Chapter 9
9
JOEL
A car horn beeping outside pulled me from my sleep. I tapped my phone – 10.13a.m. – and pushed the duvet aside. Time to get up and do some batch-cooking before I went into work for the first of three night shifts.
I usually went to bed late before starting on nights so that I’d rise later, but I’d felt shattered last night after a busy weekend and had gone to bed earlier than intended. I’d only just drifted off when Chez and Lorna arrived back from the pub with a takeaway. If them crashing through the door hadn’t already woken me up, Chez shouting upstairs, ‘Do you want any Indian?’ certainly would have done. I’d shouted back, ‘No, I’m in bed!’ thinking they’d take that as a sign to hush things a little but, no, the TV had gone on at full volume. I’ve no idea what they were watching but it involved lots of car chases and shooting and I heard it all and felt every single vibration. I’d shoved back the duvet several times, planning to go downstairs and tell them to stop being so inconsiderate, but I was so riled up that I knew it wouldn’t come out as a polite request and we’d end up arguing again, so I shoved in a pair of ear plugs instead.
It wasn’t Chez’s fault I was in a mood. Imogen’s revelation that Greg wanted her to call him Daddy had preyed on my mind across the weekend so I’d asked Tilly if I could have a quick word when I dropped Imogen home. My request to talk outside clearly irritated her as she muttered several expletives under her breath as she stuffed her arms into her coat sleeves and stepped outside in her slippers, slamming the door behind her.
‘What?’ she demanded as she yanked up the zip. I hated it when she was hostile like that and had to bite back the impulse to snap at her in response.
‘Imogen said something yesterday that I don’t think she was meant to say and?—’
‘For Pete’s sake. She told you about Scotland?’
My stomach lurched. ‘No. What about Scotland?’
Tilly’s cheeks flushed. ‘That’s probably where we’ll go camping over Easter.’
She’d mentioned something about going away a while back but nothing had been confirmed, so I assumed they’d changed their minds.
‘Fair enough. It wasn’t that. It’s about Greg…’
‘What about him?’ she asked, accompanied by a dirty glare.
‘Erm, it’s a bit awkward because I obviously wasn’t there so I’m only going from what Imogen told me.’
Tilly planted her hands on her hips. ‘Spit it out!’
‘She said that Greg has asked her to call him Daddy.’
‘He has not!’
She quite literally spat the words and I had to resist the urge to wipe my cheek.
‘As I say, I’m only going from what Imogen said.’
‘You planted the idea.’
‘Oh, come on, Tilly! Why would I do that?’
‘Because you don’t like Greg. Because you’re jealous of what we have and you want to cause trouble.’
I had no idea where that had come from – completely paranoid and unreasonable.
‘I am not jealous and what I think of Greg has nothing to do with this. Our daughter confided in me about something that upset her and I thought you should know so you could nip it in the bud.’
‘What if she wants to call Greg Daddy? Her brothers and sister do.’
I ignored the ridiculous comment about her siblings. Greg was their dad so of course they’d call him that!
‘Believe me, she doesn’t and before you accuse me of influencing her, that came direct from her. If she genuinely wanted to call Greg Daddy, I wouldn’t like it but I’d respect her decision and I’d understand because I do get that he has a role in her life. But that’s not what’s happening here and I’d appreciate your support because you promised me this wouldn’t happen.’ My tone was sounding more forceful than I intended so I softened it as I added, ‘If you don’t want to speak to him about it, I’m happy to have that conversation.’
She lowered her eyes and kicked at a small white feather on the path. ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll speak to him. I meant what I said back then.’
The fight was gone from her voice, so I decided to push it a little further. ‘If he’s doing it because he thinks he’s more of a dad to her than I am, you know there’s a solution to that.’
She sighed. ‘It’s too disruptive with your shifts. Why can’t you understand that?’
‘You’re hurting our daughter by keeping her away from me. Why can’t you understand that?’ I kept my voice on the level, and she raised her eyes to meet mine. I’d hoped to see sadness or guilt but she still looked angry which was a joke. What did she have to be annoyed about? I was the one who had every right to be fuming about this.
‘I’ll speak to Greg,’ she said, completely ignoring my challenge. ‘Goodbye, Joel.’
‘I haven’t said goodbye to Imogen yet.’
‘Tough!’
But Imogen came running out and hurled herself at me, thanking me for a fantastic weekend and telling me how she couldn’t wait for Barney and Amber’s wedding next weekend. I ignored Tilly staring at us, stony-faced, and focused on Imogen. I’d loved spending this weekend with her and couldn’t wait to see her again for the wedding, but enough was enough. I was determined to find a way to see Imogen more which might mean leaving my job even if it was safe in the restructure and it might mean initiating court proceedings. I didn’t want to but if that was the only way to see Imogen more, Tilly left me no choice.
