Chapter 8
TORI
At breakfast on Saturday morning, we act like nothing happened and I can’t stand it.
Mum doesn’t look as hungover as I’d have expected given her condition last night, which can mean one of two things: either she’s used to it, or she’s started the day with the hair of the dog.
I don’t want to know, because whichever way, it’s making me crazy.
Because I don’t understand. How can she do this to Dad?
To him, to Will, to me? And, above all, to herself . . .
Of course we don’t talk about it. Mum and Dad ask about school, ask after Kit, ask if we want to come to Davos for February half-term, and the thought of a skiing holiday and Mum in all the Swiss après-ski bars gives me stomach cramps.
Talking about Val seems like the lesser of two evils, so I let Mum bring the conversation around to him.
She’s thrilled when I tell her again about him and the ball.
‘So are things official between you two now?’ she asks, reaching for her coffee cup.
‘I think we’re in the process of working that out.’
Mum smiles. ‘You make a lovely couple; Veronica says so too.’ She shakes her head. ‘I always thought Charlie would be the one, but it’s so lovely that you’ve found someone like Valentine, who’s on an equal footing with you.’
Will lifts his head.
‘On an equal footing?’ I repeat slowly. ‘Because Sinclair’s dad’s a baker?’
‘Of course that’s not what I meant.’
‘What did you mean, then? That he’s beneath me, or what?’
‘Tori, you’re twisting my words. I meant it positively,’ Mum exclaims. ‘Charlie’s a lovely friend, but Valentine is someone who can provide for you, if you see what I mean. I’m thinking about your future.’
‘I’m sure our daughter will be perfectly capable of providing for herself, Charlotte,’ Dad says calmly.
‘Of course she will, George. But life throws all kinds of things at you that are easier to deal with as a pair. And for families like ours, it’s important to have someone you can truly rely on.’
Sinclair. Her words bring Sinclair to mind, not Valentine.
I suppose that should make me think. Anyway, Dad took her surname – his background wasn’t nearly as posh, which didn’t stop Mum falling in love with him.
Why should it? His career in marketing might not be as fancy as her art gallery, but that doesn’t make it any less important.
Besides working for his own clients, Dad also does the marketing for Mum’s business, and Veronica Ward’s.
Mum would love it if Val took over Veronica’s firm one day and I stepped into her or Dad’s shoes too, no question.
Not that I even know what I want to do at uni just now.
If I had to choose between their two fields I’d be more likely to go for something like online marketing, but really my heart is set on English lit.
Still, I’ll worry about that later. Not yet.
I can hardly swallow the scrambled egg that Martha’s made me. Dad’s just asking about our plans for the day when Will’s phone rings.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbles, and reaches for it. He goes pale as he glances at the display. ‘Can I get down? This is important.’
‘Of course,’ Dad says, but he sounds puzzled.
Will doesn’t even look at us, just hurries out of the dining room.
‘Where are you?’ I hear him ask, and his voice fades away.
‘Kit?’ Mum guesses.
‘Probably.’ I shrug my shoulders.
Will doesn’t reappear, and once breakfast is over, I go to look for him, feeling uneasy.
The drawing room with its huge fireplace, where we welcome guests, is as deserted as our private sitting room.
I finally find my brother in the conservatory next to Mum’s office and our small library.
He’s curled up on the sofa under the ólafsdóttir that Mum bought at auction a while back, with his elbows on his knees.
He’s holding the phone to his ear with one hand and he’s wiping his face with the other.
‘No, I gave Henry the key,’ I hear him say. I stop in the doorway. ‘He knows about it. No, he won’t say anything, you can trust him. You can just ask him for the key and sleep in my room. Kit, please. It’s January. Listen, I’m serious. I’m worried about you. Or shall I send our driver over?’
Will goes quiet. When he speaks again, he’s keeping his voice down. ‘Stop it. I love you, OK? We’ll work something out, Boo.’
This conversation is clearly not meant for my ears. As I move away, one of the old floorboards creaks. Will’s eyes shoot up, but he relaxes a bit when he sees me.
‘Sorry,’ I whisper, but he just gestures for me to wait.
‘Call me when it’s sorted,’ he says. ‘Yeah, really, now. Bye. Love you too.’
