Chapter Two #2
I wonder if he loved her. Can you love two people at the same time?
Does it work? He loved Joanne, I know he did because I watched him look at her the same way Phoebe looked at me but then I also saw him look at Mia like that.
People don’t possess two hearts, you can’t split it like that.
You can’t hold one love for someone and a different kind of the same love for someone else in one heart.
There’s only so much an organ that tiny can take.
But I mean, I have to give it to him, I can just about take a piss without it making front line news but still—how does Ev know about it?
“What’s happened?”
Dad rolls his eyes, sits up and gets straight to it. “Someone leaked it to the press, the whole thing—this morning. I mean, Jesus, Arthur, throw your phone into the Thames on your way over or something?”
“No, I just haven’t looked at it in a while, didn’t have a reason to.”
That and I couldn’t take anymore of seeing Phoebe with that absolute fucking tosser, Dicky or whatever he’s called.
“Right well,” Dad sighs. “We have statements written—”
“Hang on,” I pipe up. “This is his mess,” I nod at Seb. “Why are we getting involved?”
“Because we’re a family,” Mum sniffs. “We stand together.”
“Yeah,” Sebastian agrees. “I mean, how many times did we cover your arse?”
Pull back, look at him funny. “This isn’t about me.”
“No,” shakes his head. “But every time you messed up, we were all there, statements at the ready. Why can’t you do the same for me?”
“Because,” I stand up, pissed off now. “You had a choice! You chose to sleep with her!”
He throws his head back, laughs. “What? And you didn’t have a choice to not rack up every chance you got?”
“That isn’t the same and you fucking know it.”
“Arthur,” Mum butts in, touching my leg. “Sit down.”
“No—no,” I shake my head. “We’re tarnishing our names because of his mistakes!”
“We can sort this,” Dad adds in. “Money, statements—whatever it takes. We’ve cleared plenty of messes in the past, this one is no different.”
I run a hand through my hair, try to breathe but I can’t.
“How many fucking times did we do this for you, Arthur?” Sebastian shouts, standing up, both of us staring at each other, just the coffee table between us. “How many times did Dad pay off paparazzi? How many journalists lost their jobs because of you?”
“I never asked anyone to!”
“No—but they did it anyway!” His face is red and I’m unsure if it’s because of the matter at hand or all because of the shit I’ve caused. “They did it anyway, Arthur, because Mum’s right—we are a family! And now all I ask is that you be here for me like I was for you!”
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Boys!” Dad shouts, slapping the wooden coffee table.
Sebastian, forever the coward, shakes his head, walks out of the room.
I sit back down, breathing heavy.
Mum gets up, sits down next to Dad and touches his hand. “When should we tell him?”
Lock eyes with the pair of them. “Tell me what?”
Dad sighs, shakes his head. “Nothi—”
“No,” frown, “tell me.”
Mum folds her lips, dips her tongue out to wet them. “It’s um…it’s hard, Arthur.”
I pull back, lean against the back of the sofa. “What is?”
“This decision,” Mum starts, eyes cast down. “It wasn’t easy for us.”
“Just tell me.”
Rub my hands down my thighs, worried a bit for what they could say.
Dad sits forward, clasps his hands between his legs. “We think—me and your mum—think it would be a good idea for you to get your own place.”
My stomach dips. “What?”
“Oh God,” Mum mutters, hand covering her mouth.
“Look, Son,” Dad runs a hand down his face.
“There’s a lot of bad memories here, yeah?
You can agree on that, right? Lot of stuff has happened here and for you to recover and be the version we all want, a change of scenery would be good.
There’s that and there’s also Evangeline we need to think about—I don’t know if she’s ready yet. ”
“So,” I clear my throat, leaning forward. “Where am I to live?”
My hands are shaking at my sides, this unbridled anger curdling in my gut. Haven’t even been here for one night and already I’m fucking homeless?
“There’s so many places,” Mum smiles, trying to soften it all. “Kensington P—”
“Bad memories,” I laugh. “Bad fucking memories? You just said bad memories, did you not?” I point over at her. “And now you want me to live in a place that has bad memories growing like mold?”
