Chapter 27 Entwined
Entwined
Lily-Anne
The car passes through the brick gatehouse and onto Tower Hill Road, lush trees sliding past us as we wind our way towards the castle.
I’m in the back seat with Willoughby, who—true to form—is in a good mood. Conversation flows easily, mostly because he’s the one carrying it. Ellenor keeps goading him from the front passenger seat, but he responds to all her jabs with good cheer.
Brandon, at the wheel, has hardly said a word. I wish I could speak to him. But say what?
I feel so unsettled, and I keep wanting to apologise. I wish Jack hadn’t shown up this morning. I wasn’t sure how to turn him away.
I didn’t think a night at the movies would lead to this.
He texted me a couple of days ago to ask me out. I’m glad he didn’t call, because I spent a good hour trying to think of what to answer, all the time wishing Ellenor were home so we could hash out the pros and cons. Finally, I texted back.
Lily-Anne: Yes, I’d love to
Because I thought it was worth taking a chance.
Willoughby: Thursday night? I’ll pick you up
We had a nice time. No hand-holding, no kiss. Just popcorn, laughter, and making fun of the slightly corny CGI in the action film we chose.
Afterwards, he’d invited me to a boating trip with his uncle today. As excited as I was at the prospect of meeting Dustin Willoughby, I told him I couldn’t go.
“I’m spending the day at Whitstable Castle with Brandon and Ellenor.”
I hadn’t meant it as an invitation.
Yet this morning, as I stared at Brandon’s espresso machine, wishing I could unlock its mysteries and waiting for Ellenor to come down and make me a cup, the doorbell rang.
I was reluctant to answer it while Brandon wasn’t home, but when it rang a second time, and I recognised Willoughby’s voice calling, “anyone home?” I answered it.
For once, he wasn’t smiling, his expression glum. “Hi, Lil. The boating trip fell through.”
“Oh? What happened?” I knew he’d been looking forward to seeing his uncle.
He gave a disappointed shrug. “Something came up. My uncle couldn’t make it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Anyway.” He sighed heavily before offering a hopeful smile. “I thought I might tag along with you guys today. Would help take my mind off things. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Err, no…” I replied, because technically, I didn’t. “But I should check with the others.”
“Yeah, of course.” He surprised me with a peck on the cheek, and before I knew it, he’d stepped past me into the hall. “So, are we heading off soon?”
“Not yet,” I said, shutting the door and mulling over the word ‘we’. “Ellenor’s still getting ready, and I haven’t seen Brandon.”
“Is he out?”
“I think so.” The cottage always felt hollow in his absence. I realised then how wrong it felt to be standing with another man in Brandon’s hallway while he was out. Not even Ellenor knew where he’d gone. “Does he know you’re here?”
“Nah, but he won’t mind. We’re old mates, you know. Actually feels like we’ve been getting along better than ever lately.”
“Oh—really?” That wasn’t the impression I got. “That’s…good to hear.”
“Have you had brekkie yet?” he asked.
“Haven’t even had coffee yet,” I admitted.
Willoughby laughed when he saw the espresso machine. “We used to have the same one at the campus café we worked at.”
“You two worked together?”
“Of course. He trained me to be a barista. But it wasn’t long before the student became the master.” When I gave him a confused look, he leant close conspiratorially and whispered, “We were quite competitive when it came to latte art.”
I perked up at that, and before I knew it, I was showing him all sorts of designs I’d seen online.
“Have you heard of the seahorse?”
My jaw dropped. “Yes!”
I’d heard it was a notoriously difficult one to pull off.
“Here, let me show you a basic one first…”
Next thing I knew, he was using Brandon’s espresso machine.
I considered protesting, but he clearly knew his way around it.
And he’d said we could use it. Was it too much of a stretch to let Willoughby help me?
I honestly didn’t know, but I forgot my worries as he began making a cappuccino, explaining every step and even guiding my hands through the motions.
And then Brandon came home and the spell broke. I felt like a naughty child, caught doing something I shouldn’t.
A guilty feeling gnaws at me as the trees thin, the castle visible beyond them. It’s small but impressive, all grey flint and crenellated parapets. Half-castle, half-period-drama manor, the kind of place that looks like it should come with scandalous letters and tea trays.
Sprawling lawn surrounds it, and I try to focus on the positives. The Rose Gardens are meant to be beautiful, though roses are the last thing I want to see after this morning.
I can’t believe Brandon gave my sister roses—red ones, symbolising romantic love.
