Chapter 31
This One’s Mine
Lily-Anne
I chase after him, but his car is already halfway down the lane.
“Brandon!” My voice cracks, snatched by the wind and carried out to sea.
He doesn’t stop. The car turns the corner and is gone.
I stand there, heart racing. He just needs space. After everything he’s just learned, after the grief he has to face again, it’s no wonder.
Still, I wish I could be with him. I hate to think of him going through it alone.
The whole video mess gnaws at me. I never meant for things to blow up. I assumed they were private, but I should’ve known Willoughby would post them.
The jangle of keys makes me whirl around. Ellenor is climbing into her car.
“Where are you going?” I yell.
“After him, of course! I’ll try to follow him.”
“I’ll come with you!” I say at once, rushing forward.
Ellenor shakes her head. “No—you’ve got your gig to get to, remember? Stay. I’ve got this.”
“She’s right,” Willoughby says to me. “We may as well head over.”
He gently pulls me away from the car, and I watch in disappointment as Ellenor drives away.
“Don’t worry,” he snickers. “She’s Brandon’s girl. If anyone can cheer him up, it’s your sister.”
I don’t like how casually he says it, reminding me that Brandon is Ellenor’s.
My chest tightens. Ellenor didn’t hesitate.
She went after him without a second thought.
I had my doubts before, brushed them aside as nothing.
But standing here now, watching her car disappear, I can’t shake the certainty settling in my bones: they’re in love.
The thought stings more than I want to admit.
I’m glad she went after him. I’m glad he won’t be alone. But a selfish part of me wishes he were mine to console.
The thought hits me quietly at first, then all at once. I told myself I’d finally let Brandon go. That I was done pining for someone who would never be mine. And yet, here I am, standing beside another man—who I was literally kissing last night—and still thinking about him.
God, what’s wrong with me?
A sigh slips out as I watch the empty street, Ellenor’s car long gone.
Just one more night. I just have to get through this gig, and then I’ll tell Willoughby I’m not interested in dating him.
He brushes my arm. “Just give him some time to cool off.”
I nod. “Before we go, I need to duck upstairs and freshen up.”
“Alright. But maybe we should check on the oldies first? We all sort of ran off.”
I feel a flicker of embarrassment. I momentarily forgot about Rupert and Barbara.
And I never in a million years thought I’d forget my guitar. It feels oddly comforting, like proof that my whole world doesn’t revolve around it anymore.
Back inside Rupert and Barbara’s pink cottage, however, there’s not much to do. The dishes are already loaded in the dishwasher, Rupert’s cleaned the barbecue, and the garden…remains as chaotic as it ever was.
“Thanks for a great evening,” Willoughby says conversationally as we say goodbye in the hallway. “Bit of a shame about Brandon though, hey?”
Rupert’s wheelchair creaks as he shifts. “Don’t you do that.”
Willoughby’s smile falters. “Pardon? Do what?”
“Don’t you do that.”
Rupert’s gaze doesn’t move.
Willoughby swallows, then he gives me a strange, hollow look. “I’ll wait outside for you, Lil, yeah?”
The tension goes with him, and I sigh in relief as Barbara hugs me.
“I’m sorry about that,” I say.
Barbara rubs my back. “Don’t worry, dear. You’re not the one who’s done wrong here.”
“I shouldn’t have brought him. Maybe…I shouldn’t go to the gig.”
Barbara pulls back to study me, still holding me by the arms.
“Absolutely not. You go play, love. This is your night.”
Rupert smiles. “Remember paintball? You kept moving, even under fire.”
“I’m not sure that worked out for me…” I say, grinning despite myself.
Barbara squeezes my arms. “Go on. We’ll come see you off tomorrow.”
As I bend down to hug Rupert, he whispers, “Such a shame you and Brandon couldn’t find your moment.”
I return outside, managing a small smile for Willoughby that feels all wrong. I hate pretending everything’s fine when I know this ends tonight. If it wasn’t for how important this gig is to us both, I’d tell him right now.
I wonder if he’d cancel the gig. Part of me would be relieved not to go, especially when every part of me yearns to go after Brandon. Except he has Ellenor. He doesn’t need me there.
The thought weighs on my chest, sore like a bruise I can’t press without wincing.
I ask Willoughby to wait for me while I go inside Brandon’s cottage to ‘freshen up’.
He grabs my arm. “Hey, wait. It almost seems crazy to have to say it, but you know what Brandon said about me trying to steal your music is bullshit, don’t you?”
I want to believe him. While I have a lot of faith in Brandon’s instincts, that whole scene was confusing. And honestly, I don’t see how Willoughby could steal my music, even if he wanted to. I wrote it. It’s mine.
