19. Robbie
ROBBIE
I pull up to a curb on a tree-lined street, the houses all immaculate and fucking massive.
Not as big as Cassie’s oceanfront mansion, but bigger than the London house I used to live in with my Academy host family by a mile.
I turn off the ignition and let silence fall in the Range Rover.
It still has the new car smell from the company that housed it for me.
Evergreen and fresh and nothing like how I left it.
Driving it for just ten minutes was like doing a test drive, vaguely familiar but still alien enough to feel like I’d put my shoes on the wrong feet.
The time on the dash shows I’m already late, but Pip did say I could show up at any time when she sent me the address.
Taking a deep breath and grabbing the bottle of wine off the passenger seat, I climb out of the car and cross to the door.
Vague barbecue-esque noises emanate from the backyard, so I’m pretty sure I’ve got the right place.
I knock on the door and it swings open to show Anya standing on the doorstep with a growing smile.
“Robbie,” she says, letting the door swing open wider. “I heard you might be on your way.”
“Yeah, uh...” I take my sunglasses off and fold them in my palm. “Pip said it was okay if I came a little late.”
“Of course it’s okay!” Anya reassures me. “We’re still waiting on a couple more people anyway. Come in, come in.”
“This is for you.” I hand her the wine. “Thanks for having me.”
“Well, you’re welcome any time if you bring me French wine.”
“I’ll remember that.”
She turns away from the door and I follow her down a corridor, framed photos lining each wall. The kitchen is, frankly, huge, and giant patio doors are open to the garden where at least two dozen people stand drinking wine.
“I’d take you on a tour, but we’ve all been debating if you were going to show up or not so we might as well say hi to everyone first. Beer?”
“Please.”
I scan the crowd for Cassie, spotting her fiery hair near the end of the garden.
Her sunglasses are perched on her nose and her hair is in a loose bun that shows off the elegant line of her neck.
She laughs at the couple she’s speaking to and I strain as if I can hear whatever she’s saying.
I realize I’ve been staring at Cassie for a second too long when I sense Anya gazing up at me from my side, condensation dripping off the beer bottle in her hand.
“This is a great party.” I yank my sunglasses back on my head. Maybe she’ll just think I was blinded by the sun.
“Thank you.” She hands me my drink. “We’ve been out of the country for so long we wanted to do a kind of welcome-home-slash-anniversary-slash-excuse-to-use-the-Big-Green-Egg-party and viola. I’m just glad everyone could make it. Let me introduce you to some people.”
I follow Anya around as she introduces me to her friends, an eclectic group that consists of celebrities, artists, musicians, film crew and a pub landlord named Steve who sucks me into a long conversation about the 1966 World Cup, before she ditches me for a vaguely familiar couple and their baby walking through the door.
I keep the corner of my eye on Cassie as she crosses the garden. She must know everyone here as she stops to talk to everyone in her path. Is she coming in this direction?
Pip approaches for the first time, a serious expression I’m not used to seeing on her face as she slides her phone in her pocket. “Robbie, hey.” She plasters on a sunny smile, any lingering solemnity gone in an instant. “Did you get your car okay?”
“Yeah, all good.” I want to ask her if she’s okay, but don’t think I know her well enough for the answer. “Took a second to remember how to drive on this side of the road, if I’m being totally honest.”
Pip laughs. “See this is why I don’t drive. Not worth the fuss.”
Cassie is now over by the barbecue with two men.
I assume one of them is taken considering the sleeping baby cradled in his arms, but the one manning the barbecue…
why do I recognize him? He laughs at something Cassie says and a spike of heat burns behind my ribs.
Of course he’s laughing. Cassie is funny as hell.
“Not you too,” Pip groans, reminding me she’s been talking to me for the last few minutes while I imagine this guy’s hand slipping on to the hot grill. The fantasy is actually pretty realistic because he’s clearly struggling.
“Huh?”
Pip places her hands on her hips. “That’s my brother. He and Cassie are not currently and have never hooked up. Honestly, it’s an internet thing that grew too many legs and now everyone makes it a thing. There isn’t a thing. Got it?”
“Noted.” Her firm reassurance is actually quite comforting and I let the heat in my chest abate with a swig of my beer.
“Cute that you’re jealous though.”
I splutter around my drink.
