7. Darcy
Darcy
After my, er, encounter with Lizzy, I waited a decent amount of time for her to get into her room then headed up for my room, my shoulders tight.
Why should I feel badly about asking if her mother got off okay?
Or whether Lizzy was headed up to read a romance book?
Polite, civil questions. She was impossible.
She took everything the wrong way, and why had I even talked to her on the stairs?
Why did it bother me she didn’t like me? Who cared?
I went to push open my bedroom door. A rustle sounded from the room.
Someone was in there. Or something…with a slobbery munch. My body stiffened in confusion, then concern, ready to attack. Sucking in a breath, I shoved open the door.
A brown-and-white goat was hooves-up on the windowsill, chewing on my curtains. Meanwhile, Max was lying in his donut bed, blinking, bemused.
“Not much of a guard dog, are you?” I asked Max. “How did a bloody goat get in here?” I sniffed the air and grimaced. “Hello, you very, very smelly creature. I think it might be outside time for you now.”
Curtains still firmly in its mouth, the goat turned, gave me a condescending look, like Who are you anyway, and went back to chewing.
Really? “Not responding to polite suggestion? I get it. I’m a bit the same.” I gave him a gentle nudge in the ribs. “Go on with you. Out you go.”
The goat did not even turn his head.
“You’ve brought this on yourself. I’ll have to physically remove you.”
Lodging myself behind the goat, hands around his waist, I tried to pull him off the curtain. He wasn’t budging. With his hold on the material, if I pulled harder, he was going to rip them in half. He’d already tattered them with his nibbles.
The goat made an indignant bleating noise and shoved his bum back at me, clearly annoyed I was in his space.
How did I get him to release the curtains?
Was this the same as with dogs—I had to break his mouth seal?
Ugh. Squeezing the edges of his drooling mouth, I tugged the curtain from his jaw.
He skittered sideways as I reached again around his waist.
In my attempt to catch him, I stumbled and fell hard onto the wooden floor, rolling and slamming my limbs into the legs of my bed.
“Oh God, my knees, my elbows, my arse. Right, you stinking beast, you are not getting the better of me.”
Scrambling to my feet, I lurched around the room, grasping for him.
He did a nimble quickstep in response.
“They should have let you loose on the dance floor downstairs. You would have been more popular than me, that’s for sure.”
Trying to keep up with his dancing pace, I got close, but he launched a huge kick at my shins.
“You little shit. That’s more painful than bloody Tim Langston when he hit me with a padel racket.” Sorry, mate, was always Tim’s response. Accident.
With a desperate lunge, I managed to clasp the goat around his waist. I lifted him slightly as he kicked and squirmed, and I hauled him out of the room and down the stairs, terrified that, with one false move, I’d trip and break my neck—or he’d piss all over.
At the front door, I frantically yelled out, “Penny? Monty? The goat’s inside. Where should I take him?”
Penny came running from the kitchen, followed by the cameraman in red. “Oh, Goatee, ingenious creature, how did you get in?”
I put him down, still holding him, getting a gagging whiff of his pungent odor. “I found him in my bedroom, chewing on the curtains,” I said, surprised she hadn’t asked yet.
I waited for Penny to offer embarrassed apologies, but instead she giggled. What the hell?
“How did you get up to his room?” she asked the goat in a cooing tone. “Gosh, aren’t you clever? Aren’t you the stealth raider, my love?”
What had this shaggy, malodorous creature done to invite such prideful mothering?
Me completely forgotten, Penny bumped Goatee outside with her knees, full of compliments for his MI5-level skills. The Arsenal-clad cameraman trailed closely, clearly knowing wherever Goatee went, chaos followed.
I trudged up the stairs, my drooled-on hands held in the air, mud marks and goat hair all over my suit and shirt. And I was sure Goatee’s pungent stench clung to me.
I sighed, relieved to be back in the privacy and safety of my sweet-smelling goat-less room. I stepped forward and—squish.