Still, Brandon’s warning stays with me, hard to ignore. If it weren’t for the hundred or so people who bought tickets to our performance, I don’t think I’d be going.
It would be a sad end to my trip, letting all those people down.
“I’m on your side, Lil,” Willoughby prompts, giving me an earnest half-smile. “We both are. Brandon’s just a bit hung up about the past.”
“I know,” I say. I’m a bit ‘hung up’ about the past, too.
I give him the reassuring smile he’s after. “Let’s just focus on tonight.”
As I head inside, he calls after me, “Don’t change out of that red dress—it looks lovely!”
“Sure,” I reply, annoyance flaring. I was planning on wearing this dress anyway, along with the glittery ballet flats on my feet, but I now have the sudden urge to take a pair of scissors to them both.
But I didn’t really come up here to freshen up, nor destroy perfectly good dresses.
Halfway up the stairs, a flash of red catches in the hall mirror.
I stop. Step back.
The girl in the glass looks fine. Dressed and ready for an important night. And yet her brow is furrowed, her lip caught between her teeth, her expression that tight, uneasy one I know too well.
A sick recognition slides into focus.
I remember this version of myself. This is what it feels like when someone starts shaping your choices and calling it help.
My jaw tightens.
No. Not again.
I turn away from the mirror and keep going, determined to leave the red dress—but only for me.
Upstairs in my room, I do something I should have done a long time ago. I pull out the old magazine I’d bought at Sydney Airport with Nova on the cover, tie it up in a plastic bag, and drop it in the garbage bin outside.
It’s not her I’m throwing away, but this version that’s tormented him. I don’t want Brandon to ever have to see it again.
***
By the time we get to the café, my nerves are a restless buzz.
Inside, the place is packed. Fairy lights drape across the beams, a pop rhythm pulses from the speakers, and the air hums with anticipation. On another night, I might be excited. But tonight, everything is too loud, too bright, too much.
As we stand at the edge of the stage, Willoughby leans close to my ear. “There she is. White blazer by the bar.”
I follow his gaze. A tall woman with cropped silver hair is scrolling her phone, posture stiff, expression unreadable. Hilary Green. The talent scout. The woman who could change the course of our lives.
“With any luck, she’s about to notice us,” he adds, eyes glinting
Us.
As if it’s only a matter of time before the scout makes it official.
“We’ve just got to smash it tonight,” he continues. “Show her we’re the real deal.”
“You realise I’m leaving tomorrow, right?” I remind him, disguising my concern with playfulness.
“Yeah, of course—the road trip.” He chuckles. “You’ll be back in a week or two. We don’t want to lose our momentum.”
His confidence rankles. I haven’t agreed on a return date, or that I’ll even return to Whitstable. Ellenor and I plan to take it as it comes—follow the Harry Potter trail, possibly all the way up to Scotland. I’ve told him as much, yet he talks as if we already have future performances locked in.
I let it go.
“Let’s just focus on tonight,” I tell him for the second time this evening.
I catch a flash of blonde hair by the door. My heart lifts. Ellenor. Is Brandon with her?
But when she turns, I realise it isn’t my sister at all, and there’s no sign of Brandon.
Disappointment tugs at me. I check my phone quickly—no messages.
“Good to go?” Willoughby asks.
I nod, and he steps up to the mic, flashing the crowd with his trademark grin as he leans in.
“Evening, folks! How are we all doing?” People cheer. “Give it up for your favourite dynamic duo—Batman and Robin!”
Laughter. I’m afraid to ask which of us is Robin. Though I still think it beats Lilloughby.
If it weren’t for the way things fell apart at the barbecue, I might entertain the idea of forming a band, just to see where it leads.
But the memory still makes me queasy: the crack of Brandon’s fist, the stunned silence that followed.
He wasn’t wild or reckless—he was controlled, every line of him carved from grief and rage and something heartbreakingly noble.
Seeing him like that chilled me—not out of fear but sorrow; I could feel how deeply it cost him.
And I know he didn’t just do it for Nova.
He did it for me too.
I blink, and the café around me blurs, laughter and clinking glasses feeling miles away, everything and everyone slightly out of sync.
Brandon’s agonised expression swims in my vision. I can’t stop thinking about him—wondering where he is, hoping Ellenor’s found him. Hoping he’s okay.
Wishing for the thousandth time I was with him.
“You sure you’re okay?” Willoughby asks, covering the mic.
I nod. My pulse races too fast, the fabric of my dress clinging to my back.
I can’t afford to overthink now. I just have to get through the set.
He smiles at the crowd. “This one’s an original, folks. I hope you like it.”