Chapter 39 Then
Then
James
She’s pretty. It was the first thing I noticed about her when Will and I held her interview, and the thing that’s clearest to me now as I watch her flap at the oil spill of water on her table.
It’s not very progressive to say this about her, but it’s true.
I’m gearing up to do some light admin on a bench across from her.
I don’t mind it. Someone needs to be online today, and I’m not going to ask any of our hires to work.
In theory, Will could also do it, but as he’s explained on his way out, he’s got kids to panic-buy stocking fillers for and a rare catch-up with friends after.
I still remember how Will and I used to sneak downstairs on Christmas Eve after our parents were asleep.
Will would tear the corners off our presents to get glimpses of what was beneath, get me to guess what was coming before it came.
It was the world’s greatest guessing game, even if it did our parents’ heads in.
In truth, I’ve been working my way up to saying hello to Nat for some time now. I caught a glimpse of her as Will and I emerged from our meeting with the bar owner, although she didn’t seem to see me.
Part of my reluctance to say hello is I can’t trust that Will, despite all his promises, won’t try it on with her. He’s already a couple of pints deep. But now that this water fiasco is happening, now that Will is excusing himself, it feels like the right time to say hi.
So I do. And before long, we’re sitting together, drinks flowing.
When she says she didn’t expect to see me here, I want to challenge it—I know she’s able to access my work calendar—but I don’t want to spoil the mood by becoming the interrogating boss.
This light banter is better than going back to the blue glare of my laptop screen.
The conversation is easy, easier than I’m used to.
She’s fun, no showboating, no expectations of me picking up the bill, although I’m the managing director and obviously, I do.
And when I ask about her family, when she skirts around the pain I can see she’s buried in her past, I feel a kinship in our secret keeping and a thrill in having sniffed out another loner.
I’m so totally charmed by her that I regret having to leave.
We exchange personal numbers, and buoyed on by the festive spirit or the literal spirits, I almost kiss her.
And as I observe the gentle disappointment in her eyes as she leaves, I realize she wanted me to.
This solidifies my suspicion that she was lying when she said she wasn’t expecting to find me here.
And while this engineered run-in would alarm most, I have to admit that it makes me feel seen.
Chosen. And I find myself still thinking about our not-kiss, what her lips would have felt like, when I get to my car.
I felt a little bad lying about Will being designated driver, but I’m good at holding my drink and driving when I need to.
It’s Will who’s always been the lightweight.
He stayed in town to join me for this meeting, Vanessa and the kids heading down to our parents’ first. Fair play to him; I’m the one who accepted a Christmas Eve meeting, so I don’t mind doing the drive.
It doesn’t take me too long to source a double espresso to shake off a little of the drowsiness of the alcohol.
As expected, Will is half-cut when I collect him, but his loud obnoxiousness is of use for once, keeping me on edge, alert, as we wind through the already midnight-dark streets.
I manage to snake the car out of the city and over the motorways without incident.
I relax a little as we enter quieter country roads. And then the deer leaps across my path.
“Christ! Look out!” Will roars.
I slam on the brakes. The car skids to a stop. The deer glibly prances out of sight. Will and I pant out heavy breaths, the panic slowly leaving our bodies. The car crawls for the rest of the journey, but at least we arrive without incident.
Our mother must have heard the crunch of tires on gravel, as the front door flings open before we come close to knocking.
“Will!” she says, bright smile.
He knocks my shoulder as he barrels past me, sweeping her up into a hug in the yellow glow of the doorway. She’s so busy drowning him in kisses that I have to announce myself more than once.
“Hi, Mom,” I say again.
Will casts a smug look over his shoulder, our mother still trapped in his arms. “Looks like little Edie wants some attention.”
She registers me this time, unpeels her face from Will’s chest, and looks up at me as if waking from a dream.
“Oh, James.” Her tone is warm, but the energy has dropped. She steps back to allow Will into the house and then pats my cheek once he’s out of the way. “Welcome home, darling.”
It’s as good as I can expect to get.
Once Will and I have dumped our bags in our rooms, we’re ushered to the dining room, where our mother serves up plates of pasta to everyone.
Dad is in a good mood, occupied by his grandkids flitting about the table.
Another point in Will’s column tallying up to his title of “favorite son.” But as the wine flows, I find myself in a good mood of my own. Find myself thinking about Natalie.
When everyone else has gone to bed and it’s just Will and me, Will fishes out a bottle of Dad’s good whisky and we sit by the fire in the living room.
Steadily sipping in quiet contemplation all night, I’m already more drunk than I have been in a while.
Will is prattling on about some inconsequential drama with his friends.
Tommy sleeping with his nanny. Or maybe it’s Guy, and his secretary.
Something equally cliché with someone equally unremarkable.
I can’t help myself. I find myself wanting to talk about the dark eyes that won’t leave my mind.
“What do you think of Natalie?”
Will stops in his tracks, eyebrows scrunching in question. “Natalie as in Natalie from the office?”
