Chapter 30
30
“I’m sensing tension between you two.”
Iris Fender flicks her sapphire gaze between Bancroft and me.
We’re crammed into a round two-person table at the food court of Fair Play, the brand new “adults-only funfair experience.” Behind us rows and rows of food trucks decorated with graffiti, glitter and multicolored festoon lights line the edges of the venue. In the next room there’s a roller rink, arcade and a dance floor playing exclusively nineties and noughties club music. “Where’s Your Head At?” by Basement Jaxx blares from the speaker system as neon flashing lights encase us in a Euphoria-themed snow globe of chaos.
Bancroft says nothing, waiting to see my reaction to Iris’s interrogation.
When both siblings arrived, instead of just him, I thought he had dragged her along as an emotional bodyguard. When she briefly left to use the bathroom, he explained that their mum was refusing to talk to her and he felt bad leaving her alone. Him caring so much about her softened my bristled exterior slightly. Her infectious, glowing charisma helps too, so much so that I speak candidly.
“There were some issues recently, but time heals all wounds, I guess.” I tear a napkin between my fingers, leaving little pieces of red confetti on the table, in case I need to throw it in their faces and run away like a shitty magician.
Iris leans back in her fold-out chair. “Was this anything to do with that ex you were texting?”
I tense.
Bancroft shifts to face her and pulls out a credit card, holding it up between two fingers. “Why don’t you go order us some food. Get whatever you want.”
“Okaaaay, but don’t you crazy kids ravish each other while I’m gone.” She plucks the shiny black card from his fingers and swishes around toward the bar, every single person she walks past turning to gaze at her.
He hunches forward, resting his bare forearms on the sticky table. “Sorry about Iris.”
“It’s OK. I like her.”
He turns his head to check on his sister, who is leaning at the bar waiting to be served. “Me too.”
The past four days of radio silence since he was standing in my flat quickly turns sour and sits between us like the last guest to leave a house party.
“So about—”
“I think we should—”
We start at the same time, our unwieldy, clunky attempts at easing into conversation overlapping. My shoulders lower slightly as I watch him squirm, clearing his throat and sipping on his drink before starting again.
“This is a cool idea.” He takes in his surroundings. “Have you been here before?”
“Umm, no. I saw someone come here on TikTok and it looked fun so I reached out.”
He nods his head, neither of us in the mood to keep this banal conversation going. I steel myself, ready to ramp things up a bit.
“So, I have something to tell you abou—”
“They didn’t have any burgers left so I got tacoooooos!” Iris slams a bright orange tray on the table, causing half the tacos to tip over and spill their innards all over the tray. “Shit.” She scoops the mounds of lettuce and cheese back into the shells and hands them to us.
I look for an alternative topic of conversation. Maybe I could bring this up in front of his sister, but telling her the real reason paparazzi have been photographing her at her lowest feels like something Bancroft should decide upon himself.
I opt for something easier: “So, Iris, what are your plans after you stay with Eric?”
Clocking his attention pricking up at the use of his first name, I hope he realizes it would just be weird to call him Bancroft in front of his sister, nothing more.
Iris is halfway through a huge bite of a pulled pork taco as she says, “I’m not sure. I might go spend some time with my dad.”
“Malon?” I prompt.
“No, my dad dad. His band is taking up a residency in London soon.” She says it with an innocence that’s hard not to love.
“Oh, cool!” I nod enthusiastically.
“Does he know that’s your plan?” Bancroft interjects, stony-faced.
Iris’s pink cheeks are hidden by the red neon light against her face but I can tell by the way she tenses that no, he doesn’t. “I don’t think it would be a big deal...” she says quietly.
Bancroft’s jaw tenses and he doesn’t reply. It doesn’t seem to be out of anger, but caution. From what he told me, it sounds like Iris’s dad didn’t try very hard to stay in her life, but I could be misinterpreting the situation. Either way, the atmosphere is so awkward I’m almost tempted to restart the conversation about Dharmash. Thankfully, the sound of Bancroft’s phone ringing slices through the tense air.
He glances at the screen. “I should take this.”
The metal folding chair scrapes along the concrete floor as he towers over us and strides away from the speaker system.
I turn to Iris, a dulled, polite smile holding up her usually cheery face. “Are you OK?” I ask, placing a hand on her forearm.
“Yeah, I’m fine. He’s just... really protective. It’s annoying in a bossy big brother kinda way, but I know it comes from a good place.”
“I can see that.” I glance over to him, hunched against a wall with the phone to his face and a finger in his ear. His eyebrows are scrunched as if he’s trying really hard to hear the person on the other line over the Scissor Sisters blasting around the room. His eyes flick to mine, as though he could sense me looking at him, and I quickly tilt my head back to Iris. “Has he always been this protective?”
“I guess so. I don’t think he had a choice—it’s not like our parents were looking out for us, even when they were still together. Sure, they kept us fed with the most organic food and clothed in designer children’s wear, but I think they expected us to be ornamental little mascots for the family business.” She considers, twirling a lock of hair around her finger before tucking it behind her ear. “We had everything we could ever want, but what we actually wanted was our mum and dad. The moment we were old enough to realize how messed up that situation was we both rebelled... in our own ways.”
We both glance down at Iris’s drink, which she specifically asked to be non-alcoholic.
“I wanted to thank you for what you did at Matilda’s. For me and for Eric,” Iris says into her glass. “I don’t know if he ever thanked you, but I know he really appreciated having someone there with him.”
A nervous, breathy laugh escapes my lungs. “I don’t know. I think I might have just gotten in the way, made a bigger deal of the situation than it needed to be.”
“No, the next morning, when he told me what happened, I realized how we both got used to this routine of me partying like crazy and him doing damage control. It wasn’t fair to him. I think it just took someone outside of the situation to make us both come to that conclusion.” She nods. “I’m trying to do better now.”
“That’s really good.” I squeeze her forearm. “And you don’t just have Eric. You have me as well.”
She beams. “So, does that mean that you two are—”
“No!” I blurt. “I just mean that, you know, we can be friends too.”
Her wide smile turns into a Bancroftian smirk. “You know, Eric talks about you a lot. A lot , a lot.” She swirls the straw in her drink. “I don’t think he realizes he does it.”
“Probably because I’ve been annoying him so much over the past few weeks with this project,” I rebuff.
“No, it’s more like... kinda sweet.” She giggles into her drink. “And he’s been doing it for way longer than a few weeks.”
A twang of something lances through me... guilt, for not being honest with him? Regret at leaving the hotel room that morning? Relief that I’m not alone in replaying everything that’s happened between us? Maybe all three.
I can’t get his face out of my head, the look in his eyes when I implied our night together meant nothing to me. Cracking open a walnut shell with two broken fingers would have been easier than getting him to admit what he was really thinking. When he’s spent his whole life pushing away the people he cares about under the guise of protecting them. At the art gallery, I persuaded him to open up to me and he’s spent weeks slowly showing me the real person underneath the shiny, smirking veneer. Then I told him our night together meant nothing. I pushed him away to protect both of us from the potential consequences. A voice of reason sounds off in my head: The moment you asked him to stay you knew there would be fallout. You caused the damage. This is your fault and you know it.
As he paces back to the table, all I know for sure is neither of us are getting out of this unscathed.