“Relax.” Pip pats my back helpfully. “I won’t tell.”
“There’s”— I cough—“That’s not—”
Pip peers at me from behind her sunglasses. “Okay, sure.”
I finally catch my breath, wiping the tears leaking from my eyes.
“If it means anything at all…” Pip waves her hand. “I’m here for it.”
I can’t catch my breath.
“For?”
“You know.” She tilts her head towards Cassie, gesturing between where we stand and the end of the garden. “But if you hurt my best friend, I’m going for your good leg.”
Jesus. Before I can open my mouth to reassure Pip that I am not jealous over her best friend, nor do I have any intention to hurt her, said best friend starts walking this way.
Like in slow motion, she tugs her hair free from its bindings and her red curls bounce with each sway of her denim-clad hips as she saunters towards us.
“Hey,” Cassie says in her sultry low voice.
For the first time, the sun bathes down on us from just the right angle that I can see the flecks of brown in her eyes.
What I thought was just forest green is suddenly a kaleidoscope of color and I could lose myself for hours picking out the shades.
Did she say something? Fuck, she so did.
“Hey,” I stumble out. For god’s sake, pull yourself together man! Hey? What a way to kill a conversation. Say something else. Compliment her outfit. Anything. “So about that autograph…”
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Cassie flinches just barely and Pip raises her eyebrows as she stares at me.
“Right.” Cassie clears her throat. “The autograph.” She hands her drink off to Pip, a wordless conversation crossing between them. “Follow me.”
Awkwardness climbs in my throat and I want to snatch back the words. I couldn’t give less of a fuck about a damn autograph (Sorry Ffion), I only came because I can’t stay away.
I follow her through a back door and down into a converted basement, thick carpet underneath our feet and framed records hanging on each wall.
Cassie walks a few steps ahead of me, and I want to catch her wrist and stop her before she runs too far away.
But I can’t. I really am only here for an autograph, right?
I shove my hands in my pockets and follow her down the corridor.
Cassie finally pulls to a stop outside a small cupboard. She doesn’t look at me as she yanks it open and pulls out a cardboard box. She sets it down on a nearby countertop with a slap, but carefully pulls out a CD I recognize as her latest album.
“What’s your niece's name?” she asks softly, uncapping the lid of a Sharpie.
“Ffion.” Even if this is the most awkward five minutes of my life, at least my niece will get something out of it. “I have a nephew too, Sammy. He’s five, but he’s not exactly a fan.”
Cassie raises her eyebrows.
“Not that he doesn’t like your music, of course.” My cheeks heat and I want to die. “He’s just not really into uh, music. Yet.”
“Right.” She hunches over slightly as she signs the CD, leaving a message that’s almost too long for the tiny plastic cover. Before I can take a peak, she slides it inside a small paper bag and holds it out to me. “Here.”
“Thanks.” I take the bag, our fingers lightly brushing on the handle. I almost expect her to leave, run out of here because I lodged my foot so thoroughly inside my own mouth I can still taste the rubber insole. Instead, she turns and leans her back against the counter.
“Are you going now?”
I shift in place, the gift bag hanging loosely at my side. “Is this a trick question?”
She scoffs before running her hand through her hair. “No, no it’s not, I just—”
Her phone vibrates in her pocket and she pulls it free with a frown.
I’m expecting her to walk away into one of the small rooms off shooting the basement or shoot me a pointed glance to get the fuck out, but instead she spares me a quick glance before angling slightly away from me.
I don’t really want to walk out of this basement.
I want to hear what she was going to say. Does she want me to hang around?
I pretend to be engrossed with Ffion’s gift bag, inspecting it carefully without disturbing any of the contents, but I can’t help but overhear the hushed conversation.
“Hi. What do you mean? Tonight? Wha— No, I— Where? But wait, I didn’t know about this, I haven’t got any of my— wait wait, Dad.” My ears perk up. Her dad? “How long was this planned? Why didn’t you say anything? I haven’t had time to rehears—”
From the side, I can see her chest rise and fall, each breath more rapid than the last. I fold my arms across my chest, trying to see if I can decipher the fragmented conversation. Cassie glances up at me with an expression of such hopelessness, I can’t help but intervene.
“Hang up,” I mouth.
She furrows her brow, still listening to her father on the other end.
