Chapter 24 Unsorted
Unsorted
Brandon
Two Weeks Later
It’s the perfect Sunday afternoon. Lily-Anne and I find a shady spot in the garden with The Philosopher’s Stone, the summer breeze lifting the book’s pages.
We haven’t made it far through the story.
She’s been busy practising for her gigs, and apart from our morning guitar sessions over coffee, I don’t see her as often as I used to.
I’ve been saving the next chapters until she’s free.
The story’s interesting enough—they’ve just arrived at Hogwarts—but if I’m honest, I’m mostly reading it for her.
Ellenor’s been too absent to supervise our lack of progress, and judging by the one time I ran into her at the pub, I have a pretty good idea why.
Lily-Anne hums under her breath as we settle on the grass.
I recognise the melody as one she composed.
She’s been performing her own songs at the café lately, each one more confident than the last. I’ve been to every show.
So have Ellenor and Sean. And, to our equal parts gratitude and mortification, so have Rupert and Barbara, cheering boisterously at the more inopportune times.
I’m not sure how I feel about this next one, though.
It’ll be a little different. Jack has asked Lily-Anne to perform with him on Saturday night.
He’s also invited a talent scout, who will almost certainly turn out to be A Hilary scouts for a London label that once handled his uncle’s records.
My guess is that Jack wants to present himself and Lily-Anne as a duo, hoping she’ll sign them both.
Maybe he’s finally realised that doing covers of his uncle’s songs won’t get him far.
But riding Lily-Anne’s coattails might. Not that I’d ever say that to her—it would only dampen her enthusiasm, and she deserves to be excited. If Hilary shows up, it’ll be a real opportunity for Lily-Anne.
The thought is a professional one.
The other is not.
It arrives without warning—an instinctive, inexplicable urge to take hold of her waist and draw her into my lap, to feel that closeness properly.
The force of it startles me. Heat flares low and deep, my body reacting before I can rein it in.
For a split second, I consider inventing a reason to excuse myself—one of those cold showers I’ve come to rely on—but I don’t move.
I shift my weight, angling away as I fix my attention on the page, unsettled by my own reaction.
“Can’t remember where we’re up to?” Lily-Anne asks.
I realise I’ve been flipping the pages idly. I quickly locate the dog-eared page. “Chapter Seven: The Sorting Hat.”
“Oh, let me read this one,” she says, eyes lighting up. “The Sorting Hat’s song is my favourite—I want to try singing it.”
Her singing draws Ellenor outside, who listens with approving nods.
“I wish I could sing,” she sighs when Lily-Anne finishes, before proceeding to weigh in, unbidden, on my Hogwarts House.
“Brandon’s a private person. Keeps to himself.
That’s a classic self-preservation trait.
And he was quite ambitious, once upon a time. So, he clearly belongs in Sly—”
“No, he’s obviously a Hufflepuff!” Lily-Anne retorts.
“Pfft.”
“He is!”
“Pfft.”
“He’s hardworking, kind, loyal—”
Ellenor rolls her eyes. “Puh-lease. Will you stop underestimating him already?”
“I’m not!” Lily-Anne splutters. “Stop recruiting for your house!”
“I’m not sure how I feel about my personality being dissected this way,” I interject.
Ellenor shoots me a sharp look. “Stay out of this, Brandon. This doesn’t concern you.”
“Actually,” Lily-Anne says, “the Sorting Hat takes preferences into consideration.”
“Good point. Care to weigh in, Brando?”
I stand, brushing off my trousers. “Much as I’m enjoying being psychoanalysed by Hogwarts standards, I’m going inside to get dinner started.”
Ellenor blocks my path. “No—I’m making lasagne. And yes, you’re welcome.” She flashes a brief smile. “You’re going to stay here with Lily-Anne and finish that book.”
“The whole thing before dinner?” I ask dryly.
“Did I stutter?”
“Don’t you want a hand in the kitchen?” Lily-Anne offers, but Ellenor shakes her head.
“Absolutely not. I need you speed-reading if you’re going to have any chance of getting through the first four books by Sunday. If I’d known you were slacking off—”
“First four books?” Lily-Anne asks. “What happened to five?”
“I amended the goal. No one can accuse me of being unreasonable.”
Lily-Anne rolls her eyes. “Of course not—”
“Hold on,” I interrupt. “What’s happening this Sunday?”
It will be the morning after her gig with Jack, but I don’t remember any plans being made. Did they assume I’d book something? Because, frankly, I’m running out of ideas. I’ve already seen more of Kent in the space of a few short weeks than I have in my entire life.
The only trip planned for this week is Whitstable Castle. We’re going on Friday because Lily-Anne asked if we could attend the creative workshop. I agreed straight away, realising too late I was signing myself up for making hanging baskets.
So I’ve kept the weekend free of plans. If I’m going to be expected to weave flowers into baskets on Friday, I think I’m entitled to a quiet one at home.
The sisters exchange a look.
“What is it?” I prompt.
Lily-Anne tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, avoiding my eyes. “We’ve, um…decided to head off on our road trip. We’ll be moving out Sunday morning.”
The words hit like a wave of cold water, rendering me speechless.
