Chapter 10
‘You’re the brother then, are you?’ the man said, with a sort of smug insolence that – even if he hadn’t been backing Hannah up against a wall – would have made Jude want to punch him.
He had felt inspired to commit violence only a handful of times in his twenty-eight years, and had never actually hit anyone. As he waited for this arsehole to step off, however, he realised that today might actually be the day.
It was becoming clear to Jude that the word ‘brother’, when used to denote the connection between himself and Hannah, was what someone in Joe’s line of work might call triggering for him.
It was a tripwire in his brain that seemed to set off an emotional explosion so forceful it robbed him of reason.
‘No I am fucking not,’ he heard himself say. ‘But I am still waiting for you to give her some space.’
Hannah had been in his peripheral vision all night.
He’d moved around the bar in a way that kept her there, knowing it was stupid but completely unable to stop himself from following her with his eyes, and – to a lesser extent – his feet.
She was stunning, in a red minidress that emphasised the bright alabaster of her skin.
He’d found his gaze pulled to her exposed collarbone, the sight of which set his pulse hammering.
Blood rushed through his veins in a way he’d normally associate with having run a fast 5k, and he wondered if he’d developed some sort of clavicle kink.
The dress itself was confounding: clingy but cute, exposing but elegant.
Hannah wore it lightly, like she had no idea how lovely she looked in it.
As had so often been the case throughout their history, she was blithely unaware of the inflammatory effect she was having on him.
He’d seen her dash from the room a few minutes ago and, when she didn’t return, experienced a sudden need for some air, or maybe a bathroom break. He’d told himself he wasn’t going in search of her, but as he took in the look of horror on her face, he felt glad he was the one who’d found her.
‘She and I have things to talk about,’ said the man, whom Jude felt closer and closer to physically assaulting. The guy actually jerked a thumb in Hannah’s direction: a gesture so disrespectful and enraging that Jude’s vision whited out for a second.
‘We don’t, Marc,’ Hannah said, seeming to find her voice after the shock of being intimidated. She placed her palms on Marc’s chest and shoved. He staggered back a couple of steps and gasped, ‘What the fuck, Hannah?’
‘I’d say she’s made herself pretty clear,’ Jude said, relieved at her return to form. Seeing Hannah appear almost scared had astonished and incensed him. The thought of Marc, or anyone, putting that look on her face was like a call to arms – but he reminded himself she wasn’t his to defend.
‘And who are you, mate?’ Marc demanded, squaring up to him despite the not inconsiderable difference in their heights.
‘I’m not your mate,’ Jude answered, ‘but I am an old friend of Hannah’s.’ He felt embarrassed heat climb up his spine as he realised this acknowledgement was probably too little, too late after his bork at the conference.
‘Old friend, eh? My replacement, more like,’ Marc said, narrowing his eyes at Hannah.
‘I thought there was something shady about the way you ended things – that there must be a reason. And now here’s a knight in shining armour to save you from having to explain yourself.
How long have you been sleeping with him? ’
The question slammed into Jude like a fist, briefly robbing him of breath.
The thought of himself and Hannah in any kind of congress was a dangerous intoxicant: a banned substance he hadn’t dared touch in as long as he could remember.
And now here was this guy, throwing the idea around like a frisbee.
Hannah flushed an angry scarlet, almost as red as her dress.
‘How fucking dare you?’ she hissed. ‘There were plenty of reasons why I ended things, Marc – not least the fact that you’re an overbearing dick.
I did not need to be shagging anyone else to decide I couldn’t face dealing with you anymore. ’
‘Nice,’ Marc sneered, ‘great way to evade the question. Come on, tell the truth: was there overlap? Were you seeing us both at the same time?’
Hannah actually laughed. ‘When would I have had the opportunity? Up until recently I was working six or seven days a week! Let me be clear, for the sake of ending this conversation: I did not see or sleep with anyone else while you and I were dating.’
She’d been going out with this guy, then. In some sort of relationship with him. Hardly a revelation, under the circumstances, but it still made Jude feel unwell. He’d never really doubted she’d move on, but having the evidence paraded in front of him this dramatically was painful.
‘You are now, though, right?’ Marc said, his voice oozing contempt. ‘Didn’t take you long, did it? And look at the state of him,’ he said, pointing a thick finger in Jude’s direction. ‘Captivated, mad about you . . . like a rabbit in headlights.’