“Yeah.”
He takes a sip of his drink. His right ankle is resting on his left knee. The foot begins to shake.
“Nice ass, nice face. Bit flat-chested for my taste.”
I laugh. Good. She’s not for him. Not this time. “That’s not what I meant. It’s…She was in the bar earlier. Where we had our meeting.”
His foot stops shaking. “Oh yeah. What was she doing there?”
Curiosity and caution creep over his expression.
I’m reluctant to say more and bursting to tell someone at the same time.
It’s stupid. It wasn’t even a real date.
But something is telling me that I’ve just connected with someone special.
“I’m not a hundred percent sure. She was sketchy on the details.
But I…I think she knew I’d be there. Wanted to see me. ”
Will’s nose wrinkles in distaste and I fear I’ve made a mistake. “What? Like a stalker?”
I try to shrug away the tension I feel crawling up my neck. “Yeah. I guess. But isn’t that kind of…I dunno. Nice? To care that much, I mean.”
A gentle click sings through the room as Will places his glass down on the coffee table. The crackle of the fireplace fills our moment of silence.
“I know I keep telling you to get back out there, but I think you can do a bit better than a bunny boiler who’s essentially your assistant. It’s been years since you’ve seen anyone seriously. Why her?”
Because she’s choosing me. Because in a world where even my own family chooses me last, Natalie’s choosing me. And I tell Will as much. Drain my glass, refill it as he stares at me, bewildered.
“James, what the hell are you talking about? We don’t choose you last. You’re not chosen last. You’re Mr. Perfect. I mea—”
“Sure, I’m Mr. Perfect, but everyone loves you more. Our mother certainly does. Everyone at work, too, despite you doing absolutely nothing—”
“Now, hang on a minute.”
“Even my girlfriends always eyefucked you.”
Somewhere over the course of the conversation, my mood has turned sour. I hate that my jealousy exists, rears its head like this. Its very existence in the face of Will’s calm seems to be confirmation that somehow, my fuckup brother is better than me.
Right now, he’s staring at me, incredulous. He’s stopped drinking, which is saying something, but I continue to swallow big mouthfuls, hoping they’ll erase the memory of my embarrassing myself like this.
“James, you’ve lost your head. None of your girlfriends hav—”
“All of them have.”
“All of them? Really? What about the girl you dated at sch—”
“She was the worst of them.”
His voice drops a scale. “That’s not nice, James. She was sweet. I liked her.”
“Yeah, I know you did.”
“And a bit low to speak ill of the dead.”
“If she wasn’t such a bitch, then maybe she’d still be alive.”
Even in my drunken stupor, I know I’ve said too much. I freeze. We both do.
“Come again?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I mutter.
“What did you mean by that?”
“Nothing. I was just talking.”
“Because when we were out in Corfu…that was an accident.”
“I know.”
“You said it was an accident.”
I’ve had enough. “You don’t believe that.
None of you do. You’ve always blamed me for what happened, even though I was only eighteen.
You think I don’t know? You think I can’t feel it in the way Mom and Dad treat me?
In the way you look at me sometimes? In the end, what does it matter if she was pushed or if she fell? ”
When it comes, his voice is barely a whisper. “James…James, I don’t…If you’re saying what I think you’re saying…” He gulps a big mouthful of air and seems to find it’s not enough. Gulps again. “Christ, why the fuck would you…Tell me you’re joking.”
I simply pick up my drink and glower into the flames. It’s all the admission he needs.
And then my world is spinning. My brain catches up to what’s happening as the pain begins to blossom on my cheek. I’m staring at the wooden beams of our living room ceiling. The heat from the fireplace is close to my face. Will towers above me, shaking with rage, fists clenching and unclenching.
“Tell me you didn’t do it.”
Even if I could, it’s too late. I just stare at him, feeling the shame lurching over me just as large and looming as my brother. His fist crashes into my mouth. It floods with blood.
I’m glad. Glad for this small moment of punishment, of his disgust, his violence.
It’s not even a fraction of what I deserve.
And that feeling of release, of guilt, of relief at telling someone, anyone, overwhelms me.
The tears are upon me before I can stop them, and suddenly, I’m a grown man crying open-mouthed on the floor.
“I didn’t mean to do it. I promise. We were just— We started arguing, and she slapped me.
Then she shoved at me, so I shoved at her.
She lost her footing. I didn’t—” My voice gets caught on the sob building at the back of my throat.
“I didn’t mean for her to fall like that.
I didn’t want her to die. God, I loved her so much, I… ” I can’t say any more.
Will’s hand is drawn back, hovering over my face. Muscles twitch with the agony of holding themselves where they are instead of leaping down to beat me again.
“Why would you tell me something like this? I can’t…What the hell am I meant to do with this?”
I spit blood onto the tiles by the fireplace. “You learn to live with it. Like I have.”
Blood flees his face, giving him the pallor of a dead man. Fitting. Because I’d sooner he die than let people know what I’ve done.