The silence is unbearably loud as Will lowers the hand that was holding the phone.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to listen in.’
‘No, it’s OK.’
‘Kit?’ I ask, unnecessarily. Will nods. ‘What’s happened?’
He gives a long, quiet sigh. I come closer and sit beside him.
‘Will . . .’
‘His dad,’ he says, not looking at me. And I understand. The other day, Kit showed up to school after the last rugby match of the season with a black eye. When he’s not even on the rugby team.
‘Shit,’ I say quietly.
‘Yeah.’ He gulps. ‘It is.’
‘What did his dad do?’
‘It’s always the same. Things get tense, they argue, and every time he drinks, it escalates.
’ Will’s hands are clenched into fists but he doesn’t move.
‘Then, when he’s sober again, he’s really sorry, apologizes a thousand times, but it doesn’t last. Kit’s trying to spend as little time at home as possible. ’
‘Where was he last night?’ I ask.
‘He slept in the old greenhouse.’ Will laughs mirthlessly. ‘It must have been freezing. Shit . . . It’s so stupid – why didn’t he tell me?’
‘He probably didn’t want you to worry.’
‘Yeah, that’d be like him.’
‘So Henry’s got the key to your room for him?’ I guess.
Will nods. ‘I had a kind of feeling it would be a good idea for Kit to have somewhere to go in an emergency. Henry was chatting to him the other day, asked if he was OK, and he told him then.’
‘But they didn’t go to Mrs Sinclair?’ I blurt. Will shrugs. ‘Why not?’
‘Kit didn’t want to. I dunno . . . What could she do anyway?’
‘Call the police?’ I wish I could just snatch Will’s phone and call them myself.
‘No, Tori. It’s his decision. I’ll talk to him again as soon as I get back. Maybe by then he’ll be ready to speak to Mrs Sinclair.’
‘Want to head back early?’ I ask. ‘I could tell Mum and Dad I’ve forgotten an important bit of homework.’
‘Tori, that’s . . .’
‘No, seriously.’
‘I know, but there’s no need.’ He looks at me. ‘Or do you want to go back today?’
My throat tightens a wee bit as I feel Will’s eyes rest heavily on me.
I don’t want to because it’s nice to spend time at home. But at the same time, it’s way easier to ignore certain things there than here.
‘D’you think it was just a slip-up?’ I ask quietly, instead of answering Will’s question. I don’t have to be more specific. He knows what I mean.
‘Stop. I can’t think about it.’ Will buries his face in his hands. When he lifts his head again, he asks quietly, ‘She came in to you last night, didn’t she?’
I nod. ‘But not to you?’
‘No, but I heard your voices.’
‘It was someone’s birthday,’ I say slowly. Will doesn’t nod.
‘Last week at the Wards’ . . .’ he begins, and I shut my eyes.
‘Yes,’ I say, blinking. ‘But at least she doesn’t get like Kit’s dad when she drinks.’
‘That’s true.’
For a moment, there’s silence between us.
‘Did Dad say anything?’ he asks. ‘Is she back in therapy?’
‘No. I mean . . . I don’t know.’
‘OK.’ Will glances at me, then he puts his arms around me and hugs me. ‘Growing up is realizing that your parents are just human beings with problems, I reckon.’
‘Growing up is shit,’ I whisper.
‘Yeah, definitely.’
I rest my head on Will’s shoulder.
‘Let’s go back this afternoon, OK?’ he suggests. ‘I’ll talk to Mum and Dad and tell them about Kit.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Then they hopefully won’t be so disappointed.’
‘You’re right.’
‘Of course I’m right.’
I shut my eyes. There’s only just over a year between us, but sometimes it feels like Will’s older than me. But maybe that’s just the Libra in him, always keeping him so sensible and balanced.
‘And in other news?’ he asks, after a while.
Oh, great. He wants to talk about Sinclair.
‘What do you mean, other news?’
‘Is it true that Charlie’s going to play Romeo?’
‘Yes.’ I try to pull away a little, but Will holds me close. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well, you know, I think I’d be jealous if it were Kit who’d got one of the lead roles with somebody else.’
‘Yeah, but you and Kit are endgame.’
‘You and Charlie could totally be too.’
‘Don’t keep calling him that.’
