Chapter 21 Toasties and Toasts
Toasties and Toasts
Lily-Anne
It’s been a few days since my Canterbury trip.
Brandon and I sit in a booth at Sean’s pub, the TV above us blaring commentary for the Women’s Rugby World Cup.
Neither of us is a fan, but we pretend, trading comments about lineouts and something called a scrum just to fill the silence.
He occupies the seat beside me with quiet ease—long legs, broad shoulders, a controlled presence I’m far too aware of no matter how hard I try to look at my surroundings.
I feel oddly anchored beside him, my pulse quickening despite myself.
The smell of slow-cooked lamb is making my mouth water, but we haven’t ordered food yet. We’re waiting for Ellenor. She landed at Heathrow a few hours ago and rented a car. We offered to pick her up, but she insisted on making her own way here.
It’s just as well. If this silence is anything to go by, several hours in a car would’ve been torturous. I’m still figuring out how to be around Brandon since I tried to kiss him at the harbour. It would be easier to nip this crush in the bud if I weren’t living with the man.
I trace a ring of condensation around my glass, listening to the whine.
“No sign of your sister yet?” Sean asks as he passes, towel over his shoulder.
“She’s due any minute,” I reply.
A steady current of nerves sits with me at the thought of Ellenor seeing me with Brandon. Not because there’s anything to explain, but because being here with him, unobserved, feels like a calm I don’t want disturbed.
“You said she’s a lawyer?” Sean asks.
“That’s her. A real ballbuster.”
Brandon chokes on his drink, spluttering.
“I’m guessing that’s an accurate assessment?” Sean asks him.
“By all accounts…accurate.” Brandon chuckles as he pats his face with a napkin.
At least I can make him laugh—for now. I have a feeling I’ll fade to the background once the whirlwind that is Ellenor arrives.
Sean leans a knuckle on the table. “And you, Lily…big night, yeah? Warm-up set at the café?”
I blink. “Yes. How did you—?”
“Brandon, of course. He seems to think you’re the real deal. I might have to get you to play here sometime. See if I can steal you off your man, Willoughby.”
“He’s not my man.”
Sean laughs, palms up. “It’s just a turn of phrase.”
I feel my cheeks heat. “Right. Sorry—Australian ears.”
“Can’t be helped. Still, if he’s smart, he’ll hold on to you before we Irish win your heart.”
It’s not exactly an offer to let me play here, but the sentiment sends a thrill of excitement through me all the same. “Sure.”
“Can you please not flirt with my guest?” Brandon drawls.
“Well, someone has to flirt with her, even if it’s a forty-something bugger like me.” He grins and moves on.
I glance at Brandon, who is looking nowhere in particular, jaw tense. The amber light makes his face look flushed, though I suspect that’s irritation more than anything else. I try not to dwell on it.
The silence thickens.
My phone buzzes on the table like a lifeline.
“It’s Mum,” I say, and Brandon nods as I duck into the short hallway by the toilets.
“Hi, love. Has Ellenor arrived yet?”
“Not yet. I’m at the pub with Brandon, waiting.”
“Text me when she gets there.”
“I will.” When the silence lingers, I ask, “Was there something else?”
“Yes, there is. Darling, can you…keep an eye on her?”
I frown. “On Ellenor? Of course. Why?”
“I’m concerned about her. Quitting her job like that. Work was always her way of coping, ever since…”
I tense, remembering the day Ellenor came home from uni, teary-eyed and in shock after learning she was pregnant. Young and alone. She was only been one year into her law degree, single, and not at all prepared for motherhood.
She struggled endlessly with what to do, the weeks turning into months, until the day she first felt the baby move. Her apprehension instantly gave way to quiet joy. She glowed.
Her old room at Mum and Dad’s was transformed into a nursery. She brought her things home from campus. The house buzzed with excitement for her.
But near the end…everything changed.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “But that was years ago. She was nineteen.”
“Ten years since it happened, love.”
I cover my mouth. “You mean it’s the anniversary?”
“It was last week. I only just realised myself,” Mum says, sounding guilty.
A pang of sadness hits me. Ellenor never speaks of it. But of course, it’s always there. The loss of what could have been. But it hasn’t been at the forefront of my mind. Has it been for her?
“Should I say something to Ellenor?” I ask.
“Oh, darling. Only if she brings it up, I think. Just give her a hug from me. And enjoy your gig tonight.”
“I will. Thanks, Mum.”
I pocket my phone and breathe once, twice.
It was a loss that touched all of us, but I was thirteen. I didn’t understand—not really.
Dad sat me down to explain. “It might not seem strange, but sometimes, you need to step up and be the big sister. And right now, Ellenor needs you. Be patient with her.”
And I was.
