Chapter 20
20
JOEL
‘Wake Me Up’ by Avicii took me back in time. It had been the soundtrack to the summer in my early twenties when Barney, Tim, Levi and I went to Ibiza on a lads’ holiday before Barney took over the responsibility of running the farm. Barney had told us that he’d asked the DJ to play it tonight and we’d better be ready for it so, as soon as we heard those opening guitar strums, the four of us gravitated together on the dance floor, put our arms round each other and bounced about just like we’d done on that holiday.
When the track ended, I looked around for Poppy but there was no sign of her. Zara caught my eye and beckoned me over.
‘Phil had to go. She’s gone outside to say goodbye to him.’
‘She’s coming back?’
‘She didn’t say, but she didn’t say goodbye so I’m guessing she will. And when she does, if you don’t get your act together and get her a drink or dance just with her, I’m going to bang your heads together.’
I was parched after the over-exertions to Avicii and concerned that I hadn’t seen Chez since his argument with Lorna so I left the dance floor in search of a drink and my brother. I found my parents in the Sycamore Snug. Dad was at the bar ordering them both a pot of tea. I’d been planning on another pint but joined them at their table for a refreshing cuppa instead.
‘You’re sure he hasn’t been in the disco?’ Mum asked after I’d expressed concern about Chez’s whereabouts.
‘I’ve been in there all evening, and he hasn’t appeared.’
‘That’s strange,’ Dad said. ‘We saw him in the corridor after the bridesmaids did their routine and asked if everything was okay. He insisted it was and said he was going to get changed – you know he’s never liked wearing a suit – and would be back down shortly for the disco, so we assumed that’s what he’d done.’
Mum sipped on her tea looking thoughtful. ‘Perhaps he decided to stay in his room. Do you think we should check on him?’
She’d only just poured herself a second cup of tea, so I offered to go and promised to report back. A few minutes later, I knocked on Chester’s door but there was no answer.
‘I know you don’t want to speak to me,’ I called, ‘but Mum and Dad are worried about you. Can you at least confirm you’re in there?’
No response.
I returned to my parents. ‘He’s not in his room.’
‘We know,’ Mum said. ‘I’ve just spoken to him. He said he went up to his room to change and, with Lorna gone, didn’t feel in much of a party mood so he stayed there, but now he’s bored. He’s discovered a roof terrace, is getting some fresh air and will be down shortly.’
Neither of them seemed unduly concerned, but they hadn’t been around through the many Lorna bust-ups like I had. I knew that Chez would be really down and that he probably shouldn’t be alone.
‘I think I’ll go and find him,’ I said. ‘If I don’t see you both later, I’ll see you at breakfast.’
I hadn’t noticed a roof terrace, so I went via the reception desk to seek directions. Looking through the windows a little later, the terrace appeared to be deserted but there were lots of columns, screens and planters so Chez could easily be tucked behind one of them. I opened the door and stepped out into the cold night air.
‘Chez?’
He didn’t respond but he’d have known it was me and, as I clearly wasn’t his favourite person right now, he was most likely ignoring me. I didn’t have to venture far before I spotted him on a metal chair behind a pillar, drinking straight from a bottle of red wine. His hair was dishevelled and he still had his suit on – so much for telling our parents he was getting changed – and there was a wine stain down his shirt.
He scowled up at me. ‘When a person doesn’t answer to their name being called, most people would take that as a big clue that they don’t want to be found.’ His voice was loud and slurred.
‘I wanted to make sure you’re okay.’
‘I’m okay. You can go now.’
‘Can we talk?’
‘You mean can you lecture me?’
‘No. I mean can we talk? I know this past week or so hasn’t been great, but I’m worried about you.’
Chez jumped up with such force that he staggered to one side. I thought he was about to keel over but he somehow managed to right himself.
‘Well, stop it! I don’t need you to worry about me. You’re like a bloody helicopter parent, always hovering around me, always trying to protect me by telling me what to do and how to live my life.’
That was spectacularly unfair as well as being inaccurate. I was sick of Chez lashing out at me like this, as though I was a punchbag with no feelings. It hurt.
‘I’ve never tried to parent you.’
‘Oh, purlease! You’re always trying to parent me but newsflash! You’re not my parent and, breaking news, according to you, you’re not my brother either. Cheers for that.’
‘What?’
He adopted an even snarkier tone as he quoted part of my best man speech back at me. ‘ Barney’s not just my best mate, he’s like a brother to me .’
How on earth had that upset him? Mum and Dad had mentioned earlier about how much they’d loved that part of the speech and I’d never imagined Chez – the person who’d often referred to Harry as my brother from another mother – could take it negatively.
‘Well, he is! We’ve always been close and that’s something you say about close friends.’
‘Bet you wish he was your brother instead of me.’
‘You’re talking crazy now. That speech had nothing to do with you.’
‘Sure it didn’t.’ He held the bottle of wine to his lips and took several glugs, making me wince.