‘Why not? It’s his name.’
‘It feels wrong . . . He’s Sinclair, not Charlie.’
‘I saw this TikTok the other day about two best friends who fall in love,’ Will goes on. ‘It made me think about you two. Hold on, I’ll send it to you.’
I pull away from him. ‘Will, please.’
‘You just have to tell me once that you genuinely want Valentine and not Charlie and I won’t say another word about it.’
When I don’t answer, Will raises an eyebrow. ‘Thought as much.’
‘You’ve got no idea how complicated it is. Sinclair’s into Eleanor.’
‘Everyone’s kind of into Eleanor.’
‘Very funny.’
‘No, seriously. She’s class. But Charlie doesn’t look at her the way he looks at you.’
‘We’re best friends.’ I’m so sick of those words.
Because, if I’m truly honest with myself, Will’s right.
And my brother’s the only person I feel I can be completely open with about this stuff.
So I close my eyes and just say it. ‘If I take the first step and he doesn’t feel the same way, things will be awkward between us for ever. ’
‘So would you say it’s not awkward between you just now?’
I hate my brother. I really do hate him.
He smiles knowingly. ‘Come on, Tori. Be brave. You don’t have to wait for him to take the initiative.’
I wrap my arms around my knees and sink my head onto them. ‘But I’m scared.’
‘What of?’
Same game as just now. Shut your eyes. Tell the truth.
‘Of being rejected.’
‘Which is a perfectly understandable fear.’
‘Fantastic, thanks, Will.’
‘But fear is good. Fear means that you care. And that means you’re in love with Charles Sinclair.’
‘But he’s not in love with me.’
‘You can’t know that if you don’t ask him.’
‘No way am I asking him. You don’t understand, I’d make a right eejit of myself. I’m meant to be joining the theatre group too, to help write this play. Fab, huh?’
‘Really?’ Will raises his eyebrows. ‘Cool, Tori.’
‘Yeah, so cool.’
‘You can’t change Juliet kissing the poison off his lips, I guess, but you’ll have a say in how it happens, if you see what I mean.’ Will leaves a significant pause. Typical Gemini ascendant . . . They don’t usually come across strongly, but when they do, it’s in this downright manipulative way.
‘Are you encouraging me to be a bad feminist?’
‘No, of course not. But this play is pretty problematic anyway, isn’t it?
I mean, with all due respect to Shakespeare, it really is time for a bit less toxic masculinity.
If you work on the script, I’m seriously hoping it can be modern yet romantic at the same time.
And I bet our good friend Charlie would notice that too. ’
As if Sinclair would ever notice anything . . .
But, OK, what my brother’s saying is indeed a possibility I hadn’t considered before.
If I was in the scriptwriting club, I’d be right there at the source.
Maybe I wouldn’t have such a feeling of watching powerlessly as Eleanor and Sinclair get it together.
Hey, I could help them along . . . Great.
But anything feels better than sitting around uselessly in my room while they’re rehearsing behind closed doors so that all I can do is guess at what’s happening on the stage.
‘So, if you were me, would you do it?’ I ask slowly.
‘Tori, I can’t tell you what to do or it’ll be all my fault if it goes wrong.’
‘Yeah, what else are brothers for?’
Will laughs quietly.
I put my head back and stare up at the fancy wrought-iron ceiling.
Everything within me balks at the idea of having to write the love story for which Eleanor and Sinclair will be cheered by the entire school in a few months’ time.
But here’s the thing: they’ll be cheered either way.
It’s my bloody job to make sure that at least the play isn’t sending out too many problematic messages.
And if that means I get a wee bit of control back over this whole thing, it’s no more than a pleasant side effect.
Will looks at me in silence.
I shut my eyes.
‘I hate that you’re always right.’
RED FLAGS
Relationships Edition
The ones you ignore because you’re so, so in love:
· Out of nowhere, they’re bored by you.
· They focus on your mistakes and not their own.
· They expect you to be able to read their mind.
· They get pissed off when you can’t.
· They continually comment on your appearance.
· They blame you for the emotions that they stirred up in you.
· They judge you or laugh at you, your hobbies or your interests.
· They don’t apologize when they’ve made a mistake.
· You’re scared that every argument could mean the end.