14. Faye
14
FAYE
In the blink of silence, Faye didn’t know where to look. Her eyes bounced from Arthur’s gawp to the not-so-stoic indignation reddening Michèle’s face. Hands on his daughters’ shoulders, Matt grimaced, and Saira was like a split screen of Michèle. There was something Faye missed in the last ten seconds for them all to look so offended.
She didn’t need to turn her head to Bash – a hum of irritation vibrated off of him and set their little portion of the hall a few degrees lower.
“Mortimer?”
Mortimer? … Oh no.
Faye’s heart beat into a canter on Bash’s behalf.
“Well this looks like a party.” Grinning like he’d hit the jackpot, Mortimer waltzed in, uninvited, dropping his wrinkled leather weekend bag on the welcome mat.
Arthur stammered, “It … what are you?—”
“What are you doing here?” Michèle’s accent sharpened the shard of ice in her question.
“It’s Christmas, Shelly.” Mortimer grinned, though mirth wasn’t in his eyes .
That wasn’t an answer, and with the flash of heat crossing Michèle’s eyes and the flare of her nose, she didn’t care for that nickname, either. Bash’s breaths sounded heavier beside Faye while his uncle’s pale eyes roved through the hallway.
“And you’re all here,” Mortimer said.
Uncle Mortimer; Arthur’s older but by no means wiser brother. According to the stories she’d heard from Bash, the balding, liver-spotted man had no verbal filter and didn’t care who he offended, nor seemed to realise he did so. Frequently.
His gaze landed on her last and Faye boldly felt every inch of her insides tighten.
“Ah, who are you, young lady?”
Bash tensed beside her as Uncle Mortimer warbled along the hall, passing Matt and Saira without a word. Faye couldn’t be impolite, no matter the darkly-painted stories she’d heard.
“Faye,” she replied.
“My friend.” No one could ignore the clip in Bash’s voice as his arm brushed hers, though Uncle Mortimer apparently did.
“Hm. I can see why.”
Faye’s stomach curled and she had to grab Bash’s jumper sleeve before he did anything stupid.
“Mortimer—” Arthur bustled along the hall, letting out the most nervous sound of laughter she’d ever heard. “Why don’t you come and have a cuppa’?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Faye didn’t think Mortimer minded much that he did a lot of things.
This arrival didn’t bode well for the atmosphere that shrivelled up as if someone had dropped a dead animal in the centre of the hall and no one knew what to do with it. Maybe Mortimer would simply have a drink, a chat, some food, and then disappear? The hold-all sitting by the front door didn’t exactly fill Faye with hope for that.
Saira touched her arm with an apologetic twist in her lips as she moved past, a sort of ‘outsider’ solidarity, and Matt shared an exasperated look with Bash.
“Faye—” Michèle lowered her voice. “I am sorry. I will make Arthur have words with his brother.”
Faye didn’t doubt there would be words alright. “It’s okay.” She didn’t want to add to the fuss.
“It’s not,” Bash murmured. His hands were pushed so far down into his pockets that anyone would think he was stuck that way.
“So … ” Faye began slowly when the two of them were the last to linger in the hallway. “ That’s Uncle Mortimer.”
“Unfortunately.” Tilting slowly backward, Bash leant against the wall with a gruff, frustrated exhale.
“Did you know he was coming?”
“Nope. Don’t think my parents did either.” His eyes slid along the hall to where the discarded bag still sat on the floor. He didn’t look as though he wanted to pick it up, and Faye couldn’t say she was too keen either.
“He’s invited himself round then?”
“Seems like it.” With another sigh, this time of reluctance, Bash went and picked up his uncle’s belongings and left them at the foot of the stairs instead. “I bet he’ll be hankering to stay as well.”
Absently, Faye followed him, edging closer towards the kitchen where the hum of conversation sounded … tense. “Your mum didn’t look too happy.”
“She won’t be. None of us have quite forgiven Mortimer for how he made such a scene at Matt’s wedding and insulted half of the guests – Maman and Saira especially. Plus, he’s a prick in general.”
Bash sighed for the third time and snapped back to his normal self when he looked at her. As if he’d expelled half of his frustration in that exhale, his eyes cleared. “I’m sorry, are you alright?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Faye’s thoughts only wondered just how Mortimer had made a scene at Matt and Saira’s wedding .
Bash’s stubbly jaw ticked. “I hate the way he looked you up and down like that. I swear he does this shit on purpose.”
Oh … “Thank you.” The lump in her throat caught Faye off guard. “For caring.”
