Chapter 22 Warming Up #2
Lily-Anne nods. “Alright. I think I will.”
“Great!” Ellenor whirls to face Jack with a no-nonsense demeanour. “Now, let’s discuss remuneration. How much are you gonna pay her?”
“I can’t get paid with my visa,” Lily-Anne reminds her.
“Yeah, yeah,” Ellenor drawls, waving her off and fixing her gaze on Jack. “Seriously. What are the terms?”
“Free muffins and coffee?” he offers.
“Ha. Those were already part of the agreement. You think I didn’t confer with my client?”
“You’re not representing me. I can speak for myself,” Lily-Anne mutters.
“Hush, please. Can’t you see I’m negotiating for my own best interest?”
Jack’s grin widens. “Free muffins and coffee for all of Lily’s friends. Including you, Brandon.”
Ellenor nods. “I’m amenable to that. Brandon?”
I don’t want or need anything from Jack Willoughby, but I keep my tone civil. “You don’t need my input.”
Jack shakes hands with Ellenor, then Lily-Anne. Somehow, the sight of their hands clasped bothers me more than when I shook the man’s hand myself.
“Lily, let me introduce you to some friends of mine—new admirers of yours,” Jack says.
He steers her away, already regaling another circle.
Cigarette smoke fills my vision, Nova’s hand perched on my shoulder. “So. The two of you finally made up. How satisfying for him. Was it good for you too?”
I bat the air, and the smoke disperses, along with her ghost.
I’m startled by Ellenor’s voice beside me.
“What’s up with you and Willoughby?” she demands. “If looks could kill…I thought you were going to Avada Kedavra him.”
“Not quite.” I don’t get the reference, but I get the gist. I exhale slowly, forcing my shoulders to loosen. “Just an old friend.”
“Oh. I see.”
I can tell she isn’t fooled, but I’m glad she doesn’t press.
Until she comes at me again like a bulldog.
“It’s just that, back at the pub, you put up with Sean’s bullshit without batting an eyelid. Mine too, for that matter. But Willoughby…” She gives me a predatory grin, closing in for the kill. “I noticed you call him Jack.”
“That’s his name.”
“Lily-Anne calls him Willoughby.”
I don’t react. I can see where she’s going with this, and I won’t take the bait.
She snorts air, not yet defeated. “So, why don’t you call him Willoughby? I figure you either hate his uncle’s music—and you don’t seem like a hater, no offence; some people are just tolerant by nature, and I respect that—or he did something to piss you off.”
I open my mouth to speak, then I think better of it.
“Is it about Lily?” She adopts a singsong voice. “Because I’ve been watching you two, and I get the feeling that something’s in the air….”
“It’s not about Lily-Anne. And there’s nothing going on between us.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m just her friend—same as I am to you.”
“You? My friend? Ha! Real friends don’t abandon Words with Friends games, Brando. Anyway, I’m onto you and Lily—I’ve been waiting to flagrante delicto you two ever since we arrived. That’s fancy lawyer talk for ‘I see the way you look at her.’”
“I’m sure that’s precisely what you wrote on your bar exam.”
“Who the hell knows? It’s been a while. I’m pushing thirty, you know.”
“So you said.”
She finishes her drink, raises the empty glass, and peers at me through it with one distorted eye. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you always call her Lily-Anne.”
“Names have importance,” I state simply.
“They do. Especially when the person is important to us.”
I look towards the exit, wishing I could leave. I’ve resigned myself to staying to hear the headline act, and Lily-Anne clearly wants to stay longer.
Thankfully, exhaustion soon catches up with Ellenor, and she insists we head back.
Before we exit, Willoughby gives Lily-Anne a paper bag. “Muffins—consider it a deposit to lock in your next performance,” he says with a wink. “I threw a couple in there for you as well, Brandon.”
There’s no way for me to decline without sounding like a twat, so I settle for a curt nod.
“Looks like you and Jack are warming up to each other,” Nova muses as we leave the café.
You don’t sound too pleased, I reply mentally.
“Well, I’m not displeased.” She taps my shoulder with her lacquered nails like a spider prodding its prey. “You’re getting warmer, love. Much warmer.”
The streets are still. Lily-Anne and Ellenor walk ahead, their laughter carrying down the pavement.
Ellenor’s had a few drinks and insists she’ll fetch her car tomorrow, so we take the scenic route home. Along the promenade, Lily-Anne stops several times. At first, I think she’s watching the waves break against the rocks—until I notice her rubbing her hand.
Ellenor spots it before I can say anything.
“Here—let me take this,” she says, grabbing the hard case’s handle, only to groan. “Shit, it’s heavier than it looks. How much further to the cottage?”
I’m already taking it from her. “Allow me.”
We fall into step again, the sisters walking ahead, their voices overlapping as they chatter about the road trip. I trail behind, listening and trying not to read into every laugh, every plan.
Lily-Anne’s excited. I can hear it in her voice.
It hits me then: Ellenor’s arrival marks the beginning of the end. Lily-Anne was always going to leave. I haven’t let myself imagine the silence she’ll leave behind until now; how empty the cottage will feel when her laughter fades from its rooms.
I’m glad she accepted the gigs. It means she’ll stay in Whitstable a little longer.
I only wish it wasn’t because of Jack.
That evening, I struggle to fall asleep.
I don’t know what I’ll do when she leaves. I only know I’ll notice she’s gone. And if Jack can intervene to delay the inevitable, so can I.
Lily-Anne is helping Ellenor settle in upstairs. Meanwhile, I pace the hall, formulating a plan to entice the sisters to stay a little longer: I’ll offer to show them the local sights in Kent. None are Harry-Potter-related, but I have a few ideas in a similar spirit. It’s what a good host would do.
But first, there’s something I need to take care of. Tomorrow, after work, I’ll stop by the music shop and place a special order especially for her. Because while I might not like her going to the café, or her proximity to Willoughby, it’s not my place to tell her what she can or cannot do.
What matters is supporting her journey by doing something—anything—to make her life a little easier.