Chapter 2
Lydia
The news that Graham’s been suspended spread around Maxton Hall like wildfire. It was unbearable to stand outside school, waiting for Percy to finally arrive and pick me up, especially as I couldn’t get hold of either James or Ruby, and definitely not Graham.
When I finally get home, I go straight up to my room and try yet again to get through to him. This time, he picks up and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Graham?”
“Yes.” His voice is flat.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurt as I pace up and down my room. My entire body is flooded with adrenaline, and my heart is pounding rapidly and heavily against my rib cage. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want this to happen.”
I hear Graham take a sharp breath in. “It’s not your fault, Lydia.”
But it is though. It’s my fault that Graham and Ruby have been kicked out. “I’m going to go to see Mr. Lexington this afternoon and I’ll explain everything. It’s all going to be OK, trust me. I’ll take all the blame and—”
“Lydia,” he interrupts me gently.
“Ruby was suspended too. And she totally doesn’t deserve that. I can’t let her be punished for something she didn’t even do.”
“Lydia, I—” Before he can finish his sentence, the phone is ripped out of my hand. I give a little squeal of shock and whirl around.
Dad is facing me, looking at me with cold eyes. He looks down at the lit-up screen, then lifts a finger and breaks off the call.
“Hey! What the—”
“You are never to speak to that teacher again,” my father cuts me off, his voice like ice. “Do you understand me?”
I open my mouth, but the chill in Dad’s voice and the angry look in his eyes prevent me from saying a single word.
He knows.
Dad knows about Graham and me.
Oh, God.
“Dad…” I whisper in desperation.
At that, he twists his face into an almost-pained grimace. “If your mother were still alive, she’d be ashamed of you.”
He says that so calmly that it takes a second for the full meaning of the words to get through to me. They’re like a slap in the face, and I flinch back from him and his rage. “Let me explain, Dad. It really isn’t what you think. Graham and I already knew each other before we—”
Suddenly, my father raises his arm and hurls the phone violently against the wall. It shatters, and the shards of black glass and pieces of plastic are strewn across the floor. I stare at him in disbelief.
“I’m telling you one last time. You are never to speak to that man again. Do you understand me?” His voice is now trembling with rage.
“I’m trying to explain that it’s not—”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Lydia,” he growls.
I hate it when he’s like this. That he won’t listen to me even though he knows I have something to say.
“I didn’t do everything in my power to protect your reputation just for you to make yet another thoughtless choice. This ends now, got that?”
It feels like someone’s thrown icy cold water in my face. I need a moment to get my voice back. “What do you mean ‘protect my reputation’?”
The expression on Dad’s face hardens. “I made sure that this family’s name won’t be dragged through the mud again. You should be grateful, not look at me like that.”
My throat is constricted. “It was you?” I croak. “You gave the photos to Mr. Lexington?”
Dad’s cold eyes are fixed on my face. “Yes.”
I feel as though I can’t take in enough air. Nausea rises within me, and the room starts spinning. I reach out a hand to the chair in front of me, for something to lean on.
My own father is to blame for Graham losing his job and James’s girlfriend being suspended.
“Why did you do it?” I whisper.
The need to explain my situation to him has crumbled to dust. All there’s room for inside me now is disbelief—and incredible fury, which is racing through my veins, gaining speed with every second.
“Because your reckless behavior could destroy this family. Do you really not give a damn what you’re putting at risk?”
“Family? You don’t give a flying fuck about this family!
” I snarl, clenching my fists. My arms are trembling, and I feel like I could burst. “All you care about is money. You don’t give a fuck how James and I are doing since Mum died.
And now you’re standing there, expecting me to be happy that you got my boyfriend fired from his job? ”
Dad’s nostrils flare briefly at the word “boyfriend,” but that’s the only reaction his face gives away.
“I’d do more than that to save the good name of this family.”
His calm voice is really winding me up. My breath is racing faster and faster, and I’m digging my fingernails so hard into my palms that I’m sure it’s about to draw blood.
“You should be grateful to me, Lydia,” he adds.
My rage boils over. I can’t hold the words back now; they flood out of me uncontrollably. “You might have got him kicked out of the school, but you can’t wipe him out of my life!” I scream at the top of my voice.
“You’ll see what I can do.” Dad turns away and is about to leave the room.
But I’m not finished.
“No, you can’t. Because I’m pregnant.”
He stops dead. In slow motion, he turns on his heel to face me. “What?”
I jut out my chin defiantly. “I’m pregnant. By Graham.”
It’s strange to watch his reaction. For a moment he just looks at me and blinks several times in a row—like the guy in the GIF. Then his shoulders start to shake like he’s finding it hard to breathe evenly, and red dots form on his cheeks, his forehead, and his throat.
I’d thought I knew every variant of Dad’s anger. James and I learned young to read the smallest twitch of his face or his body language, and to make a break for it in time.
But I’ve never seen him the way he is now.
His eyes rest on me for a second, then another, and I take a slow step back because I can’t tell what’s going to happen. But to my surprise, Dad walks away and leaves my room without another word.
He slams the door so violently that I can’t help jumping. I press a hand to my ribs and take a deep breath. My pulse is racing. I can feel my heart hammering under my hand.
Less than ten seconds later, the door suddenly opens again—with such a flourish that the handle flies into the wall and must surely have left a dent. My father comes back into the room and looms over me.
“Does he know?” he asks, so quietly that I can hardly hear him.