Mum sucks in a sharp breath, bows her head. “It’s not that bad.”
“No,” I sniff. “Just the place my brother was last alive.”
“Arthur—” Dad cuts in. “You’re making this really difficult.”
“Oh, am I?” I pull back. “Well, sorry about that but I’ve just been made fucking homeless thanks to likes of you two!” I stand up, furious actually with them.
I shake my head, squeeze my eyes shut for a second.
“You know, I thought coming back unannounced wasn’t a good idea but you’re my family—that bullshit united front you bang on about—so I thought you wouldn’t mind.
Might’ve been happy to see me. Evangeline I get, she’s a child—but you two,” I wag my finger between them. “You’re a joke. I’m your son.”
“Arthur,” Mum sobs. “Please, darling.”
Put my hand up, don’t want to hear it. “No, it’s fine.”
Dads jaw ticks. “Listen—”
“No,” I shrug, walking out of the room. “Don’t worry, I’ll be out your hair in no time—but,” I turn around, “Don’t expect me to show up for him,” I point aimlessly behind me, “Because I won’t.”
“Arthur, wait, please!” I hear Mum begging but I’m already halfway through the kitchen.
Fuck them.
I come back, not expecting flowers or a fucking entourage of support but maybe just a place to sleep tonight.
Not even that. Feels all a bit pointless now.
Sure, fine, whatever, I got clean for myself but what was the point if not even my own fucking family can’t accept me?
I was alright to live there when I was off my face but not now that I’m clean?
If anything, it just doesn’t make sense to me.
I sit on one of the chairs in the garden, really fighting the urge to have a cigarette.
But I don’t. I’m better now so instead, I reach for my phone and dial a number I know will pick up on the third ring.
Phone is always never that far from him but also not glued to his hand and like clockwork, he picks up at the start of the third ring.
“Who’s this?”
Smile to myself. “Piss off.”
“No, seriously, who is this?”
“I’m really not in the mood, Con.”
“Nah, just thought I’d never fucking hear from you again—your number started collecting dust in my contacts.”
“Yep,” I sigh. “Well, I’m here.”
“Are you alive?”
I imagine him properly tilting his head, frowning, fully serious.
“No, I’m talking from the grave—seriously, Con, I need a favour.”
“I’m not shoving contraband up my arse for you.”
Roll my eyes. Nice to know not everything has changed.
“Have you got a spare room?”
“I do, actually—got three. Moved into a nice little apartment in Mayfair—the twins kicked me out of the hotel—pricks— so I bought a place on South Audley. Yeah, got a gym, spa, swimming pool.” He munches on something. “Why do you ask?”
“Reckon I could crash in one of them?”
The line goes silent.
“Are you asking to move in with me?” Can hear the smile in his voice. “Could’ve at least taken me out for dinner first, Arth.”
“Connie,” I try my best not to laugh. “Please, mate.”
“Only if you promise that I can have my own bedroom in Buckingham Palace—I would ask for an entire wing but I know that’s pushing it a bit.”
Shake my head. Missed him a lot. “I’m never going to live there.”
It goes silent again and I wonder what he’s thinking. I mean, is everyone thinking the same as my parents? Realistically, who wants an ex-druggie living with them. I know I won’t relapse but they don’t. What are they going to do? Just take my word? Even I know how stupid that sounds.
“So—uh, can I?” Clear my throat.
“What—oh, yeah—I was just moving the cardboard cut out of you from one of the rooms.”
My face drops. “Are you joking?”
I can hear some rustling from his end.
“Why would I be joking?”
“That’s a bit weird, mate.”
“We’ve been bringing it to dinner,” he says, dead serious. “The lot of us, fucking missed the bones of you, Arth—course you can stay with me. Been dreaming of the day me and you would live together.”
I go to say something but I can’t get my words out, feel like my throats closed up…like I’m fucking choked up or something.
“Just promise no racking up in my bathroom, alright? I’ve had these countertops imported in from Tuscany.”
“Yeah,” I cough out a laugh. “I promise.”