42. Megan
Chapter 42
Megan
We must look ridiculous riding in Ollie’s van in our finest clothes, but I can’t bring myself to care. I want us to have a nice evening and forget about whatever that argument was last night.
I still haven’t fully processed what happened with Pi, nor do I particularly want to. We’d had a couple of drinks, conversation was flowing well, and when he suggested coming back to mine because the bar was too noisy, that made sense to me. With the benefit of hindsight and a clear head, I can see that was my first mistake.
Actually, my first mistake was probably agreeing to go on a date with a man who calls himself Pi. Ollie had a good point there. I know I shouldn’t have brought someone I’d just met back to the house, but would he rather I went back to their place instead?
He’s quiet on the drive, humming along to the radio while I try not to pick at my nail polish. Sitting in silence with him is unbearable, too much like those early days.
“Shall we have a debrief on my date?” I goad him, and his reply is more of a grunt.
“Nope.”
Bossy Ollie really did something for me last night, but I know beneath that grumpy exterior there’s a lot more going on. I press him harder. “Were you jealous?”
“Obviously,” he grumbles, leaning over to turn up the radio. I press my mouth into my palm and look out of the window.
After miles of country roads, Ollie steers us into Littlehaven, a nearby village full of chocolate box cottages and cherry blossom trees that are coming into bloom.
“Is there anything I should know before I meet your family?” I ask him and he blows out a long puff of air.
“Maybe don’t mention the van. Dad called me a disgusting hippie when I told him my travel plans, so probably best not to rile him up on his special day.”
He says the last part with more than a hint of sarcasm, and I decide it’s probably best not to take that conversation any further. He parks on the street outside a mechanic’s garage, and I peer out of the window wondering which house is his.
“Are we here?” I ask, hopping out and smoothing the creases out of my dress.
“The house is a little further up the road, but I meant it about the van. Dad won’t let me park on the driveway and I think I’ve already had one too many arguments this weekend.” His wide smile is reassuring when I catch his meaning. Perhaps we don’t need to dig into last night after all. We can just draw a line under it and move on.
As we reach the edge of the village, he leads me towards a pair of tall wrought-iron gates, and my mouth hangs open as the house comes into view at the top of a long driveway.
“This is where they live?” I gasp.
Ollie inhales deeply, and puffs it all out at once, steeling himself. “Yup. Let’s go.”
By most people’s definition, this isn’t a house, it’s a mansion. I’ve only ever seen houses like this on TV, and I already feel like I’m not supposed to be here at all. We walk up the driveway, but the fine gravel is perilous underfoot and within seconds he’s strides ahead of me.
“Ollie, wait,” I call after him. “I can’t walk over this in these heels.”
“You want a piggy-back?” he laughs, and I’d consider it if it wouldn’t mean yanking mydress right up to my bottom. That’s hardly the first impression I’d want his parents to have of me. “Here, take my arm.”
Juggling my flowers and gift bag into one hand, I grip hold of him with the other.
The man is solid, and when he rests his other hand, warm and huge, on top of mine, my stomach swoops like I’ve tripped off the bottom step. I need to pull myself together, and fast.
On the approach, we pass a long line of sleek black cars parked in a neat row, then veer left around the fountain that sits in front of the house before climbing the steps to the front door.
Ollie rings the doorbell, and I hear a tinkling chime from somewhere inside.
“Don’t you have a key?” I ask, just as it swings open in front of us.
We’re greeted by a rather stern looking man in a dark suit with a jowly neck and thinning hair combed over the top of his head. He looks to be in his eighties and can’t possibly be Ollie’s father. Or perhaps he could, since I’m quickly learning there’s a lot I don’t know about the man I live with.
“Master Oliver,” the gentleman drawls.
“Harold,” Ollie says, puffing his chest out beside me.
“Your parents will be pleased you could make it.” He himself sounds quite the opposite. “I see you’ve brought a guest.”
“This is Miss Megan Porter.”
“Of the Salisbury Porters?” he asks me, perking up a little.
