CHAPTER 19
SHERIDAN
When I collect Hector from my parents on Sunday, I’m dressed up for the occasion.
“Happy birthday, Dad,” I say, giving him a kiss on the cheek where he greets me in the front hall.
Oh, yeah. That occasion, too.
Mum and Dad live in a five-bed, three bath detached red brick just a stone”s throw from Walsgrave hospital, and only a five minute drive from my village. I’m never sure why they haven’t sold up and moved to something smaller since none of us kids live there anymore, and it is a monstrous-size property for just two people.
“We’re not ready to let it go yet,” I remember Mum saying once. “All our best memories are here.”
Sure. I reckon they’ve buried a dead body in the garden and are scared someone will find it. Mum definitely has a murderous streak in her. That, or it’s worth a fortune now and they’re planning a massive fucking holiday. Or a caravan, apparently.
As with any family birthdays now, we don’t do anything extravagant, we just have a big family dinner. Our week away this summer was just an exception—some of us (me) were bullied into it.
“Thank you, Shez.” Dad wraps an arm around my waist and gives me a squeeze.
Beau is already here, smugly parading around the house after another win for the Rangers yesterday. The club now remain undefeated since starting the season back in the summer, and yesterday was all thanks to Beau’s hattrick. The media don’t call him Bionic Beau for nothing.
Brinsley and Andy are also here, lounging on the loveseat in our parents’ front room. Brin is talking animatedly about one of the kids at school while Andy ignores her in favour of something on his phone. I ‘accidentally’ knock into him on my way by them, and his phone tumbles to the floor, like Alice when she fell down the rabbit hole, backside up and all.
“Oops,” I bite, moving through the room. I don’t bother looking at him, but I know he’s glaring at me.
By the headcount, we’re only missing Nash, but given Beau’s peacocking and Andy’s sheer presence, it’s going to be a long afternoon.
In the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of wine and drink the whole thing in one go. I don’t drink at home without company, so the alcohol goes straight to my head.
“Oh,” Mum appears, taking stock of the empty room, save for me and a bottle of wine, “been a week, has it?”
“Something like that,” I mumble.
She kisses my temple and helps herself to a glass before topping mine up. “How was London?”
I pull a face. “Same as always. Overcrowded and full of snobs.”
Shirley snorts. “I think that comes with the territory you work in, darling. Speak to Myles about it and I’m sure you’d find him to believe the opposite.”
He’s already told me as much, when we were lying in bed together that night. I hate being reminded of it. I think of those damn birds and want to launch my wine glass at the wall. I know that’s theatrical of me, but it’s infuriating. I managed to avoid the man for five whole years without consequence. I spend a week and one night in bed with him and I can’t seem to think of anything else. It’s absurd.
“Did you get your work done while you were there?” Mum continues, oblivious to my internal crisis.
“Yeah, I’ll have to go back before re-opening, and eventually to visit those houses I drew up plans for.”
“Might be cheaper to buy a place there.”
“Har har,” I deadpan. “How’s the pup?” I ask, desperate for a change of subject.
“Oh, fine.” She waves her hand dismissively. “All he does is sleep and eat. The only time he’s ever a bother is when the postman comes.”
“Post-”
“Oh, yes, postal worker.”
Being the deputy head of a secondary school, Mum is always hot on what is and isn’t acceptable language nowadays—unless we’re talking about that French teacher, in which case anything is fair game. She never needs correcting, and neither does Dad.
“I’m glad he wasn’t a pain.”
“Never. But I do think he’s ready to go home and cuddle his mum tonight.”
I smile at that. If one man loves me, it’s Hector.
The front door opens, and voices emerge—more than one. Nash’s is distinguishable, but the other… For a moment, a yawning chasm of dread opens in me that he’s brought Stavros with him. Then I hear the second voice properly, and I realise it’s much worse than the faux Greek.
“Oh, good, Myles is here,” Dad says quite clearly, as if he wanted the whole damn neighbourhood to hear. “He can’t deny joining my Beach Boys tribute band on my birthday.”
I look on in horror, but I’m not sure if it’s because Myles is here, or because my dad wants him to pretend to be Carl Wilson. Or maybe Dennis. Yeah, he’s definitely a Dennis. No… Beau is Dennis. Myles wouldn’t be caught dead in a cult.