We spent days sitting around in pyjamas, marathoning Harry Potter movies and taking Sorting quizzes.
Laughing, eating pizza. But whenever we took a break for the bathroom or fresh air, Ellenor would start crying again.
Come Monday morning, Ellenor emerged from the house a new person: someone ready to take on the world.
I haven’t seen her shed a tear since.
She moved back to campus and finished her degree. Meanwhile, the nursery unceremoniously reverted to a bedroom.
Her belongings—gone.
The crib vanished.
But the walls are still baby pink.
I swipe at my eyes. Ellenor will be here soon. I can’t let her see me like this. I need to be strong, like her.
Brandon appears in the hallway. “Hey,” he says softly. “Everything alright?”
I nod. “Yep. Fine. Just Mum checking in.”
I go to move past him, but he stops me, touching my shoulders gently.
“Hold on.” His eyes flick to mine, searching. “You don’t have to tell me, but you look like you need a minute.”
The words are simple, but they undo me. I press a hand to my eyes, fighting tears.
“Ellenor, she…” I falter. “She went through something a long time ago. Lost a baby late in her pregnancy. The ten-year anniversary’s just been.”
His expression sobers. “I’m sorry to hear. That’s a lot to carry.”
His fingertips brush my forearm, then he gives a small, grounding squeeze. He doesn’t let go.
I lean into him, just a little, letting myself take the comfort of that touch. It steadies me, even as a part of me stays braced, wary of falling too far.
“I wonder if she ever held the baby,” I say quietly. “I never asked. I should have. There must be so many things she needed that I didn’t do.”
He doesn’t rush to contradict me, just gives my arm another squeeze, his voice gentle. “It’s not fair to judge yourself with what you know now, not what you knew then.”
He’s right. But does he follow his own advice?
“You love her,” he continues. “That’s all that matters.”
I shake my head. “I think you can love someone and still let them down.”
His hand falls away. “Yes. That’s true.”
I sigh as we head for the booth. “Ellenor doesn’t talk about it. I think that’s why she’s always joking around.”
“She’s deflecting,” he observes.
“Exactly.” I sigh heavily, sinking into my seat. “She’s my big sister—you’d think I’d know her well. But deep down, she must still be sad.”
“The same could be said for most people hiding their grief.”
Including me.
Including him.
I glance around the noisy pub. Despite the merrymaking, there’s probably not a person here who isn’t carrying some kind of loss. Masking it, trying to live with it.
Naively, I thought that Ellenor’s pain would fade. I hadn’t expect it to resurface.
“I think the anniversary might have something to do with Ellenor quitting her job and coming to England,” I murmur.
“Perhaps. Seems England’s good for lost souls.”
“Lost souls? Brandon, you can’t house all of Australia’s broken hearts in your cottage, you know.”
He lifts his chin stoically. “I can try.”
I’m stifling a chuckle when the door bursts open.
“I’m here!” Ellenor announces to the room, turning heads as she strides in with straight bleached-blonde hair and a Slytherin-green tote swinging from her arm. She whips off half-moon sunglasses like a movie star, spots us, and makes a beeline for our booth.
“Ellenor!” I’m up in an instant, rushing to hug her. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I know. Glad to see you too.”
“How are you?”
“Jet-lagged as fuck.”
We pull apart, and I take in her outfit—a far cry from her Sydney power suits. Metallic leggings shimmering in the warm light, a glittery pink jacket with fur trim, combat boots with silvery laces, and a striped bottle-green scarf bearing a familiar serpent crest.
“What are you wearing?” I exclaim, wrinkling my nose. “It’s like Barbie meets Voldemort.”
“Do you like?” She twirls proudly, tugging at her scarf with flair. “Slytherin represent!”
“Blah. I hope you haven’t come to convert me.”
“Oh, but I have. You don’t want to hang out with the wrong sort, Lily. I can help you there.”
She offers to shake my hand, but I bat it away. “Never. I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself.”
“My poor little Ravenclaw sister—deluded as ever.”
“What are they on about?” Sean asks Brandon as he reappears with drinks.
“Harry Potter,” Brandon says dryly.
Ellenor clocks Sean immediately. “You must be Sean. Nice pub. Looks like the Quidditch World Cup in here.”
“Quid-what now?” he asks.
“A full-contact sport played on flying broomsticks,” I clarify.
“I don’t mind the sound of that,” Sean says, earning a raised brow from Brandon.
Ellenor waves a hand around the pub. “Swap the rugby shit for Quidditch banners and you could host the Cup.”
“Good to know,” he says, amused rather than offended. “Drink?”
“A crisp white, thank you,” she says, seating herself like a queen. “And whatever cheese toastie people rave about here.”
“Lamb and onion.”