‘Don’t you think you should take it easier on the wine?’ As soon as I said it, I wished I could take the words back. Telling someone who was very drunk that they’d had too much to drink was pretty much the same as asking an angry person to calm down. Sure enough, it inflamed Chez further.
‘See! I told you! Helicopter parent. Trying to control how much I drink now. Well, let me tell you this, big brother. I will drink as much as I want to because I’ve lost my job, my girlfriend has dumped me and told me it’s for good this time, and my best mate has chosen his girlfriend over me, so I have nothing and no one and if I want to drink several bottles of free wine at your real brother’s wedding, that’s what I’ll do.’
I really hoped he was exaggerating, and he hadn’t drunk several bottles. There was so much in that rant to pick up on, but I decided to go for the most recent incident.
‘I’m sure you and Lorna will get back together,’ I said, trying to keep my voice gentle and reassuring. ‘You always do.’
‘Not this time and I bet you’re delighted about that.’
‘Why would I be delighted?’ I’d done nothing but help my brother and the constant accusations that I’d take delight in his misfortune were bewildering, hurtful and incredibly frustrating.
‘Cos it makes you right. You said we’d never get a place together and now we won’t. Bet you’re sooooo happy.’
‘Of course I’m not! I like Lorna and I wish you two could find a way to make it work without all the break-ups but I can’t help thinking that maybe a split for good is what you both need. Maybe you’re not right for each other.’
‘There you go!’ he cried. ‘Parenting again! Offering your opinion where it isn’t wanted.’
And then he was off on one, all sorts of accusations being hurled at me, conversations thrown back at me which I couldn’t even recall, and twisting the meaning of innocent comments. Every couple of sentences, he’d pause to take a gulp from his wine and each time he resumed, his voice was angrier, louder, more bitter. I tried to reach for the bottle several times but he snatched it away and then, out of nowhere, he started shoving at me. I was bigger and heavier set than him and, in his drunken stupor, he could barely move me, which made him shove harder.
‘Fight back!’ he goaded.
‘I’m not going to fight you, Chez.’
‘Scared I’ll hurt you?’
‘I’m not going to fight you,’ I repeated, my voice firmer. ‘Why don’t you put the wine down, go to bed and sleep it off? This thing with Lorna will probably have blown over by the morning.’
He took a swing at me, but I ducked and he stumbled but, once more, managed to regain his balance.
‘Stop telling me what to do!’ he yelled. ‘And what do you know about relationships anyway? You were dumped two weeks before your wedding. Dumped by a woman who didn’t want kids and has now had another two, so it was obviously you she didn’t want, not the kids. Probably couldn’t put up with your nagging. And how successful have you been with women since then? You can’t get beyond a first date cos they only ever want to be friends although God knows why cos you’re such an arsehole.’
He might not have winded me with his shoves, but he had with his words and I stared at him, barely recognising the brother I loved, worried about, cared for in the angry young man in front of me.
‘Please, Chez…’ But I was too hurt to find any words. Had he really thrown my broken engagement back at me like that?
He barged past me and stormed towards the door, but he stopped and turned round. ‘You want me to put the wine down? How’s this?’
He launched the bottle in my direction, and it smashed by my feet, showering me with red wine. Heart pounding, stomach churning, I stared down at my soaked trousers and the broken glass and looked up at Chez, expecting him to be shocked by what he’d done and how close the bottle had been to hitting me, but his expression held no remorse.
‘I hate you!’ he yelled before running off the terrace and slamming the door behind him.
I was shaking as I crouched down to pick up the broken glass. I laid several pieces in my left hand but the intensity of my shakes caused my hand to tighten and I flinched as I felt the sting of a cut. Blood dripped onto my chinos, mixing with the darker wine. He hated me. My brother really hated me. What had I ever done but care for him? I pictured the expression on his face, heard the venom in his voice and it was too much for me. I sank down onto my backside, the chunks of glass slipping from my hand as sobs shook my body.
Moments later, I jumped as a piece of heavy material – a coat perhaps? – was placed over my heaving shoulders.
‘Can you stand up?’
I looked up into Poppy’s concerned eyes. Where had she sprung from? Had she heard all of that?
‘I can help you,’ she said, her voice gentle.
‘I need to…’
I sniffed and tried to get control of my tears as I leaned forward to pick up the glass, but I was shaking really badly now.
‘You’ve cut yourself,’ she said. ‘We need to get that seen to.’
‘The glass.’
‘Leave it. I’ll let one of the bar staff know in a bit, but I need you to come with me so I can get your hand cleaned up and see whether it needs stitches.’
She helped ease me to my feet and pressed a tissue onto my palm. ‘Hold this but don’t press too hard in case there’s some glass in the cut. You don’t want to push it in any deeper.’
Placing her arm round my waist, she led me back inside and all I could think was thank goodness it had been Poppy who’d seen that and not Imogen because that had to be the worst thing I’d ever experienced. Why did my brother hate me so much? Why had he wanted to hurt me with his words like that? And had he meant to hurt me physically too? Because, if he had, I wasn’t sure how we’d recover.