CHAPTER 5
ROBBIE
My level of sarcasm had reached a point where even I didn’t know if I was joking anymore. My smile was likely a pained mixture of confusion and “Are you serious?”
In one way, I could see why Dave hadn’t given me a heads-up before his girlfriend Mandy had turned up for dinner. Because if he had, I would’ve made up an excuse not to come.
There was only so much of her bullshit I could cope with before wanting to make a run for it.
What made it worse was that my brother was falling for all her guile. Could he not see she was sensationalising her tales of woe just to get a reaction? So much of what she said didn’t add up.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, she was a smoker who tried to mask the stale smell of cigarettes with too much perfume. I felt my stomach lurch as I held my breath, desperately trying not to breathe her in.
As the seconds ticked away, my pulse raced. I needed to get away from her. Not just because she made me feel sick, but because of her calculating gaze — pinging around the sitting room like she was scoping out the place.
Jeez, could my brother pick ’em.
If Dad were here, he’d have had no problem telling Dave that this woman was a harpy, out for what she could get.
I was silently praying Dave wouldn’t ask me what I thought. His people-pleasing personality was his Achilles’ heel. His willingness to do anything just so people would like him made him open game for scammers and piss-takers.
And here was another example.
Yet he was oblivious to it. Which pissed me off even more.
Yeah, I know why he’s doing it — because he feels that if he doesn’t, they won’t want anything to do with him. It’s sad that he sells himself short all the time, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
Standing by, watching him being led on again, is just...excruciating.
But whatever I say just bounces off — like he’s got some kind of force field that deflects any words he doesn’t want to hear.
After dinner, I was standing in the sitting room, wondering if I could sneak out to my car without being seen, when the perfume hit me again.
Fuck me. How did Dave stand to be so close to her — let alone kiss her?
“You know,” she said, waving a manicured hand toward the display cabinet, “I was just telling Dave he should de-clutter some of this stuff.”
Oh, really? De-clutter?
Was that what she was calling the removal of Dad’s collection of car models? The ones that technically were mine now — that Dave wouldn’t let me have?
Not because he wanted them. Just because he wanted to keep everything as it was. The way Dad left it. Like a fixed moment in time, he refused to move forward from.
“Well, those are actually mine, so...”
Her face changed so fast I almost missed it — from smug and flippant to comically aghast. Jeez, was she trying for an Oscar? Because that performance was worthy of a Golden Raspberry.
“I was just thinking out loud, you know,” she said, voice suddenly sweet. “I just think there’d be more space if there were fewer things in the room.”
I didn’t care what this bitch thought about the size of the room or the things in it. And I couldn’t stop the words from slipping out.
“Ah well, then, it’s a good job you don’t live here, isn’t it?”
With that, I turned on my heels and escaped to Dad’s little office, the one place I knew Dave wouldn’t follow me.
Pulling in a lungful of perfume-and-nicotine-free air, I slumped into the desk chair. My mind reeled with mixed feelings: frustration at Dave, disgust at his girlfriend, and the strongest one...
Resentment.
Resentment that it was me dealing with it all.
I wanted my father back. I missed his guidance, his wisdom, his hugs. The way his eyes twinkled with laughter at one of my silly jokes. The way he’d smile and hand me a toasted teacake dripping in butter — knowing how unhealthy I thought it was, but also knowing I loved them that way.
Just as fast as the surge of anger swept over me, it vanished, leaving me to push down the rising tide of emotions threatening to engulf me.
The largest of those? Guilt.
Rationally, I knew he hadn’t chosen to die when he did, dropping Mum and Dave in my lap like hot potatoes.
Four years on, and I was still hurting. Only differently.
Needing a distraction, I started searching the desk drawers for Dad’s mobile. He wasn’t fussed about flashy phones, unlike Dave, who had to have the latest model.
When Dad’s phone stopped working, he started using one of Dave’s older iPhones. I remembered seeing it in the bottom drawer with his iPod.
Digging it out, I spotted something else — a Google phone tucked under some receipts.
Two phones?
Why did he have two?
Maybe one didn’t work. I’d know for sure after powering them up.
That was after spending half an hour searching for the chargers. They took ages to charge — like waiting for a kettle to boil. Having never used either model before, just switching them on was tricky.
But both worked.
I stared at them, puzzled. Then started looking through the apps.
No Grindr or dating apps. Nothing apart from the standard pre-programmed ones.
Same story with the photo folders. Nothing remotely dodgy. No unfamiliar names in the contact list either.
It was strange...disappointing.
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected to find, but I’d expected something.
Instead, I’d found another mystery.
Why did Dad have two phones?
It was time to search his email account. Inbox, sent items, archive. There had to be something I’d overlooked — a random email, a forgotten attachment, maybe even a clue in the body of a message.
I wasn’t ready to move on by myself just yet. And in discovering Dad’s hidden life, it felt like his hand was still guiding me — like I hadn’t lost him completely.
Grabbing the useless phones, I stuffed them back into the drawer and shoved it closed.
Only for it to jam halfway.
Wrestling with it didn’t help. I was going to need to pull out every drawer to find the cause.
After a bit of effort, and more than a few choice words, I found the culprit.
A plain brown envelope that had once been taped to the bottom of the drawer above had fallen down.
A bit like that Martin Scorsese film with DiCaprio, The Departed. Maybe that’s where he got the idea?
Instead of a CD, this envelope had a USB.
Ugh. Dad’s PC. I was losing the will to live waiting for it to spark into life. It was just so slow.
Part of me was desperate to know what was on the flash drive. Another part was dreading it.
What if it wasn’t porn, but something worse?
Although...what could be worse than finding the dildo?
Hmmm. Let me think. How about naked pictures of Dad?
Whoa, don’t go there...
Eyes fixed on the screen; I drifted the mouse cursor down and clicked open the file. The soft click was drowned out by the sound of my own breath catching.
Wow!
Just...wow.
Well, Dad had good taste in men, because the guy filling the screen was stunning. All ‘fuck-me eyes’ and olive skin over lean muscles that my fingers itched to touch.
The irony wasn’t lost on me — that Dad must’ve thought the same thing.
But who was this guy?
And more importantly, how would I find him?
Google. Reverse image search.
His face had to be online somewhere.
I couldn’t stop looking. His eyes and smile were captivating. Like looking into twin pools of melted chocolate and just as dreamy.
On a whim, I snapped a pic and looked it up.
The results came back immediately. One stood out from the surprisingly long list.
Ashton’s website.
I clicked the link without thinking, gaze fixed on the countdown timer before his next livestream.
I felt a surge of excitement and desire as my trembling finger hovered over the watch now button — heart racing, anticipation growing.
All I had to do was hit the link.
A strange warmth spread through me as I felt myself falling under his spell, a potent magic in his eyes. Imploring me.
I didn’t want just to see more.
I needed to.
Nearly as much as I needed my next breath.
Click.