I showered, dressed and went downstairs but, as soon as I opened the lounge door, I reeled back at the smell. I loved the spicy aromas of Indian food when I was tucking in, but plates of half-eaten food left to fester overnight weren’t at all appealing.
‘Chester!’ I muttered under my breath, angrily gathering the abandoned plates and taking them into the kitchen where pretty much every surface was covered with foil containers, cardboard lids stuck facedown, blobs of sauce and chutney and broken poppadums.
I was loath to clear up after them, but I couldn’t stand the smell and I needed the space to prepare my meals. After pushing the kitchen window open, I pulled up an uplifting playlist on my phone, hoping the music would lift me from my dark mood. Cooking would help. Even though I hadn’t made a career of it, I still loved creating in the kitchen and found the whole process soothing.
I put the kettle on to boil then set about clearing away Chez and Lorna’s mess. When I’d emptied the kitchen bin and taken it outside, I tossed a teabag into a mug and filled it with water. Opening the fridge, I grabbed the milk carton and released a frustrated groan. What sort of person finished the milk and put the empty carton back in the fridge? I ran my hands through my hair, taking several calming breaths. Give me strength!
I hated feeling like this – all tense and angry – when I was normally relaxed and easy going. Chez had stayed with me on many occasions and he’d always been messy but it had never got to me like it had this time. Although I hadn’t had a pile of other worries to contend with at the same time before.
I tipped my black tea down the sink, tossed the teabag in the bin and poured a glass of water which would have to do for now. I’d make a start on the cooking and then nip to the shops.
By the time I’d made a chilli and spaghetti bolognaise, I was gasping for a cuppa. I left the food cooling on the hob and grabbed my car keys.
When I returned a little later with some milk, I tripped over Chez’s work boots dumped in the middle of the hall.
Chez was in the kitchen, placing a pasta bowl down beside the sink. I glanced at the remnants of tomato sauce round the edges and flicked my eyes to the hob. He hadn’t!
‘Cracking scran,’ he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
I stared at him, stunned. ‘Have you just eaten all my chilli?’
‘Not all of it.’
He might as well have done. The couple of spoonfuls left in the pan wouldn’t even be enough for a starter portion.
‘But that was for me for after my night shifts.’
‘How was I supposed to know that?’
‘You could have waited until I got back and asked.’
‘I didn’t know where you were or when you’d be back, and I was hungry. The food was there so I ate it. Get over it!’
His stroppy teenager attitude pushed me over the edge.
‘You want to know where I was? At the shops because you’d used all the milk and put the empty carton back in the fridge. And now you’ve eaten what would have been three, maybe four meals for me, so I’m going to have to go back to the shops and buy some more ingredients. You’re welcome to stay here, but would it kill you to be a bit less self-centred and a bit more considerate?’
‘Less self-centred and more considerate?’ He exaggeratedly clapped his hands as he added in a sarcastic tone, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I proudly present my big brother, Saint Joel Grainger, who always thinks of others first and is never self-centred or inconsiderate.’
I reeled back, stunned at the accusation. ‘When am I ever inconsiderate?’
‘Erm, now!’
‘You think this is inconsiderate? Me being annoyed that you’ve eaten the food I prepared for my night shifts?’
‘No. What I think is inconsiderate is you having a go at me without pausing to question why I’m here in the middle of the day.’
It was a fair point. He only got a thirty-minute lunch break and that wasn’t enough time to get to mine and back.
‘So why are you here?’ I asked.
He glared at me for a moment then barged past and left the kitchen.
‘Because I’ve lost my job,’ he shouted over his shoulder. ‘The garage has gone bust. Nice of you to be so concerned.’
I winced and cursed myself. ‘Chez! I’m sorry,’ I called, racing after him.
He gave me another filthy look, snatched up his boots and stormed out the house with them, slamming the door behind him.
I sank down onto the stairs, feeling weary from yet another run-in with my brother. I shouldn’t have jumped on him like that, although he shouldn’t have helped himself to my food without asking. He’d be turning twenty in October and it was time I stopped making excuses for his behaviour. He was an adult and he had to take ownership for himself. My shoulders slumped and I shook my head. The food wasn’t the issue here. Chez had lost the job he loved and that was going to wreak havoc with his mental health, especially when he must already be struggling after falling out with Harry.
‘I hope you find another job quickly, Chez,’ I murmured, heaving myself up and returning to the kitchen. With no income coming in, his plans to move in with Lorna would have to go on hold and he’d need to stay here indefinitely, which wasn’t ideal with the way we were clashing at the moment, although at least it meant I could watch out for him. I really hoped depression didn’t take hold or, if it did, Lorna didn’t react in her usual way and dump him. I dreaded to think what no job, no best mate and no girlfriend would do to him. I couldn’t bear the thought of my brother spiralling like that again and, with my own work worries and the ongoing issues with Tilly to contend with, would I have enough headspace to support Chez if he did? I’d have to somehow.