Embarrassingly, I still hope he might have feelings for me.
I certainly didn't expect Brandon to be interested in Ellenor, but looking back, they always treated each other with such familiarity. Like their verbal sparring. Or the way she invited herself to stay here, confident he wouldn’t turn her away.
Her words from our phone call echo back.
“Brandon loves me. He won’t say no.”
I took it for a throwaway comment, but was there a grain of truth to it?
They have history. After Dad introduced them years ago, he admitted, half-jokingly, that he hoped they’d ‘hit it off’. They never did—or so I assumed. The Words with Friends game is proof they stayed in touch.
Then there are her mysterious outings, always when Brandon’s supposedly at work. Maybe she’s been meeting him at the oyster farm?
Jealousy awakens, ugly and irrational, as I picture her laughing behind him on the quad bike, the wind streaming through her perfect sheet of ice-blonde hair.
The image leaves me hollow, like something inside me has deflated.
She’s the flame to his calm, intriguing him in the moments where I say nothing at all. I thought our silences were comfortable, but maybe they’re just dull. Ellenor meets his dry wit with fire, ready to take on the world, while I keep flinching from it.
And they’re closer in age, only four years apart. For the first time since I arrived in England, I feel the age gap between Brandon and me like a staggering divide. Of course he’d see me that way: a wide-eyed girl he humours, not a woman he could ever see in that light.
Willoughby’s hand brushing mine jolts me back to the present.
“Hey,” he says brightly. “Did I mention I used to work at Whitstable Castle?”
“Did you?” I ask.
“Work experience for school, wasn’t it?” Brandon remarks, tone polite, eyes fixed on the road.
Willoughby blinks, just once, then huffs a laugh. “Yep. And I know all the ins and outs—including the secret passages.”
Ellenor twists around in her seat. “Secret passages?”
He grins, winking as his fingers thread through mine. The touch startles me—his hand warm, strong, his rings glinting as they catch the light.
Gravel crunches beneath the tyres as we pull into the car park. I’m too aware of Willoughby’s hand, my pulse out of sync with his easy grip. I swear I feel the shadow of Brandon’s stare, but when I glance at the mirror, his eyes are fixed straight ahead.
I’m relieved to have the excuse to let go when we climb out. I tell myself it’s only to keep things from feeling awkward. But deep down, I know that’s not the whole truth.
***
We wander through the Rose Gardens, Willoughby by my side, Brandon and Ellenor a step ahead.
I didn’t expect a double date. I didn’t expect any of this craziness. It was meant to be a peaceful outing, but instead, I’m on edge. My nerves haven’t been this taut for weeks. I thought I’d finally shaken this anxious, twisting feeling…
But it’s back.
It’s all I can do to paste on a smile and hold it together.
Much as Willoughby’s exuberance usually lifts me, it’s too much today. I need space to think. I’d rather be back in my room at the cottage, guitar in my lap, filling the silence with quiet notes.
It reminds me the cottage won’t be my sanctuary much longer.
Tomorrow’s my last full day here, and it’s already chock-full of plans: Brandon’s BBQ lunch at Rupert and Barbara’s, and my gig with Willoughby in the evening.
Between that and Ellenor and me packing, cleaning, and tidying the flat, I won’t have a second to catch my breath.
Or to have a moment alone with Brandon.
The thought comes out of nowhere, and I push it away. I can’t believe I’m dating one man and thinking of another.
To my relief, Ellenor keeps Willoughby occupied as we explore the castle grounds. I don’t know what he did to rub her the wrong way, but her questions seem relentless—and he answers every one with effortless charm.
When she asks about his uncle, he launches into a story that gives me a few blessed minutes to drift forward and join Brandon near a cluster of white roses.
“Hey,” I say, wringing my hands.
“Hello.”
“I’m sorry about this morning,” I blurt. “I didn’t know Willoughby was coming. He just…showed up.”
“It’s fine,” he says evenly. “It’s a small town.”
“I didn’t even realise he knew your address…” I pause as realisation hits. “Oh no. The sign-up sheet. From the open mic. I wrote it down ages ago.”
He gives me a wry smile. “That would do it. Don’t worry—Jack’s always had a way of turning up where he’s least expected.”
“He mentioned things were better between you two.”
“Did he?”
I wilt. “So…that’s a ‘no’?”
Brandon seems to consider this, thumb grazing a rosehead, his expression unreadable. “Better, maybe. But things won’t ever go back to the way they were.”