My mother saunters off to welcome our guest and Nash, but I stay right where I am, staring at the marble countertop while swigging back my second glass.
I did not mentally prepare for this and I’m not sure how I’ll cope sitting at a table with him for hours.
Brin appears, thankfully sans her idiot boyfriend, and tops up her own drink. “You not gonna go and say hi?”
“No, I think I’ll wait.” I refill my glass again.
Brinsley frowns. “I don’t know what is going on, but between the cold shoulder Beau just gave him and you avoiding him, we are not being very hospitable towards Myles.”
I shrug and come up with some utter crap. “You know I’m not the one to throw myself into a welcome throng.”
Brinsley scowls and snatches my wrist. “Go and say,” she shoves me out the door and hisses, “hello.”
I stumble my way to a stop in the front room, only looking up when I catch my balance.
Myles is just a metre away talking to my mother, but he instantly turns his gaze on me.
My damn heart picks up at a gallop. Sadist.
He hasn’t changed, save for that trimmed beard we discussed that morning on the couch. His eyes are still like honey, his stature impressive. He’s wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, buttoned all the way to the top but untucked, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I want to say I’m repelled by him—or better yet, just completely ambivalent—but I’m just not. I don’t think I ever will be.
Myles’s gaze travels southwards, perusing me, drinking me. I send a thank you to the me of an hour ago for picking this dress. It falls just above the knees—a cream jumper dress that I’ve paired with woollen tights and black riding boots.
I take an unconscious step closer, and he does the same. Mum, offended by nothing, seamlessly moves her conversation to Nash. I’m also aware that Beau leaves the room.
“Birdie,” is how he chooses to greet me.
Indignation spreads through me, and I see it in his eyes when he realises his error. Through clenched teeth, I say, “Myles.”
“Listen, I–”
“-Excuse me.”
I’m not ready for that conversation, and I’m sure he knows it. I mow past him and head for the stairs. If I’m going to have a breakdown, I’ll at least have it in the privacy of a bathroom, or in the bedroom that was mine as a child. I still want to keep my dignity if my pride is going in the toilet. The bathroom is closer, too.
I lock myself in and pretend to relieve myself for the sake of it. After two glasses of wine, I refuse to break the seal.
When I’m done, I peer out, pleased to find the landing empty. I make my way back down to the party, where everyone is taking their seats around the dining table. I squeeze in between Mum and Brin, only to find that Myles is directly opposite me. I can’t figure out if that’s better or worse than if he were beside me.
Keeping my gaze down, I focus on filling my plate.
There’s an obvious tension in the room, which I know is partially to do with me, but it’s also very obvious that something is going on between Beau and Myles, too. Brin said they hadn’t greeted each other, and Beau left the room when Myles came to talk to me.
Oh, fuck… Does Beau know what happened while we were away?
Andy, either with an inherent ignorance or a primal desire to stir the pot, asks, “How do you know the twins, Myles?”
“I went to uni with Nash.”
“You’re a money man, too?” Andy is a mortgage advisor.
“Er, no. Art History. We roomed together in halls.”
“So…you work in an art gallery?”
All of us around the table turn a bewildered look on him.
“Andy, this is Myles,” Brin tells him. “From the school.”
“Oh, shit!” Andy laughs, but I’m a percentage shy of convinced he knows exactly who Myles is. “I don’t know why I didn’t put that together.”
“You’re so daft.” Brin chuckles, rubbing his arm.
Yes, daft is certainly one word for him, amongst many others. Like prick or massive fucking cunt.
“You’re a mortgage advisor, right?” Myles asks, proving that he actually listens to people when they talk. He just can’t keep their phone numbers.
“I am.” Andy preens.
“And how many mortgages did you give advice to this week?”
I fight back a snort. Dad, on the other hand, barks with his whole damn body.
“You do know that a mortgage advisor doesn’t give actual mortgages advice, right?”
Myles squints and leans forward. “What?”
“I advise people—humans—about mortgages. Not…not…I’m not like a councillor for mortgages.”
“I don’t understand,” Myles says.
“It’s really not that difficult, mate,” Andy snaps.