I froze, trailing my gaze around the room, which was dotted with little black pebbles.
Goatee poo.
Clearly, in the tense tussle with me, Goatee had lost control. I would have laughed about this scenario if I’d read about it in a book or in someone else’s bedroom, but this was way too real.
Taking off both shoes, I carefully tiptoed around all the parcels in my socks.
I pushed open the window even wider to air out the room, though, thank God, Goatee was a vegetarian, and his coat smelled worse than his poop.
I checked in with Max, who hadn’t moved from the security of his donut bed.
You paid for the room. You’re picking it up, his face seemed to say.
I pushed open the bathroom door and rolled a wad of toilet paper around my hand to collect Goatee’s droppings.
I faced the room, armed with the same amount of toilet paper Colin Vicar had taken to tell us about his credentials for keeping the woman of his dreams happy.
This was the final straw. I’d reached a new low point.
Goatee poop under my shoe, reduced to Colin Vicar comparisons, and the threat of more soul mates talk tomorrow.
I was definitely getting out of this place.
At the arse-crack of dawn.
I cleaned off my shoes outside and left them at the door.
Returning to my bedroom, I shoved my muddy, hairy, slimed-on clothes into a plastic bag, took a shower, brushed my teeth, and changed into sweats and a T-shirt.
Refreshed and clean, I slid into one of the two single beds to read a news magazine in peace.
An hour later, Wills returned. I was going to tell him I intended to leave, but I was immediately preoccupied with the fact that he was starry-eyed and mentioned Jane every second word.
He’d been with her this whole time. Worry coursed through me, hot and urgent, and I started to question him closely about their conversation.
As though he knew I was anxious about how quickly enthralled he was by Jane, Wills bristled with irritation, so I diverted him with the story of my Goatee dilemma. He chuckled and then headed for the shower. After emerging from the bathroom in his pajamas, he climbed into the other single bed.
Sighing happily, he tucked his hands behind his head.
“I never believed in love at first sight, but now I do,” he said. “It’s not just that Jane is so beautiful, it’s her mannerisms—how she speaks so softly, that cute little dip of her eyes and chin.”
Oh God. He had it bad. But Jane had also glanced away a lot when Wills was speaking. Those mannerisms he considered charming? I’d thought they showed she wasn’t interested in him. Someone had to warn him and, as usual, that someone was me.
“I’ll admit she’s pretty. But do you think the feeling is reciprocated? She was quite distant.”
He groaned. “Darcy, you’re the worst. Don’t you have any faith that someone could be attracted to me?”
“Of course I do. I just want them attracted to you for the right reasons. I want your relationship to be equal.”
“Even you cannot crush this for me,” he said. “I honestly think she might be the one.”
Shit. I was all for him having a fun weekend, but he was besotted already.
I wanted more than anything to disappear first thing in the morning, but I couldn’t leave him alone with Jane and this ilk.
I needed to watch what was happening. If I weren’t here, my emotional, naive brother might make all sorts of plans and pronouncements and commitments to her.
Maybe she was interested and honest and not looking for money, but I had to be here to ensure she was truly what she seemed to Wills.
“Take a step back and observe,” I said. “There’s no reason to rush. And let’s face it—her family is dreadful. Her mother made a total embarrassment of herself tonight. I would steer clear, if I were you.”
“Your attitude sucks,” he said. “You were so rude to her sister, it was mortifying. You need to be nice to Lizzy tomorrow. Otherwise, you’ll ruin my chances with Jane. Stop being such a total knobhead, okay?”
He threw a pillow at me, and I threw it back.
From his bed, Max raised his head, thinking it was catch time, then, disappointed, he dropped down. An uneasy defensiveness took over me. People’s opinions typically bounced off me, but this was my usually upbeat brother.
“I didn’t think I was that bad,” I said peevishly.
“Darcy, you’re a bloody brilliant bloke, but you’re showing a dreadful side of yourself. You need to shape up. Remember, this is all being televised.”