Of course not. How could they, when they both knew Nova, both loved her? Both lost her. Though he’s never said, I’m sure he resents Willoughby for it.
“Sorry for letting him into your house,” I mumble. “I should’ve told him to wait outside. I just…” I break off, fumbling for something safer to say. Something polite, even if it stings. “Anyway, those were lovely roses you gave my sister.”
He doesn’t answer, and I add, “I’m…happy for you two.”
“And I, you,” he says softly. “I didn’t realise you and Jack were dating.”
A sick feeling slicks over my skin, like a layer of grime I want to scrub away. Desperately needing to get it off my chest, and knowing it will sound strange no matter how I phrase it, I say, “I didn’t spend the night with him. Or kiss him.”
He glances at me, a flicker of surprise crossing his features, before he faintly clears his throat. “It’s none of my business.”
“Of course,” I mumble. Did I think he’d look relieved? Stupid.
“Very,” Toby agrees, sounding bored.
Willoughby seems uninterested in the flowers, and we soon move on. He leads us through the garden, beneath a dark wrought-iron gazebo draped in lime-green foliage. I’d like to linger and take it all in properly, but he strides ahead, leading us to a water fountain with a quatrefoil stone basin.
“Before I forget…” Willoughby spins to face me, reaching into his jacket and producing a single red rose with a flourish.
“For you,” he says with a shy smile. “I picked it just for you. Though I realise it’s not the first offering of the day…”
I try not to look at Brandon or Ellenor as I reluctantly take the flower.
“Wait. Did you get this from the Rose Gardens?” I ask incredulously, staring at the torn stem.
“Yep. I’ve always preferred wildflowers.”
“More like stolen,” Ellenor snorts. “Really romantic.”
“What could be more romantic than a stolen rose?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ellenor says loudly. “Paying for it? With money?”
I half expect Willoughby to look irritated, but he merely shrugs and laughs it off. “You and I have a different idea of romance, Elle.”
“Whatever,” she says. “Come on, the hanging basket thing starts soon.”
The creative workshop is set up on the lawn beneath a white marquee.
I feel absurd carrying the rose, half-convinced the staff will think I stole it. I can’t exactly toss it, though, so I trim the stem with pruners and tuck it into my hair instead.
Meanwhile, Ellenor seems to have warmed to Willoughby.
Apparently, he’s a big Harry Potter fan—big enough to earn her approval.
It doesn’t hurt that he’s promised to reveal the castle’s ‘ancient secrets’ later when we go inside.
I can’t quite tell whether he’s really that invested, or simply enjoying how easily it delights Ellenor, but it leaves me with a faint, sour feeling.
The workshop instructor mentioned the place was built in the eighteenth century, but that hasn’t stopped the two of them from weaving elaborate theories about hidden trapdoors, enchanted portraits, and three-headed dogs.
Brandon and I work in quiet tandem, our fingers brushing occasionally as we weave ivy through the pale rattan, the vines tangled and entwined like the silence between us.
I want to speak, to ask, Why her? Why Ellenor?
But what good would it do? I already know why. He’s attracted to my older, more confident sister. And I have no right to be upset.
I should smile and say, “I’m happy for you both. I hope it works out.” But I can’t. Not yet. I’ll wallow in the hurt just a little longer.
“There’s a haunted tower I’ll show you,” Willoughby is telling Ellenor. “Off-limits, but I can get us in. There’s not much up there, just dust and bare walls, but there’s always that creepy feeling that someone—or something—is watching.”
Ellenor rubs her hands together. “That sounds like my cup of tea.”
“And how do you propose we get into the tower?” Brandon asks. “It’s guided tours only.”
Willoughby smirks, mirroring Ellenor’s grin. “Oh, Brandon, ye of little faith. Trust me. I have a plan.” He taps his nose. “I know a guy.”
So low I almost miss it, Brandon groans.
“I don’t want to break in,” I say, my tone firm but quiet enough not to draw the instructor’s attention.
“We won’t, I promise,” Willoughby says. “Come on—I’ll show you. We’re all done here, right?”
I glance at Brandon. Our flower basket is still unfinished, and I’m reluctant to leave it. Or maybe I’m just reluctant for this quiet moment beside Brandon to end. But he simply shrugs a shoulder, his expression too careful to read.
Willoughby reaches for my hand, and I let him lead me away, an excited Ellenor at our heels chattering about dungeons and poltergeists.
I don’t need to glance back to know Brandon’s there, following. A ripple of awareness moves through me, prickling my skin—the kind that only ever seems to come from him.