SEBASTIAN
SEBASTIAN
The look on Craig's face almost makes this idiotic idea of mine feel worthwhile when I slide into the passenger seat of his car and buckle myself in. He's staring and speechless, and I savour the moment.
I thought Ashleigh would've given him the heads-up on this change to plan, but apparently not. Catching her eye in the rearview mirror as she settles into the backseat, I raise a questioning brow. She pulls the door closed and flashes me a fiendish smile. "Easier to get forgiveness than permission; that's what they say, right?"
"Why," Craig finally finds his voice. "Are you here?"
"I'm coming."
"Like hell you are!"
"It may not be my place to forbid Ash from these acts of extreme stupidity, but she can't stop me from joining in on them."
"You're not invited."
"Well, I'm not getting out. So, either we all go, or we all stay here and miss out."
He flits a look over his shoulder into the back, where Ashleigh's making herself comfortable, appearing entirely unconcerned, and his expression darkens.
"Just drive, Craig," she chirps. "We're all good."
I'd expected stubborn resistance from Ashleigh over this. It threw me for six when all she said was, "I don't see the harm in it". I've kind of been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since, some demand made of me in return for her compliance.
She's had me promise to play nice and remember my manners, but honestly, after seeing the level of her nerves today, I'm thinking now that my familiar company is maybe something of a relief for her. It also hasn't escaped my notice that she's made a real effort to not stand out tonight, dressed smart but simple, her hair freshly dyed to a tame deep red, tied up in a pony.
I'm in the same clothes I wore for the disastrous meal with Mum—the closest to formal wear I own besides my funeral suit—and yet, next to Craig in his tidy blue sweater, I'm feeling kind of shabby. Dropping my head back against the headrest, I close my eyes. "Chop chop."
It's several long minutes before Craig relents and starts the car.
He remains silent and brooding for the whole duration of the trip, his chiselled jaw ticking like it's about to explode. Ashleigh and I discuss the many merits of the humble potato with exaggerated enthusiasm until, fifteen minutes later, he pulls up outside his home. The security gates open for him straight away, and he steers the car smoothly up the long drive. My first experience as a passenger to Craig's driving has been quite the treat; he's fast, but he's surprisingly mindful.
Taking the lead to climb out, he slams his car door and stalks toward the house without a backward glance. Ashleigh hurries to catch him up. I'm left hating myself all over again for the awe that strikes me at the ostentatious grandeur of the place; a two-storey limestone manor house standing prominent and proud in a sweeping expanse of manicured grounds. My door shuts, and the immediate click of the lock snaps me back to myself. This is weird. I shouldn't be here.
But then, Ashleigh motions to me from the open front door, and well, after the stand I’ve taken, it's really too late for me to back down now.
Just stepping into the foyer, I can tell the inside is no less imposing than the outside. The light wood floor is glossier than a newly polished squash court, the ceiling vaults at least eight feet above my head, and, of course, there's a chandelier.
Craig slouches against the stark white wall to my right, intent on removing his shoes when I shut us in. He's prompt in rousing himself, though, when a female voice carries along the hallway from the room at its far end.
"Is that you home, Philip?"
"No," he says, lining the Vans up straight beside the welcome mat.
Ashleigh swiftly copies, and a nudge of her elbow to my ribs prompts me to follow suit.
"Oh." The woman who appears a moment later shares Craig's pale golden hair and piercing eyes, but where he's tall and solid, she looks as if a breeze could topple her. "About time, Son." She approaches. But it's not Craig she fixes on; it's Ashleigh. And then me. "Hello?"
I see her register the way Ashleigh moves into me. "Hey, Mrs Lawton," I say, stepping forward when no one else does. "Good to meet you." She eyes my outstretched hand but doesn't immediately take it. "I apologise for intruding like this. I hope it's okay. Just, well, my plans with my girlfriend fell through for tonight, and Ashleigh and Craig took pity on me."
Cool fingers lightly brush my palm. "Right. Well then," she says, her smile fleeting. "The more, the merrier, I suppose."
"Your son said the same."
Ashleigh stiffens as I'm ignored, abruptly losing the woman's interest in its return to her. "You have a gorgeous home, Mrs Lawton."
"Why, thank you, dear. And please, call me Samantha."
It's only then, spared the opportunity to glance around, that I realise Craig has vanished while we've talked. Nice.
"Apparently," Samantha goes on, ushering Ashleigh further into the house. "You and I have met before. But I'm sorry, I don't…" Slim shoulders lifting, she shakes her head and starts walking away.
"Oh, that's okay. Yeah, it was a long time ago, and I, uh… probably looked a lot different back then. Think it was during my eyeliner phase." Ashleigh darts me an anxious glance as she’s led toward the distant open doorway.
"Come along through to the conservatory, won't you? We're just setting up, and Philip shouldn't be too much longer."
I'm left alone in the foyer, unable to motivate my feet to move. But I'm not alone for long.
The two have barely disappeared when Craig reappears, descending the stairs. "Realising your mistake yet?" He’s quick to spot me.
"Where the hell have you been?" I deflect. It honestly hasn't occurred to me until now that Craig's silence may not have been entirely due to my presence.
Reaching the bottom step of the stairwell, he slumps against the bannister and drops his gaze to his feet. "Checking in on Chrissy. I thought he might still be awake, but he isn't."
"Your little brother?"
