into a prepared speech. “Drew, something serious has happened and we need to ask you for help,” she begins. “I know this is awkward, but we all need to rise above that.”

I’m not going to rise above anything. These two have caused nothing but problems in my life for years . I don’t need a moral lecture now.

“I have a daughter,” Oliver announces suddenly, staring not at me but at the salt and pepper shakers.

I look at Evie, confused. Oliver has a daughter? My heart skips a beat in anger. For fuck’s sake.

“Congratulations?” I say, sarcastically. Congratulations on being the arse I always thought you were.

He shifts in his seat, trying to dampen his own anger.

“Drew, Harriet is sick,” Evie interrupts, placing her hand over mine as if to will me to calm down. It has completely the opposite effect. “She’ll be four in three months’ time. Hopefully.”

Hopefully?

I slip my hand out from under hers and sit back in my chair, arms crossed, the conversation having taken a complete turn. Oliver looks emotionally wrecked. He hasn’t shaved, and he’s wearing a crushed shirt, not in a trendy way but because he simply doesn’t seem to care. He looks tormented. My compassion for him attempts to turn over, like an engine without oil trying to start.

“We’re all having human leukocyte antigen typing,” he says, his voice flat. “For bone marrow. They’re looking for familial compatibility …” He chokes up.

“Oliver isn’t a match,” Evie fills in. “Drew, it’s a long shot, but they’re widening the search to other family members.”

I look at her, and then at him. When his eyes meet mine, I know it’s with the knowledge that we are brothers.

“How long have you known?” I expected it to feel different—having a brother. Instead, as I glance from him to Evie, I remember he has the relationship I’ve always wanted. And he’s ruined that too. I loathe the man.

“My father only told me this week when none of us matched. She’s his only grandchild. He’s desperate.”

Desperate. His father? Ready to acknowledge my existence, but only because he needs something?

“I know it’s upsetting,” Evie begins. The way she’s trying to smooth this over infuriates me.

“Don’t lecture me about what’s upsetting,” I tell her, folding the napkin, putting it on the table, pushing my chair back, and standing up. “ Our father deserted me, Oliver. I suspect he gaslit my mother into her grave. He showed up at her wake and warned me off speaking to you, Evie. Forgive me if I’m not playing happy families here.”

“Please, Drew,” Oliver says, standing up and trying to block my exit. “ Please. She’s a three-year-old child.”

I glare at him. I’m angry and hurt and more sidelined than ever. “Of course I’ll bloody get tested, Oliver, I’m not a fucking monster. Send me the details.”

And as I walk out into the harsh sunlight in the street, which is bustling with businesspeople power walking between meetings and mothers pushing strollers and cabdrivers honking horns, my breath rushes as I contemplate the fact that I had nobody left. No family. Not a single person since Mum died. I’ve been totally alone against everything, anchorless.

And now I have a niece.