Chapter 16 Brodie
Brodie
Brodie took his eyes off the – thankfully – relatively quiet motorway out of London for a moment to look at Jess in the passenger seat beside him.
She was staring out of the window at the passing scenery, the outskirts of London giving way to green.
Her scent tickled his nostrils, fresh and zingy but with a deeper undertone.
Something sexy. Brodie cleared his throat. ‘I’m a little jealous.’
She turned her head and he was caught for a second by the green of her eyes. ‘Jealous, of me?’
‘Your friend – she’s protective.’
Jess let out a short huff of a laugh and Brodie wanted to make her laugh again. ‘Sharing scuzzy university apartments and surviving psychotic flatmates will do that to you. I’m sure you have friends like that too.’
Brodie felt something poignant run through him.
He had had friends like that. University friends, and they kept in touch.
They even wanted him to come in on a project with them, but he’d been too busy to carve out the time to see them.
But they, and their idea, had been preying on his mind more and more, lately.
Instead of answering directly, he asked, ‘Where did you go to university?’ He found he was genuinely curious.
‘Bristol. You?’
‘Trinity. Dublin.’
‘I’ve never been. I want to go, some day.’
Brodie could see Jess in Dublin. She’d fit in well with her Scottish lilt. There was an affinity between the Scots and Irish. Except for when they played sports.
‘So what led you to working in the charity sector?’
She glanced at him. ‘Polite question, or do you really want to know?’
Brodie laughed. ‘I actually do want to know.’
‘During school we had to pick extracurricular activities and I chose to work with a charity focused on supporting people experiencing homelessness and mental health issues in Edinburgh. There was a woman running the operation and she was really inspiring. My background is pretty privileged...so I guess I was conscious of the disparity between what we had and the poverty that exists.’
Brodie looked at her curiously. ‘How privileged?’
She made a face. ‘A castle on a loch outside Edinburgh privileged. Wall to wall tartan.’
He made a whistling sound. ‘It sounds a lot grander than it is, believe me,’ she said defensively. ‘And it costs a fortune.’
‘No need to sound so defensive. I get it. We have a castle too, except it’s more like a folly. It was my grandmother’s, it’s where we grew up until I was about twelve just south of Dublin city.’
She turned more in her seat to face him. ‘Interesting. And yet your forté is in gutting beautiful old buildings to modernise them, or to build yet another sports stadium, as if we didn’t have enough already.’
Brodie was surprised to find her opinion of him struck a nerve again. To hide it he said, ‘Aw, you looked me up?’
He glanced at her and she scowled at him. But she wasn’t giving up, ‘So go on then, tell me what did lead you to the soulless existence of flipping properties and evicting people?’
Brodie’s hands tightened on the wheel. He was sorely tempted to respond to her sassiness by pulling the car over and putting her across his knee but that provocative image had an immediate effect on his body.
She had no idea he’d been feeling a growing sense of dissatisfaction with his work within the company. Or that her charity and the work they did tugged at his conscience, making him wonder when he’d become so blinkered with his vision for development.
She was waiting for a response. Brodie eventually said, ‘My first foray into the business was on building sites in Dublin. I was a bit directionless after university and I worked in construction. I wanted to get to know the business from the bottom up. Then I came to London and worked in construction here, saving as I went. I invested in my first property and did most of the work myself before selling it on.’
Brodie waited for a comeback, but Jess was quiet. He looked at her. ‘Don’t tell me you’re actually stuck for words.’
She went a bit pink. ‘I guess we should know some more details about each other so we can make it look authentic.’
Brodie looked back at the road, ‘OK, do you have siblings?’
‘I have a twin brother. He’s up in Scotland.’
‘You must be close.’
‘We are really close – I can always sense him in a way, if that doesn’t sound too weird. But we also don’t see each other a lot. He’s always travelled a lot for work, he’s a nature cameraman, but now he’s settled back in Scotland. He’s married to a woman from Dublin.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
Jess nodded. ‘She’s a wedding planner. Turns out that they got married in Vegas years ago after a brief fling and never told anyone. She came to Scotland to find him to get the divorce papers signed and that’s all it took for them to reconnect. They’re due their first baby this summer.’
‘Cute story.’ But he wasn’t sure he sounded sincere.
Any mention of domestic bliss always stuck in his gut, because his family had presented to the world as happy and glamorous, living in their idyllic house, but behind the scenes had been anything but bliss.
It had been chaotic and at times, violent.
Jess picked up on it. ‘Not a fan of the Meet Cutes and Happy Ever Afters?’
Brodie shook his head. ‘My parents divorced and it wasn’t pretty. Safe to say it shattered any illusions early.’
Eventually she said, ‘It’s a risk, that’s for sure. But after seeing my brother so happy with Lucy...I just hope it lasts.’
‘Better to not take the risk at all.’
‘My parents divorced too. But they were never really that happy. She had affairs. My father passed away not so long ago.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Brodie offered this automatically.
Jess shrugged lightly. ‘We weren’t so close. He was an academic, he was pretty focused on his work.’
He glanced at her, but she was looking out the window again. ‘My folks are both still alive,’ he said. ‘My mother living in Switzerland with her current husband, my father is in Scotland. He’s a writer, so I understand what it’s like to have a parent whose focus is elsewhere.’
‘Siblings?’ Jess asked.
Brodie couldn’t help smiling. ‘I have a younger sister. Skye. She’s in Dublin. She’s in the family home; she’s overseen the renovation and now she hosts events, mainly weddings.’