Chapter 7
SEVEN
LIAM
Nothing quite like the atmosphere in a dining room with your girlfriend’s parents, who see you like pond scum. Kat and I stand near the table, looking at the three place settings.
They had only invited Kat to dinner, probably to talk her out of dating me, but Kat insisted we should come as a couple. To be a united front until they learn to accept us.
I have a feeling I’d be more likely to become Prime Minister than for them to approve of me.
For all their money and pomp, they certainly don’t appear to be conforming to general decency. Neither makes a move to grab another plate.
Their disregard makes me feel like a kid sent home from yet another family. The lack of blood ties making me lesser, as always.
Kat’s fingers thread into mine, reassuring me of her acceptance. The only one that truly matters.
‘You seem to have forgotten to lay the table for four,’ Kat says.
‘We only invited you, Katherine.’ Kat’s mother flicks her gaze toward me before sliding away.
‘And I told you that we were both coming.’ I squeeze Kat’s finger, knowing how hard she finds it to stand up to them.
‘I assumed he was dropping you off.’
‘Well, he’s not.’ Kat pulls me toward the table, dragging a chair over beside her set place. I sit where she directs, facing Mr Elliott, who looks utterly unfazed. The awkwardness of it all feels like a long-clawed mole raking its way through my stomach, yet he looks ready to tuck into some soup.
‘Good evening,’ I say, trying to relieve some of the tension in the air.
Mrs Elliott’s mouth draws into a thin line before she nods to a black-shirted man I hadn’t even noticed in the corner.
We sit in silence thick enough to make playdough shapes until the man comes back with three plates.
It’s alien to me that this is how Kat grew up.
In a dining room bigger than the cottage Dad and I lived in, with people who cook and serve hot meals rather than rooting around half-eaten tins of food or nibbling around the blue bits on bread.
Kat picks up her cutlery and splits everything on the plate in half, passing the fork to me in between each bit so we can both eat.
Not that I feel hungry in any way. We’re only here because Kat’s parents said they had important news for her.
I’m half expecting them to cart out some slick-haired finance bro in a bow with an engagement ring.
For Kat, obviously.
I hate that the dinner is one of the best things I’ve ever tasted. It’s just a roast dinner, but like on crack. The meat is so tender it falls apart on my tongue, the sauce delicate yet full of flavour.
Damn. Shame you can’t ask for seconds when you aren’t even offered firsts.
It makes the carbonara I make for Kat a joke by comparison.
‘So,’ Mr Elliott says, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. ‘We asked you here to tell you our news.’
Kat looks at her dad, waiting for him to spill the beans. ‘Go on.’
Mrs Elliott reaches over and touches his hand. Not a romantic touch, just a soft pat. Like he’s her grandpa, not her husband.
‘We’re selling the house.’
My fork stops halfway to my mouth, not even the promise of fireworks of flavour able to keep me from reacting. Kat chokes on a mouthful of water and blinks at her parents.
‘You’re what?’
‘Selling up. We always thought you’d get married and move your family in here, but with just the two of us, it’s a bit much.
We want to move into the city to be nearer our friends, and there’s a lovely four-bed going in the West End.
’ Her Dad’s words are so unaffected by any emotion that it’s almost creepy.
Could be a bloody robot. I reach for Kat’s hand, imagining the same blaring thought is in her head.
The well.
The well that currently holds three bodies, with a fourth in our trunk, ready to dispose of after dinner.
Shit.
‘What if Liam and I want to move in here? Or marry? Or have kids?’
It’s been so hard to think past this revenge plan, with the chance of arrest being high. Planning for what comes after seems like madness. The idea of Kat being my wife unleashes uncontrollable things inside me. I want it more than anything.
‘Darling, we put everything into raising you. Twenty-two years, hundreds of thousands of pounds, the best education and a full-time nanny. But despite everything we’ve given you, you’ve veered from our plan.
You’ve completed your degree but forgone joining your father’s business.
You’ve chosen to date this… man… as a form of rebellion.
And when you’re done with this dalliance, your father will have a space for you in his company, working your way up, of course.
’ Mrs Elliott sounds less robotic than her husband, marginally.
The veins in Kat’s neck look like they might burst, her fingers gripping mine hard enough to leave little nail-shaped moons across my knuckles.
‘It’s not a dalliance. I LOVE HIM. And he loves me.’ Kat’s voice is high and angry, but her words are like gold. Declaring that I’m hers has my heart skipping beats.
‘Well, whatever you want to call it, it doesn’t change anything. The estate agents will be assessing the house in two weeks. You can take anything from your room that you want to keep.’
It’s quiet for a few minutes, until Kat sighs, rubbing her eyes. ‘What if we bought it?’
‘Katherine, you don’t even have a job. How do you think you’re getting a mortgage on a place like this?’ Mr Elliott has a smile on his face for the first time since I’ve met him. It’s awful. Smug.
‘But would you sell it to me if I can raise the money?’ I can’t imagine Kat actually wants to live here. It’s all about the well. Maybe we could move the bodies…
Mrs Elliott gives me a look so scathing that it makes the hair on my arms stand up. I can almost feel the ire as she takes in my scars and tattoos. It’s the look you’d give if you found black mould in your bathroom. Well, if you’re not accustomed to it being there like some of us are.
‘Darling, we can give you six weeks. If you can raise the capital by then, we’ll sell to you. Maybe if you pool your funds you can find the money.’ Mrs Elliott raises a brow at us, and Mr Elliott actually chuckles.
‘I think you underestimate your daughter,’ I say.
‘Perhaps it’s not her we’re doubting here. You don’t look like you have half a million in your account, Liam. And Katherine is accustomed to a certain standard of living. She might like play-acting the poor kid for a few years, but she’ll tire of it eventually.’
Kat’s jaw is tight, her teeth grinding audibly. I know they’re right, though; I’ve seen my bank balance. I haven’t fought at the underground club since I met Kat. It didn’t seem worth putting my life on the line when I’d only just found her again.
But maybe I can do this for her.
‘I’m serious,’ Kat says.
‘So are we. You have six weeks, darling. Then we sell.’