Beau, who is an eternal defender of Andy, looks positively furious. Nash looks baffled, as if he’s found himself on an alien planet. Mum and Dad, who have only ever said nice things about Andy but remain generally neutral, are watching the whole thing raptly while shoving food into their mouths like they’re enjoying popcorn and a movie at the cinema.
I take a gulp of wine. My face feels flush.
“Well, it’s just that you said you’re a mortgage advisor, yet you don’t advise mortgages. Kind of contradictory, don’t you think?”
“I think we should put this conversation to bed,” Beau grits out, throwing daggers Myles’s way.
“That seems sensible.” Brin sighs. I know she’s upset by the slump of her shoulders, but she’ll never say anything. Sometimes I think Brinsley is of the belief that staying quiet when she’s upset makes her stronger. I also worry that one day it’ll break her.
Nash changes the subject to football, which seems like neutral territory for everyone.
I never go to the games because stadium crowds overwhelm me, and thanks to the FA broadcasting rules, league games aren’t shown on the telly for three o’clock matches on Saturdays, which is usually when The Rangers play, so I listen on the radio when I can.
We talk while we eat, keeping the conversation neutral. Slowly, after cake and the Happy Birthday song, everyone starts splitting off. I’m five glasses deep at this point and starting to feel hazy. I’ve been talking to Mum and Brin about Christmas plans—apparently Andy wants to go to his parents’ house this year and Brin isn’t keen on the idea—and I’ve noticed that my ability to string a sentence together has become lax.
I politely excuse myself to get a glass of water.
Myles is in the kitchen by himself, reading something on his phone while picking at leftover bits of salad.
I’m suitably drunk so as not to worry about avoiding him, so I march straight to the sink and fill up a clean mug on the drainer with tap water. When I turn around, Myles is watching me expectantly.
“Did you enjoy that?” I ask.
I swear I see fear pass through his green-gold gaze. “Enjoy what?”
“Pissing off John?”
“Who’s John?”
“Brin’s boyfriend.”
Myles frowns. “I thought his name was Andy?”
“His full name is John Andrews. Only his mortgage advisor friends get to call him John.”
“He’s a knobhead.”
“I know,” I tell him.
“And I think your sister could do better,” He admits.
I glance towards the door because she’s only in the next room. I dread to think what might happen if she heard us. Long tether she may have, but Brinsley Bennett’s wrath is not one to get tangled up in.
“Is that you volunteering?” I’m loose-lipped now I’ve had enough to drink.
“What? No.” Myles looks horrified, and I don’t know whether to be comforted for myself or offended for Brinsley.
I stare at him for a moment—that sculpted face and capable body. I mourn the fact that I haven’t seen it for two months, and yet that also hardens my resolve. “Why didn’t you text me, Myles?”
He pinches his eyes closed. “It’s dumb. I put my jeans in the wash before I took the paper out.”
“That’s not an excuse. You know my entire family.”
“I can’t ask your brothers. I’m already having a hard time with Beau, and Nash would probably be ten times worse if he found out. And I wasn’t sure how you felt about…telling people. I knew you hadn’t told your sister and she’s not always subtle. If I asked her for your number, it would bring a line of questioning your way that you’re not comfortable with. Same goes for Shirley. I don’t want to put you in that position, no matter how much I like you.”
Well. I wasn’t expecting that.
Still, I can’t help being petty while under the influence. “You should’ve put it straight in your phone as soon as you were in the car if you like me so much.”
“I know.” He’s very agreeable, and it’s grating on me. “But I was annoyed with Beau and just wanted to get home.”
“I know he’s a selfish pain in the ass sometimes, but you can’t blame Beau for all your problems, Myles.” I finish my water and leave the glass in the sink. “Suck it up, big boy.”
When I turn around, he snatches my arm, a pen produced out of nowhere. “Here,” he rolls the sleeve of my jumper up and writes his phone number on it between the ivy, “at least you have mine.”
I gawk at him, at his unbridled boldness. “And you expect me to do something with it?”
“You can do nothing with it. You can make me wait another month, or a whole year. It won’t change anything.”
Butterflies take flight in my stomach, and I have to remember how to breathe. “You’d wait that long?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed if you came around quicker. But at least I know you have it.”
“What if I just scrub it off?” I’m just being difficult now, but I want to know how serious he is.
He smiles, and it’s genuine and sweet and beautiful. “I’ll hold it in good faith that you won’t.