Right. Those darn cameras always tried to show the worst. “Okay, I’ll grit my teeth and try to get through it.”
“You have to do better than that. Check your phone. On the way up here, I saw Shakayla texted. She needs to talk to you.”
I’d put Shay in charge of the clubhouse project. She was a friend of a friend and had taken on the job because she had a young baby and wanted to work from home. She was a former actuary and incredible in this role, and I didn’t want to give her the wrong impression about me.
“Why didn’t you lead with that?” I asked.
“Because maybe I wanted one night off being your number two in the office. Maybe this weekend, I want to be your brother.”
I grabbed my phone. Shay had sent two messages.
Shay
Darcy, a lot of people have seen the previews of that dating show. Not good.
Shit. I turned to Wills. “They’ve shown footage of tonight already? Oh God.”
“Yes, they have,” Wills said tightly. “And there is fallout.”
I turned back to the text.
Shay
I’m getting frantic texts from donors, worried about giving money to Oscar the Grouch’s Clubhouse. What do I tell them?
Was I Oscar the Grouch now? Hmm. That struck an uncomfortable chord.
I wanted the clubhouse to go well. The kids deserved it.
And I wasn’t so arrogant I didn’t realize people’s perception of me reflected on the clubhouse.
I didn’t have to be around Lizzy. I didn’t have to interact with her.
I wanted to ignore Shay’s message but that wasn’t fair to her, so I texted back.
Me
Can they legally pull their pledges, though?
All the donors were transferring the money into our account Monday morning.
Shay
Probably not. But it will look worse if you go after them—bad PR for us and the kids.
Shit. She was right.
Me
It’s a reality TV misunderstanding. All under control.
Shay
Joe Walsh specifically is threatening to pull out. He wants to talk Monday.
My heart kicked hard, my ribs cinched tight.
Joe Walsh was a huge donor. Could the project even continue without his contribution?
My contractor friend Tim Langston was currently laying the foundations for the new clubhouse.
Until the clubhouse was built, the kids were in prefabricated buildings next to the soccer field, but the local council was only allowing that because we had a firm end timeline.
This donation issue needed to be resolved now.
ME
I’ll call Joe now. I’ll pull out of the weekend.
Shay
No. He said he doesn’t want to talk until Monday. I wouldn’t call him. Let him calm down, and don’t pull out now. Let him see that’s not you.
Next, I saw a text from my contractor, Tim.
I groaned out loud, and Wills shot me a don’t tell me look.
I’d met Tim through his design editor girlfriend, Tabitha.
Together, they’d remodeled her parents’ manor house, where we were now staying.
Tim and I had become tentative, scarily competitive friends who didn’t miss an opportunity to give each other shit.
I had no doubt he’d be delighted to highlight what an ass I’d been tonight.
Tim
What the fuck? My subbies are running scared at the prospect of working for your grumpy arse. You quite rightly called me out when I fucked up with Tabitha. Now I owe you the same courtesy. Pull your head in, mate.
I had planned on being the face of the clubhouse, which was supposed to be a place of safety and happiness, and this was going in the wrong direction.
We’d grown up in Derbyshire, and our parents were almost always absent.
Even though we had a houseful of staff, I had been left to take care of Wills, which was why we were so close.
Conversely, when they weren’t ignoring us, my parents had put enormous pressure on me because I was the heir and due to inherit the estate.
My days were crammed with extra lessons about eventually managing the property and knowing all my future responsibilities but, of course, nothing that involved their presence.
The local clubhouse was where I got to be a regular kid and where my brother and I could have fun together.
At first, the other kids gave us shit about being lords of the manor, but when we kept turning up day after day, year after year, eventually, we were plain old “Arcy and Will the pill.” We played board games and messed around with sticks and balls, and I felt like we belonged.
I still hadn’t found that as an adult.
Tomorrow, I’d make a big effort to be friendlier. Make sure we didn’t lose our clubhouse funding. Like I’d texted Shay, I had it all under control.