“Great. I’ll have that—minus the lamb and onion.”
“So…just cheese?”
“If that’s what it’s called,” she replies dismissively.
“Ellenor, it’s dinnertime here,” I remind her.
She slides her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and gives the pub owner a long, appraising look. “I’m sure that Sean’s capable of whipping up a few toasties regardless of the time of day, aren’t you, Sean?”
He barks a laugh. “Aye. Coming up.”
He leaves, throwing a backwards glance at her over his shoulder—perplexed, and a little impressed.
Ellenor drapes an arm over the booth seat and surveys us. “So, how are we?”
Brandon and I exchange a glance.
“Good,” we answer together.
“How was your flight?” I ask.
We order food, and dinner passes easily, Ellenor’s recounting of her trip so entertaining that I almost forget my nerves about the gig tonight.
Sean joins our table, and Brandon and I are soon listening to him arguing with Ellenor about Quidditch.
“The Seeker is a stupid position,” Sean says, arms crossed. “One person grabs a shiny ball and wins the whole thing while the rest of the team bust their arses?”
Ellenor half-rises in her seat. “The Seeker is not stupid. And it’s far more nuanced than that. The Golden Snitch is hard to find—”
“I’d find it,” Sean smirks.
She exhales, laughing despite herself. “You’re so full of shit!”
“And insufferable,” Sean says, tipping his glass towards her.
“Exactly,” she fires back, unexpectedly pleased to be understood.
Brandon leans close to me and mutters, “Seems they’ve met their match.”
“It seems so,” I whisper back, not minding his closeness, though I wish it didn’t affect me like this. The thrill coursing through me isn’t from anticipation for the gig—it’s from him. I’m aware of his presence—every word, every look. And I hate that I can’t seem to stop feeling it.
“So, why’d you quit law?” Sean asks Ellenor.
“I just wanted to travel.” She shrugs.
“Nothing wrong with that,” he replies with a grin. “Dodgy knee ended my travel plans—and my cabinet-making days. If I’d known how much running around I’d do owning a pub, I’d have thought twice.”
Ellenor lifts her glass. “Well. Here’s to poor life choices.”
We raise our glasses.
“To Whitstable,” I offer. “And oysters.”
“Yuck,” Ellenor says.
“To good company,” Brandon adds.
“And Quidditch.”
“And Quidditch,” we all laugh, taking a drink.
“And here’s to turning thirty,” Ellenor adds, taking another swig.
I frown. “Your birthday’s not until April.”
“Thank God for that.” She drains her glass a little too fast.
Brandon and I exchange a glance. I think he noticed it too—the hint of bitterness beneath her bravado.
After dinner, we’ve barely risen from our seats when I pull Ellenor into a tight hug.
“Whoa,” she murmurs, giving me the Slytherin-style cold pat on my back.
I don’t let go, and she soon relents, melting against me with a proper hug.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Yeah. You?”
I hear her swallow before she replies. “Yeah.”
As she pulls back, I catch the flicker in her eyes—a shadow that tells me we’re remembering the same thing.
“Elle…” I begin.
“Right,” she says briskly, clapping her hands once, all business. “I promised Mum I’d film you.” She points at Sean. “You. You’re tall. Come with us to Lily’s gig. You can hold the camera.”
I don’t bother hiding my smile. Ellenor is several inches shorter than I am—almost comically short beside Sean’s bulk.
Sean shrugs. “I can come. These fuckers are overstaffed anyway.”
“I don’t know what kind of crowd you’re expecting,” I tell Ellenor, “but I’ve booked a table near the stage, so camera angles shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Oh. Well, then.” Ellenor turns to Sean, who’s pulling on a jacket. “Offer rescinded.”
“Hold on there, love,” he says. “You can’t rescind the offer. The offer’s been made.” He steps outside and holds the door open for her, and a startled Ellenor gapes before following.
Brandon and I share a grin and trail after them.
Outside, the air is bright and cool. Brandon offers to carry my guitar, but I insist on carrying it myself—not out of stubbornness, but because I’m attuned to it now. I loop my arm through Ellenor’s, and the four of us walk towards the lights of the town centre—and the stage waiting for me.
It’s funny how I almost forget to be nervous.
I wait for panic to come flooding in, but strangely, it doesn’t—not during the walk to the café, and not even once as I’ve climbed the stage and the bright lights hit me.
Okay, I’m a little panicky. Especially when Willoughby vastly embellishes as he introduces me as ‘one of Australia’s top talents’. But then I lock eyes with Brandon and smile.
For once, with the people I care about here to support me, including Daisy hollering ‘Go, Lily!’ from the bar, and Ellenor badgering Sean to lift the phone higher as they livestream for Mum, the music might actually be louder than my fear.