The look in Bash’s eyes darkened the same intensity they’d done the other night when he’d fled through London for her. “Of course I care, Faye.” The gap between their bodies shrank as he reached for her. “You’re my best friend. I know you can stand up for yourself, but if Dad hadn’t have interrupted, I’d have?—”
“Are you two coming?” Arthur appeared in the kitchen doorway.
Bash drew back from the space he’d closed between them with a clear of his throat. “Yeah. Yeah we’re coming.” But Faye still wanted to know what he would’ve done if his father hadn’t stepped in.
There must be something sewn into the fabric of this house to make her lower her inhibitions like she did, because she stood up on her toes and softly kissed Bash’s un-bruised cheek. “Thank you.”
Tension dripped off from his shoulders like a snowman left out in the sun. The drops of ice water rolled down his arms to puddle at his feet. “You’re welcome, Peanut.”
They entered the kitchen side by side, where the air was more charged than a certain device inside Faye’s nightstand at home.
“What did we miss?” Bash asked the room though wasn’t as jovial as he could’ve been. As though he wanted to gloss over the fact Mortimer had arrived at all.
Faye had experienced her fair share of awkward family encounters, but never those of someone else’s family, and now she felt as though she shouldn’t be here to witness it. Like she’d invaded this family’s privacy. She didn’t dare say anything yet.
“Your Uncle Mortimer is going to be staying with us,” Michèle said mildly, a hand gripped around a spoon while she doled out yoghurt into bowls for her granddaughters .
“That’s … great.” Bash begrudged the words like they were marmite on his tongue.
Saira placed two mugs of tea in front of them on the island with an exasperated flare of her dark eyes.
The bar stool Bash pulled out from under the counter scraped along the wooden floor, gesturing for Faye to sit. She slid up onto the seat without protest; the air fizzled with enough tension as it was.
“I thought I would swing by and see you all,” Mortimer said.
“Unannounced?” Bash grumbled so low only Faye might’ve heard him clearly.
She picked up her tea and sipped from it.
“That’s generally how surprises work, lad,” Mortimer retorted. “Are you still prancing around picking paint colours and hanging curtains for those poncy folk, Sébastien?”
The condescension bristled Faye’s stomach, churning the liquid that burned down her throat. She’d been open to giving Mortimer a chance, but ever since he’d first opened his mouth to her she didn’t want to anymore. He had a similar face to Arthur, though rounder with thin purple veins that hinted he liked to drink, and the look of a man who had gone through life with his chin up high and his eyes cast down.
With his feet squarely set apart, Bash stood tense – the teddy bear version of him disappearing.
“When you hit half a million pounds in revenue per quarter … Yes, I’d say so.”
Hidden behind her mug, Faye’s inhale sharpened, and she wasn’t the only one to gasp. Bash wasn’t one to throw around numbers like that – not in front of anyone. Much less to make a point.
Mortimer’s expression cooled. His gaze shifted an inch over Bash’s face. “And you’ve been fighting, I see.”
Pairs of eyes moved back and forth between them like a tennis match. Arthur, bless him, looked like he wanted to back away into one of the cupboards and return next spring. Faye caught Saira’s unimpressed eye as she half watched the girls eating their yoghurts.
It wasn’t fair to wonder, but why did Matt say nothing? Faye thought he would jump to Bash’s defence given how close they were.
The air fizzled around Bash as he took a steadying breath. “It was a tennis accident.”
Mortimer gave a disbelieving - “Hm.”
“I’ll remind you whose house you are in, Mortimer.” Michèle took no prisoners today, but she did so with an easy flowing grace Faye could only ever hope to pull off.
Sneaking a smile behind her mug, she took another sip of her tea.
“I know where I am, Shelly. I’m with my family.”
“Yes.” Bash’s tone was like the edge of a knife. “And if you want to stay, then you can be a little more respectful.”
Faye cheered inside though it faded fast.
Maya coughed and Bash’s eyes dipped to her. Faye’s shifted to Imara too. The pair of them had shrunken in on themselves with this conversation, and Maya especially looked at Mortimer as if she didn’t know who he was while Saira smoothed her hand over her pigtails.
Bash’s warning silenced Mortimer, but not for long. “And what do you do, Faye?”
The question would’ve sounded normal from anybody else, but with Mortimer it made the temperature of Faye’s body dip a degree. If his reaction to Bash’s job was so poor, she kept her expectations low for her own.
“I own a bakery in Covent Garden,” she answered with her head high.