"Yeah." The soft tenderness to his tone gives me pause. A sliver of unguarded vulnerability I wasn't expecting to hear. "Kid's out for the count."
"Well, that's good, though, right?"
"Sure."
"And what about Alex? Is he not here for tonight's fun times?"
His snort is answer enough. He adds to it anyway. "Now, that would make for an interesting—"
" SHAY? " A bellowed interruption clamps his mouth abruptly shut, his defences slamming back in place. "Hold up! Acray-cray shay? You're the lady-friend?"
I'm the first to get moving, but Craig's a bare half-beat behind. "Tinwell?" I ask, speeding my pace.
"Tinwell." He confirms, overtaking.
We cross through a spacious kitchen, immaculate and impersonal, before reaching the conservatory.
The glass-walled room is a hive of activity. Over at a corner bar, Samantha is sat on a high stool alongside another woman, chubby and brunette, seemingly more involved with chitchat than drink-making. A dour-faced man bustles around the coffee table, laying out snacks while berating a boy of maybe thirteen who's reclined across the sofa. The unfazed youth continues to yell at an obscenely large flatscreen, pounding on the gaming controller in his hands.
On the other side of the room, a Monopoly board is set up on a large round table, boxes of Scrabble and Trivial Pursuit on the floor underneath; there's soft music playing from somewhere. And stood a couple of feet ahead, Ashleigh is cross-armed and glaring at a great hulk of a guy who turns at the sound of our entrance.
I have to admit that I've been somewhat eager to put a face to the name, but this Gary Tinwell is not at all what I'd been led to imagine.
Sure, he's big, but it's in a way that suggests more cuddle than clout, and the wide grin on his face appears genial. "After all those times that we'd rag the shit out of her back in the day," he says, voice a low chuckle. And, just like that, the illusion of him shatters. "Think you've got some 'splaining to do, Lawton."
Hands curling into fists, my gaze snaps to Ashleigh. But before I can do anything more, Craig shoves past me and makes a grab for her.
Only for Gary to step between them and intercept. "Come on, now." He slings a thick arm roughly around Craig's shoulders. "Can't blame me for being curious. I mean, seriously." His other arm lifts, snaking for Ashleigh. "You two?"
"Don't even." She jerks away.
I don't hesitate this time. "You lay one hand on her, and I swear, it'll be the last thing you do with it!"
"And just who might you be," an imperious voice behind me slams the room to an instant standstill, "to make such bold threats to my guests?"
Insignificant a short moment ago, I'm now the centre of everyone's attention. Ashleigh gawps at me, horrified, and Craig's face drains to a deathly shade of pale. Even the kid on the sofa has swerved around to stare, his game paused. The music sounds loud all of a sudden as I'm thrown into my own personal hell.
Gary recovers fast, a malicious smirk twisting his mouth as he releases Craig with a stealthy shove. "Yeah," he scoffs. "What's your deal, clown?"
I’m slow to turn my head, finding myself eye-to-eye with a man who I couldn't mistake for anyone other than the lord and master of this manor. He's formidable.
"Well?" Philip prompts me.
"I," I start and swallow thickly. "I'm sorry, sir. That was—"
"Yes," he cuts in. "It was. Now tell me, who are you and what is it you're doing here?"
"Sebastian." My name races from my tongue, and I dully register that this is the first I've been asked for it tonight. "I'm Sebastian," I clarify after a beat, praying he doesn’t recall my agitated stand against him at his gates. "And I'm—"
"Dad," Craig speaks up. "Bastian is here with Ash because she asked him to be. She just got a little anxious about coming on her own. It was a last-minute change, sorry, but I didn't think you'd mind."
Philip's lofty gaze slides to his son, his lip quirking, and I can picture Ashleigh's beguiling doe eyes surreptitiously puzzling him out.
"Yep. What he said," she says.
"So, a chaperon?" Gary sniggers. "Really?" His next words are an odious hiss at my back. "Like Shay has any virtue left worth protecting."
Forcing in a breath and holding it, my teeth clench as tight as my fists through yet another long moment of pressured scrutiny.
Then, without warning, Philip's face erupts into a jarring guffaw. "You look near ready to wet yourself, boy!" He jibes, and it's almost as if that's the cue the room was waiting on to reanimate.
"Philip! Come on," Samantha calls out from the bar as the warfare sound effects from the boy's game start up again, drowning out Dido's 'White Flag'.
"There's a Scotch here with your name on it," her friend chips in.
A heavy hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes just a pinch too hard. "Relax," Philip says, passing me by.
I exhale stiffly as he moves away, feeling not at all relaxed. A glance at Craig tells me he's not either. Ashleigh, however, at least tries to look it, flashing a bright smile and swiping the back of her hand across her forehead.
"Best buckle up, girlies," Gary alerts us to his lingering presence; a suggestive glance flicked Ashleigh's way. "Tonight is going to be a riot."
In retrospect, I'm sure I'd see the good fortune of Craig being close enough to hold me back, but right now, I don't. His grip only strengthens when I attempt to shirk him off. "Not here," he growls in my ear.
Ashleigh seizes my other elbow. "Get it together, Bas. You're supposed to be the level-headed one."
"Oh, what a wonderfully sickening couple two of you three make!" Gary chortles before turning on his heel after Philip toward the bar. "I need a drink. Wine spritzer for you, Lawton, yeah?"