“Um, no. Hertfordshire. Nice to meet you.” I let go of Ollie’s arm to offer my hand. He shakes it once firmly, then pushes it back towards me, letting go as quickly as he took it.
“I trust you haven’t forgotten where the cloakroom is?” Harold says, stepping to one side. Ollie presses his hand to my lower back, guiding me over the threshold and deeper into his family’s home.
The entrance hall is so vast, it takes a minute to fully absorb my surroundings. There are huge double doors off to either side, and a grand staircase that curves around to an upper level I can just see over the intricate balustrade. Crimson walls are adorned with the kind of huge paintings I’ve only ever seen in a museum.
Ollie leads me into a small room off to one side and we find it full of rails of expensive coats. Wool and fur and—
God, I hope that’s not real fur.
“What in the Downton Abbey is going on here, Ollie? Is this actually your house?” I ask, handing him my flowers so I can slip out of my coat and hang it up with the rest.
“Don’t be daft. It’s nothing like that.”
“You have a doorman!” I hiss through my teeth.
“I think his actual title is Head House Manager or some shit.”
“Are you royalty?”
“God no. Well, technically, Dad is a Lord, but you can just call him Richard.”
“Stop it,” I gasp. “I’ve read enough historical romance to know that makes you a Lord, too, Ollie. What the hell?”
Oh my god, I can’t breathe. Who is this man?
My fingers clutch at the wall before I topple over. I’m in a Lord’s house in a dress that’s at least a decade old and I’ve brought flowers . There’s a table in the entryway with a bouquet five times the size.
“You could have warned me this is what it would be like.”
“What is there to say? Look, I already told you I’m the black sheep. Please don’t judge me based on all this. Let’s just stay for an hour, have a drink, eat a bit of cake, and then we can go. OK?”
If I couldn’t sense the panic in his tone, his body language is a dead giveaway. His shoulders slump forward and he stares at the floor, scuffing one shoe against the other. I may have joked about him being a child in the past, but he’s never looked younger than he does at this moment. Taking a deep breath, I push my shoulders back, head held high.
“OK. We can do this, but you owe me some serious answers later.”
He leads me along a corridor, through a room full of plush armchairs and more paintings, then down another corridor towards two gentlemen who flank a pair of giant doors.
They open them for us in silence, and Ollie tips his head in thanks. The room before us has high ceilings with gold trims, and is packed full of people in suits and dresses. From somewhere, I hear a string quartet. A man dressed in black takes our gifts and hurries them out of sight.
“Who are all these people?”
“Mostly, I have no idea,” he chuckles beside me, but I know it’s not funny to him. “A lot of Dad’s old university friends, colleagues, people from the village. Come on, let’s find my parents.”
He offers me his elbow, and I take it before I can panic any further. Ollie leads me around the outside of the room, stretching his neck to see above the masses. My feet are already killing me. Why did I wear these stupid heels?
“Get ready,” he sighs, as we approach two women who stand off to one side, clearly gossiping over champagne as they cast their eyes across the room. One of them nudges the other with her elbow and they both snap to attention.
“Oh my gosh, you must be her,” one of them says. These must be Ollie’s sisters. She’s wearing a figure hugging floor-length dress covered in a bright sunflower print.
“Ah yes! We heard he’d moved in with someone,” says the other woman. With their blonde blown-out hair, the two are so alike, I’d swear they were twins had Ollie not already told me about their ages. This sister is also in bright florals, and I’m wondering if I missed some memo about a dress code. She lifts her hand to pinch Ollie’s cheek. “Our baby brother, finally getting his act together.”
Sunflowers grips my shoulder and address me face on. “We never thought we’d see the day he actually managed to get himself a girlfriend, let alone shack up with one.”
Girlfriend?
I’m about to correct her, but her mean-girl cackle whips up something in me.
“Honestly,” she laughs, leaning in to mock me. “Were you dropped on your head as a baby? Is that why you’re going out with him?”