The question takes me by complete surprise, and it takes me several seconds before I’m able to shake my head. “No, I—”
“Good,” Dad interrupts. Without deigning to look at me again, he strides across my room. He pulls open the door to my wardrobe and walks in. I hear a loud crash.
I hurry over and stare at my dad, who has clearly just pulled one of my big suitcases down from the top shelf.
He’s now reaching for a travel bag, which he flings loudly to the floor beside it.
He kicks the case open and starts pulling clothes at random off the shelves and hangers and throwing them in.
“What are you doing?”
Dad doesn’t react. It’s as if he’s delirious as he snatches T-shirts, blouses, trousers, underwear, bags, and shoes.
His hair is flying up with all his sudden movements, and the blotches on his face and neck are darkening.
He doesn’t stop even when the case is full, and more things land in a messy heap on top of the bag and the floor beside it.
“Dad, what are you doing?” I scream, taking a step forward to make him stop. I reach for his arm, but he snatches it away. The force of his movement sends me stumbling back, and I only just manage to catch hold of the doorframe with one hand.
At that moment, James bursts into the room.
“What’s going on in here?” he asks. He looks me over from head to toe, his eyes concerned as he checks that everything is OK. Then he sees Dad in my wardrobe and his eyes widen.
“What are you doing, Dad?” he asks.
Dad whirls around and points at James.
“You knew about this?” he demands.
James frowns. “About what?”
“What am I even asking? Of course he knew,” Dad mutters to himself. For a moment, he stares at the chaos he’s wreaked around himself, then he bends down and starts stuffing the clothes that landed next to the case into the travel bag.
“Why are you packing my things, Dad?” I ask hoarsely.
“You’re moving out.”
A wave of nausea rolls over me. “What?” I gasp.
James puts a hand on my back, as if to show me that he’s with me.
“We’ve had enough headlines to deal with for one year. I’m not letting you damage my company just because you’re stupid enough to get knocked up by a teacher!” Dad roars those last words at me.
I sidle closer to James, and his hand clenches against my back. I can feel the effort it’s costing him to hold back now.
His voice is deliberately calm as he tries to reason with our father. “You can’t just pretend that nothing has happened.”
Dad pulls on the zip. There’s a scrap of fabric caught in it and then a nasty ripping sound. I flinch.
“Of course I can,” he snaps, pulling the bag closed. Then he turns to the suitcase. He jams a knee on the top as he pulls at the zip. “You’re going to your aunt’s. Right now. Nobody is to hear about your…condition.”
I gasp for breath. “W-what?”
“You can’t do that,” says James.
Dad stops and looks at us. It’s a grotesque image as he kneels there on my silver suitcase, breathing hard, with messed-up hair and a sweat-stained shirt.
“I seem to be the only person in this house still in his right mind. Do you really think that I’ll permit you to keep on representing our family, like”—he gestures at my belly—“like this? Do you have any idea how it makes us look? Makes Beauforts look?”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” James’s voice is shaking. “That’s all you care about?”
“Of course. What else?”
“You should care about your daughter, for fuck’s sake!”
Dad snorts. “Don’t be so na?ve, James.” His cold gaze lands on me. “You should have considered where your priorities lie sooner than this, Lydia. The family can’t afford you being like this.”
The walls of my room are moving in on me. I sway against James and cling to him tight.
“You can’t just send Lydia into exile and act like she doesn’t exist!” James exclaims. I feel his hand shaking on my back.
Dad stands and lifts the case off the ground. His face is bright red as he grabs the handle, snatches up the travel bag, and strides toward us.
James steps into his path.
“Out of my way, James.”
“Even if you do send Lydia away, the news will be out in a month or two at the latest. It won’t change anything. You’ll just have destroyed our family for nothing!”
A second passes. Then Dad drops the bag, raises his hand, and—
I react on instinct.
I throw myself in front of James as Dad swings.
The blow lands on my cheek and ear, so hard that my body is swung around and black dots dance before my eyes.
There’s a ringing in my ears, getting louder and stronger, and suddenly I can’t tell up from down.
I lose my balance and try to grab on to anything to hold me up.
Just as James’s arms catch me, everything blacks out.
I don’t know how much time has passed when I come around. Seconds, or minutes? I think I’m lying on the floor. I can make out the sounds of loud voices, which make my head ache all the worse. The throbbing in my temples is getting harder by the moment. I try to open my eyes.
Someone is kneeling beside me, gently shaking my shoulder. James. He’s saying my name, again and again, and every time he does so, it sounds more desperate.
I blink, and gradually my surroundings take a solid shape again.
I’m lying by the door to my walk-in wardrobe.
James has nestled my head in his lap, and he’s stroking my arms. His eyes are wide, but when he sees that I’m conscious again, he sighs with relief.
Dad is standing beside us, looking down, the suitcase still in one hand.
I might be imagining it, but there’s a split second when I think I see a flicker of relief in his eyes. But only for a second. The next moment, he pulls his phone from his trouser pocket, presses a button, and holds it up to his ear.
He looks me in the eye and says, without a flicker of emotion, “Percy? Would you please come upstairs and carry my daughter’s bags to the car? Lydia is moving out.”
Then he looks away from James and me, steps across the cases, and leaves the room.
It feels as though someone has put their hand around my throat and squeezed. I run my fingers cautiously over the place where he hit me, and I can’t hold the tears back any longer.
“It’ll be OK,” James whispers, holding me tight. “Don’t worry. We’ve got this.”
But, for the first time in our lives, I don’t believe that my brother can protect me from what’s coming.