“I—” I can hear the tinny sound of a lecture coming through the speaker, and I dare to step closer, gently cupping her elbow. She gazes up at me again, a red flush on her cheeks and her chest still heaving.
“Hang up,” I repeat, accompanying it with an encouraging nod.
“I gotta go.” She hangs up quickly before dropping the phone on the counter and letting her head hang. I’m so close that her curls brush my chest, and I want nothing more than to gather them in my hands and guide her head back up.
“Your dad?” I ask quietly as she covers her eyes with her hands.
“Yeah,” she replies. “He’s organized a private concert tonight.”
I blink. “A what?”
“Yeah, he’s been planning it for weeks apparently, but he only just told me now. It starts in two hours.”
What the fuck? “And you didn’t know?”
She finally lifts her head, taking a step back and sweeping her hair into her hands and holding it at the base of her neck, just like she did on the plane.
“He knows I’ve come for this party. I don’t understand why he wouldn’t just tell me.
I haven’t had time to rehearse and I don’t have the right guitar with me.
” She groans. “Oh God, they’re probably going to want to hear something new and I don’t have anything new. ”
“Hold up, trouble. Take a breath. Is this something that you want to do?”
She starts shaking her head, but then she shrugs helplessly. “I have to.”
I clench my jaw. Over the last few months I’ve known Cassie, she doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do…
unless her parents are involved. I’ve watched her bend over backwards to attend every home game, fly across the country to meet her mother and plan parties without a single complaint.
It’s like she’s so used to asking ‘How high?’ when they say ‘Jump’ that she doesn’t realize there’s nothing stopping her from saying no.
“Why do you have to?”
“There are people expecting—”
“Cassie,” I interrupt firmly. “With all due respect, fuck those people.”
Her eyes widen.
“If they didn’t even have the decency to ask you with more than a couple hours notice, they don’t get to expect you anywhere. This is just their poor planning. Not your problem.”
She barks a startled laugh and brushes her hair further back with her hands. “But—”
A notification chimes on her phone, and Cassie eyes it like a bomb about to detonate.
“Cass.”
She snatches the phone and takes a breath, but whatever it is causes her to let out a hysterical giggle.
“Oh my fucking god.”
“What is it?”
She hands me the phone.
MOM
Heard you’re in London. Claudia and her assistant will meet you in Soho House to talk about the line. Driver is on the way to pick you up.
“What’s a line?”
Cassie groans into her hands. “My mom is starting this line of homeware products.”
“What’s that got to do with you?”
She peeks at me between her fingers. “What do you mean?”
“It’s your mum’s line, right?” I glance back at her phone. “So why are you meeting Claudia in Soho House?”
“Because it’s my brand, apparently. I don’t even know anything about homeware.
I hired an interior designer and just said yes to everything she suggested.
” She’s almost hysterical now, her hands pulling at the hair from her root.
Cassie glances up at me, and I would do anything in the world to wipe away the overwhelmed tears gathering in her eyes.
“Okay.” I cross my arms so I don’t do something stupid like reach out and cradle her face in my hands. “Fuck this.”
She laughs.
“I’m being serious. You’re on holiday, right?”
She keeps a firm grasp on her hair as she looks at the floor, like it’s the only thing keeping her head up. Since the second the plane took off she’s been pulling her hair up and then letting it fall back down, like having something to do with her hands will keep her held together.
“Look at me, trouble.” I gently cup her elbows, even though all I want to do is untangle her fingers from her hair.
Finally, she releases her death grip.
“They’re both back in the States, right?”
She nods warily.
“Then they can both stay there and mind their own bloody business.”
She bites her lip. I slide my hands down her forearms, until her delicate wrists are resting in my palms.
“I don’t know.”
“Come home with me.” The words are out of my mouth before I can decide if it’s a tremendous mistake or not.
“What?” Her eyes widen.
I swallow. “Come with me. Turn your phone off. Spend a few days at a beach no one will expect you to be on. Let your parents fix their own cock-ups.”
The offer hangs in the air between us. It’s a ridiculous offer, but it’s the only one I have right now. I want to bundle her away from the pressure her parents are piling on her, as if she hasn’t got the expectation of the world hanging off her shoulders already.
I’m holding her hands now, her rings grazing against my skin as I brush my fingertips against hers, and I never want to let her go.
“Okay.”