Ollie’s told me before that his sisters never treated him well, but witnessing them speak this way is infuriating. I feel him pulling me back.
“We’re not—“ he says, but I interrupt him before he can finish his sentence.
“We’re so happy we could make it.” I know if he corrects her, they’ll just use it as another opportunity to belittle him. “Ollie has told me so much about his sisters. I’m Megan. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I step closer to his side, one hand on his bicep, the other on his forearm, and give him a gentle squeeze.
“Well, I’m not sure where he found you,” the other sister says, looking me up and down. “We figured he’d be bringing home some unwashed scruff with a nose ring. I’m Jessica, and this is Lauren. We must find Caroline. She’s dying to meet you, too.”
She cranes her neck to look for the third sister, but if she’s anything like these two, I don’t want to meet her.
“Caroline!” Lauren shouts above the crowd, raising her hand and beckoning her over.
I stare up at Ollie, and his expression is one of clear panic. His face falls into a subtle apology, but I shake my head and try to convey that he has nothing to be sorry about. A few moments later, a brunette woman in yet another floral dress appears. Her hair is long like mine, but her soft wavy curls look far more expensive than what I’ve managed with an air-brush at home.
“What is it? I was speaking with James.” She drags out the ‘a’ sound the way posh people do.
“This is Oliver’s girlfriend,” Jessica says without even bothering to hide her smirk.
I’ve never felt smaller than in the six seconds it takes for her to inspect me from head to toe.
“Well, well, well. You’re quite normal. Where did the two of you meet?” she asks, and I can tell this is a test. I actually cannot believe Ollie is related to these people. He begins to mumble something, but I cut him off again.
“Ollie works for my dad,” I say, proudly smiling up at him. “He valiantly came to my rescue after a stranger attacked me. We got to know each other and, as they say, the rest is history.”
I’ve learned from years of working with teenagers that the hardest lies to spot are the ones that most closely resemble the truth.
“A-ha! You had a head injury,” Jessica laughs. “I knew it! I knew there must have been something wrong with your brain. That explains it.”
I plaster a smile on my face to stop myself from frowning. Most people would ask if you were OK when you casually mention you’ve been attacked, but of course, these three would gloss right over it.
“And what do you do, Megan?” Caroline asks. “Are you a builder, too?”
The three of them burst out laughing, and I’ve never been a violent person, but I want to smack every one of them. In my peripheral vision I see Ollie close his eyes, his shoulders slumping even further.
“I teach English at Swanham Hall High School.”
“Oh,” Sunflowers says, snootily. “Well, good for you.”
“Yes, it’s a fantastic school, and I love my job.” It’s not exactly true, but if I can pretend at work, I can pretend here.
“Well, it was lovely to meet you all. Let’s go grab a drink, darling.”
Slipping my hand through Ollie’s, I lead us away from the three wicked witches. I don’t care if it’s fake. I will be the best fake girlfriend on the planet, if it means protecting him.
“What are you doing?” he whispers through gritted teeth.
“I’m not having them talk to you like that.”
“No, why are you pretending to be my girlfriend?”
“Did you really want me to stand there and correct them? I can’t believe the way they speak to you. They’re awful.”
“I wouldn’t have said anything at all. Now it’s going to be a whole big thing.” He sounds so disheartened, so I twist to face him, glancing over his shoulder to make sure none of the sisters have followed us.
“Listen Ollie, if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s put on a brave face and act like everything is fine. So you can either walk back over there and tell them I’ve just lied, or…” I prod him gently in one cheek, then the other. “You can turn that frown upside down and play along until it’s time to go home. It’s not like they care enough to follow up.”
“But—“
“You had my back last night protecting me from Pi. Now I’ve got your back. That’s what friends do for each other, so show me where I can get a drink and make this party a lot more bearable.”
I offer him my hand, and he takes it, leading me through the crowds to a bar lined with a long row of champagne glasses filled to the exact same level.
“Cheers,” he offers, our eyes locked together as we clink glasses and take our first sip of many.