Chapter 8
Mallory
Unhinged Bravery.
I’ll only be gone for half an hour.
I take a Tupperware container from the cupboard, wrap some leftover vol-au-vents in tin foil and put them inside it. I see an unopened bottle of elderflower cordial amongst the empty cans and half-full bottles of wine that line the kitchen counter. I choose the only sealed bottle of wine remaining.
By the way, I know I don’t look like Ronan.
I am aware that’s not who they will meet when I show up.
But I’m hoping they will find it funny, let me in for a quick chat, that they will potentially see me as some kind of Mother figure, iconic for bringing the vol-au-vents to the party.
A real-life ally, turning up in the dead of night to feed them. Mother has arrived!
I can hear them now.
Give us what we want, mama! Feed the gays!
(And I’ll be taking my pepper spray. I have it in case of a home invasion.)
I get my keys from the fruit bowl and tiptoe towards the front door.
Where will Maddox take us next? I for one can’t wait to find out.
The lengths we go to as creatives.
I’m going to take the car. The house is only a ten-minute walk away, but down back streets, so I think it’ll be safer.
Yes, I am admittedly still a bit tipsy (but the adrenaline is making me pretty sharp now), and I’ve decided the safety it will afford me outweighs the risks.
If anything goes amiss, I can lock myself in.
Also, maybe I can just watch from the window for a little bit, scout it out. You know, be sensible about this.
Thankfully, once outside, the rain masks my footsteps. I look up to the house, to the dormer window where Ronan is passed out. I could go back in.
I could.
I peer down the street at the houses, every single one with the same checkered tiles leading up to either a baby-blue or bottle-green door, the local aesthetics competition in full view.
I open the car and close it only when I hear a clap of thunder.
It is less frequent now. I can sense a calm settling in the air.
The release, after the storm. The freedom.
My skin prickles awake. I turn the ignition, punch the address into the satnav and begin driving slowly towards Priory Road, wondering if the picnic hamper was too much.
Then thinking, no, they’ll love a little flare.