Mortimer’s grey eyes appraised her. “I see.”
A low throaty rumble left Bash that definitely only Faye heard.
“What are we going to do about bedrooms?” Matt cleared his throat and asked, scratching at the back of his neck .
Now he chose to speak?
Bedrooms … Faye hadn’t thought of that yet. The breakdown Bash had given her of their sleeping arrangements meant that every bedroom was already taken. Her brief experience of the sofas in the larger living room looked comfortable, but not fair for someone of Uncle Mortimer’s age to sleep upon.
“The girls could sleep in with us?” Saira uttered to her husband.
“Nonsense.” Interrupting, Michèle waved that idea off. “You cannot have four of you within one bed and have a comfortable night's sleep.”
“I’ll stay with Faye.” Bash’s voice cut through the kitchen like a knife.
He’ll— What did he just say?
Faye swivelled on her stool, wide eyes burning into the side of his face.
Bash caught her look implying what the fuck are you doing and shrugged, one hand already playing with his ear. “It’s not like we haven’t shared a room before.”
It wasn’t, was it? But everyone else didn’t need to know that. Her eyes bursting from their sockets hopefully said as much.
This isn’t happening , Faye said to herself. Bash had not just told his entire family that they’d shared a bed before now, right? She couldn’t check to see her cheeks had grown redder than the claret wine warming on the counter without it being obvious.
The chuffing cough that sounded like it meant to cover a chuckle was most definitely from Matt, and Faye panicked at all of the eyes zeroing in on her waiting for her response.
She gulped. “That’s … fine by me. I don’t mind.” Though her heart raced at the prospect. Sharing a bed with Bash hadn’t been on the revised cards when she’d agreed to let him kidnap her for Christmas.
“Thanks lad,” his uncle said. “Thought you’d be staying in the same room as your girlfriend anyway. ”
“She’s not?—”
“We’re not?—”
Mortimer’s laugh broke, mug of tea raised to his lips. “Right. And I’m Santa Claus.”
“What?” The girls both bolted upright.
Now you’ve done it , Faye thought towards Mortimer, silently fuming.
Chuckling with a glare like death, Saira stood and gathered her daughters. “Uncle Mortimer is just being silly, girls.” She tossed an exasperated look over her shoulder out of Mortimer’s sight. “Why don’t we find some of the board games in the living room?”
The girls both hopped down from their stools without complaint. Faye wanted to jump down from hers too but not whilst Bash still silently breathed fire millimetres away from her.
“Yes!” Arthur flustered around as if to corral everyone. “Why don’t we all go?”
Bash didn’t move except to acknowledge the brush of Matt’s hand to his arm as the herd including Mortimer left the kitchen, so Faye didn’t either.
This day was turning out to be more unexpected than she’d thought, and the time on the clock had only just tipped into evening.
Palms pressed down flat, Bash stared at the swirling grey and white countertop like he was composing himself. That, or attempting to burn a hole right through the marble with his glare. Rarely was he ever angry. If something irritated him, it was with good reason.
Faye gave him a moment, then slipped her hand down his arm to curl her fingers around his wrist. “Bash … ?”
He spoke eventually. “Mortimer’s the only one who’s ever hated my career. I don’t even think it’s about being a creative type, but successful. He took early retirement, not because he could but because the medical board pushed him to instead of landing him in a ton of legal trouble. Too much was going wrong under his care. ”
Still, that didn’t make sense why Mortimer would only single him out in front of their family.
“ Matt’s successful … ” Faye led on.
“Matt’s not trying to be more than Mortimer ever was.”
“And neither are you.” She didn’t stop herself from brushing away the curl of hair that’d fallen into his forehead. “Your uncle should be proud of you, and if he’s jealous of what you’ve made of yourself, then that’s his fault, not yours.”
Bash’s eyes flicked to her across his shoulder and darted away like she’d uncovered some sort of truth he didn’t want to show. “I know. I just wish that he wasn’t … him .”
Faye wrapped both of her hands around his solid arm in a hug and tipped her head against his shoulder, his jumper soft under her cheek, letting Bash compose himself for another minute more.
“Why don’t we go and play these games the girls sound like they’re already breaking?”
The stiffness of Bash’s arm slowly gave way. “I didn’t prepare you for a Phillips-Dumont game night,” he said.
“Is it better or worse than the never-ending Monopoly weekend of third year uni?”
“Worse.”
“Oh dear.” This really was going to be a long game night.
Bash fisted her sleeve in his grip and tugged her along. “No backing out now, Whittaker.”