Hannah’s jaw dropped. She looked from Marc to Jude and then back again – did an actual double-take, which Jude had never seen happen in real life before.
‘Of all the things you could have said, that’s about the most ridiculous I can think of,’ she told Marc. Jude, however, wondered what had been written on his face before he urgently rearranged it. What had Marc seen there that Hannah had – mercifully – missed?
‘You need to go back downstairs now,’ Hannah said to Marc. ‘You’re not on the guest list.’
Marc ran a hand over the front of his t-shirt. It was a loud thing with artful rips and holes, presumably put there by whatever designer had deemed it ‘distressed’. Jude instinctively hated it.
‘Fine,’ Marc said heavily. ‘But this isn’t the end. As the song says, I’m “Not Giving Up”. You haven’t seen the last of me.’
Jude felt his face crumple in confusion, but before he could say anything Marc made his way down the stairs and disappeared. Neither Jude nor Hannah spoke for a moment, like they were waiting to see if he’d come back and recommence ranting.
When he was satisfied Marc had gone, Jude turned away from the staircase to look at Hannah. She was standing against the wall again, but leaning back in relief, rather than cowering. Her body was loose and relaxed now – not the tight, straight line it had been before.
Jude didn’t know what to say. Wasn’t sure where to start with trying to mend fences between them, now they were alone. He thought for a moment.
‘I always said your taste in men was terrible,’ he said eventually. ‘That guy makes Josh “Stoner” Brady look like Prince Charming.’
To his immense satisfaction, Hannah burst out laughing. ‘I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking,’ she said, wheezing a little as she giggled. Jude was laughing, too – mirth ringing through both of them as the adrenaline rush of confronting Marc receded.
‘In my defence, we were barely together,’ Hannah continued. ‘I’m talking a handful of dates. I drew the line with him a couple of weeks ago, but he’s been . . . unhappy about it ever since.’
‘I can imagine,’ Jude said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He’d meant to say, ‘I can see that’, but somewhere between his brain and his mouth there’d been a malfunction.
He barrelled on for the sake of covering his mistake. ‘Are you OK? You looked . . . genuinely panicked when I first saw you. I actually considered hitting him.’
‘You did not,’ Hannah said, laughing again. ‘Yes, I’m OK. Thank you for stepping in, though. It was . . . good of you.’ He could tell she meant it, and her gratitude warmed him.
‘I’d have done it for anyone,’ Jude said.
It was the truth, and yet it wasn’t. The red mist that had descended when he saw how Marc was advancing on Hannah wouldn’t have had the same potency if it had been any other woman against the wall.
Yes, he’d have come to the aid of a stranger, but with a degree more objectivity – and a lot less blind rage.
‘Fingers crossed, that’s the last I’ll see of him,’ Hannah said.
‘Is that likely? He made rather a point of this not being the end.’
‘I suspect what he’s really bothered about is that I dumped him,’ Hannah explained, ‘though he’s not been shy about showing off his “bleeding heart” on social media. Makes good content, it seems.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Jude said, confusion knitting his brows. ‘He’s big online? And what did he mean by “the song”?’
Hannah groaned and momentarily buried her face in her hands. ‘He used to be in a band,’ she said. ‘Lite Sky. They had quite a few hits—’
‘Oh my god,’ Jude said. ‘I remember them! They were . . . terrible.’
Hannah cracked up. ‘They were. But he still performs,’ she explained. ‘He has a shedload of followers on TikTok and Instagram. Even plays the odd wedding, generally for die-hard fans. That’s how we met.’
‘Oh. On the subject of weddings . . .’ Jude began, throwing both hands up in an expansive ‘who’d have guessed’ sort of motion that indicated their surroundings. Hannah shook her head, a knowing smile on her face.
‘Yeah. Totally batshit, isn’t it?’
‘I think the technical term is fucking mental,’ Jude agreed, coming to stand with his back next to hers, so they both faced outward, towards the staircase.
He realised too late that he could smell her perfume from where he’d settled.
It was soft and sweet, but earthy – like the fragrance of clean, naked skin.
Shit. He’d read something once about the power of olfactory memory; should have had the sense to stand a few inches further away.
He cleared his throat and went on. ‘Who decides to get married after only a few months, then hold the wedding within a few weeks? Is it even possible to organise the thing at such short notice?’
‘I’ll get back to you on that,’ Hannah said wryly.