“Sorry,” she adds quickly. “I should’ve said something sooner. We only talked about it this morning. It’s not quite set in stone—”
“It is set in stone,” Ellenor cuts in. “I already bought the tickets for the Warner Bros. Studio Tour in London.”
“I told you to wait until I spoke to Brandon,” Lily-Anne hisses.
“And I told you that you cannot buy tickets at the door. And slots were filling up fast.”
“Really? Slots were filling up that fast? Why are you always in a hurry to do everything?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Why are you always in a hurry to do nothing?”
“Are you forgetting it’s my birthday on Sunday?” Ellenor asks, crossing her arms with a smug smile.
By the flicker of surprise on Lily-Anne’s face, she has forgotten, but she doesn’t fold. “We still should have talked about it properly—”
“We did talk about it. And we decided.”
“You decided.”
“Well, it is my birthday—”
“It’s fine,” I interject before the tension can escalate. “Really. I was just taken aback.”
Ellenor looks between us, then she throws her hands up and heads inside.
I’m alone with Lily-Anne, who’s twirling a blade of grass between her fingers.
“So…this will be your last week,” I say quietly.
She nods. “Yes. It is.”
I force a smile. “It’ll be strange once you leave. It’s been nice having you here.”
Her fingers still for a moment before she glances up. There’s a hint of apology in her smile. “I’ll miss it here.” After a beat, she adds, too brightly, “But we’re not gone yet. We still have Whitstable Castle on Friday.”
I nod.
I had no idea when I booked that day trip that it would be our last day together. I even took the day off for it.
“Shall we finish the chapter before dinner?” she suggests.
Again, I nod, but I’m too distracted to concentrate. My chest aches with gratitude for the time we’ve had, but that feels like the tip of an iceberg of what could have been, already sinking out of sight.
Dinner is almost impossible to sit through.
The sisters talk, excitement spilling across the table, but their voices blur into the background as my thoughts swim.
The lasagne on my plate grows cold—I can’t seem to take a bite.
I just sit there, dazed, feeling the walls drawing closer with every passing minute.
One more week, and she’ll be gone.
I shouldn’t be this affected, but I am.
It feels like someone’s pulled the rug out from under me. It’s an old, dizzying sensation I haven’t known in a long time.
For a fleeting moment, I catch the faintest trace of cigarette smoke. I glance towards the open window, but I don’t see Nova. Just the baked lasagne cooling.
For once, I will her to appear. I need her to tell me what this sinking feeling means.
I set my fork down, abandoning the pretence of eating.
With mock cheer—and, if I’m honest, a thread of desperate hope—I say, “Well, given it’s your last day on Saturday, allow me to host a farewell lunch for you both.
We can finally have those oysters I promised you, Lily-Anne.
And I know Rupert and Barbara will be keen to give you both a proper send-off. We could invite Sean too.”
“Ooh, that sounds fun. I’ll pass on the oysters, though,” Ellenor says. “What do you think, Lil?”
Lily-Anne hesitates, and for one foolish, hopeful second, I think she’s weighing whether she wants to spend her last weekend here, with me.
Then she says, “Actually, I promised Willoughby I’d practice with him before the gig,” and the thought collapses in on itself.
Of course she’ll be spending it with Jack. He’s been monopolising her time all week. And though I know it’s only fair—sensible, even—to rehearse at the venue, I can’t quite ignore the flicker of jealousy that stirs beneath it. A feeling I’ve been careful not to give life to.
Until now.
It will be her last day, and selfishly, I want her close.
Carefully, resignedly, and with a touch more shrewdness than I’d generally allow, I say, “Jack Willoughby, of course, is welcome to join us. You could both practice here if you’d like.”
Lily-Anne’s face lights up. “That sounds perfect. I’ll go ask him. Thanks, Brandon!”
She rises to call him, phone already in hand, and I pour myself more wine, wondering if I’m the villain or the fool. The Claret swirls in my glass, a shade darker than her dress.
“Smooth,” Ellenor says to me, cutting a piece of my lasagne with her fork and popping it in her mouth.
“I won’t pretend to not know what you mean.”
“Good. I can’t stand bullshitters.”
“Hmm.” I take another sip, preparing a dig of my own. “How are things with you and Sean?”
She tenses, taking her time chewing her food before replying. “I don’t know what you mean.”
I hide a smile and stand. “Thank you for dinner. I’ll be back in a minute to help clean up.” At the doorway, I glance back. “He’s a good man, by the way.”
“Yeah?” Ellenor resumes eating without looking up. “Takes one to know one, Brando.”
I call in at Rupert and Barbara’s. I’ll ask if they can host the farewell lunch. It will be neutral ground since Willoughby’s coming, and less disconcerting than inviting him into my home.
Rupert won’t mind. He’ll be thrilled to show off that wild jungle of a garden to anyone he can.
Meanwhile, I can commandeer his barbecue to make grilled oysters.
It won’t be the quiet dinner I once imagined with Lily-Anne, but perhaps that’s for the best, if the feeling gnawing at me now is anything to go by.
Still, it doesn’t seem enough. A single lunch.
At least I still have Friday to look forward to—an entire day spent in her company. And hopefully a few moments in between.