Chapter Forty-Seven
Lady Phoebe
Can you believe that Kate and Matthew are still together? No, neither can I but here we are—in The Ritz Restaurant for the annual Christmas charity event.
Sometimes it’s an auction, sometimes just dinner with a few boring speeches and sometimes it’s on Boxing Day. They really are so unorganised. I can see why Spencer tries to spend as much time as possible away from them.
Arthur and I came together which is nice. I look nice tonight, as well. I haven’t felt this nice in a while. Maybe it’s Arthur. Maybe it’s the new wardrobe I treated myself to after that dreadful visit to his parents last week. Who’s to say, really?
“What are you getting me for Christmas?” Athena asks, eyes twinkling, George on her arm.
“A subscription to Durex.”
Her face falls. “That’s lame! Boo!” She blows a raspberry at me. “What about a bag?” She blinks. “Maybe that Chanel I spotted the other day…”
“You think you’re so fucking funny, don’t you?” George chimes in.
I ignore him because I am. I’m the funniest fucking person ever, actually.
“What are you getting me for Christmas?” I ask instead, raising my brows at her.
“A block of therapy sessions!”
Arthur snorts next to me.
I roll my eyes. “They’re not driving lessons, Athena.”
“Well,” she throws her hand up. “Whatever you want then—but it’s tricky because you already have everything.”
“No, I don’t.”
She blinks a few times, tilts her head. “You have a prince.”
George scoffs. “What? And I’m not good enough?”
Athena turns to him, pats his chest. “You’re perfect, obviously but you’re just not a prince.”
“Oh, please,” he rolls his eyes, nods at Arthur. “He’s just like me—maybe a bit more poncey, but still.”
“You’re nothing alike!” Athena argues. “Arthur doesn’t do the racketee—”
George slaps his free hand over her mouth. “Excuse us.” And then he steers her away.
I turn to Arthur and we both laugh.
He hooks his arm through mine, groans inwardly. “This is such a bore. I just wanna go home.”
“Isn’t it just?” I say through gritted teeth as I smile at anyone who looks over at us.
“What should we get Cynthia for Christmas? She’s impossible to buy for, she hates fucking everything.”
“Um,” I look at him. “A fucking face lift?”
“Phoebe!” He throws his head back, laughs loud enough for a few people to look our way.
“I’m serious, her cheeks have got some serious sagging.”
A little while later, as we slowly drag through the evening and old men who I’ve never heard of start talking about charities, I spot Ronan Stratton from across the room, sitting with the other dark haired, dark eyed, sharp jawed people who possess the striking features.
They’re so impossible to miss in a room full of people.
They tower over everyone, inserting their power with just one glance.
I’ve yet to catch him alone, to ask more about my sister.
I don’t know how to. If I was to randomly sneak off into a Stratton branch, it’s going to look dodgy.
It’d look dodge for anyone. There’s a small part of me that hopes I won’t have to be the one to do it and that he’ll talk to me, give me something else but my hope is fickle. Hope typically is.
“Stop it!” I hiss at Connie again as he tries throwing yet another grape into my drink.
He sits back on his chair on the table next to mine, legs stretched out, feet crossed at the ankle, back slouched. “I’m bored,” he whispers.
“I don’t have any games on my phone,” I smile sarcastically, keeping my voice low.
“Fuck you then,” he whispers back, downs the rest of his gin and tonic.
Primrose isn’t here which is strange and I want to ask him why but really it’s none of my business and if he wanted us to know, I’m sure he’d say something.
As a young woman walks to the front and starts talking about babies stuck in the foster system, Connie leans over to me. “I had a wank to your sister last night.”
“Connie!”
I didn’t think the silence in the room could get any quieter but it did, when everyone stops and stares over at me. I sink into my seat, swallow, while Connie laughs silently next to me—hand over his mouth, back trembling.
“Phoebe!” Mum hisses over the table after a second, when things go back to normal.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
I tuck my chair into the table, away from Connie and pretend to be the best listener in the room. I’ll make a sizable donation, I tell myself.
I catch his eyes from across the hall. You can guess who. Who else's eyes would they be? He smiles but it’s off. His lips are drawn into a tight line and his eyebrows frown ever so slightly. I frown back. Arthur nods his head towards the doors.
Excuse myself, go out there two minutes later.
He stands there, in his tux looking exhausted.
“What’s the matter?”
He scrubs a hand down his face. “I’ve got a banging headache, I think I’m going to head back.”
“I’ll come with.”
I’m about to walk out of the hotel but he stops me. “No, don’t be silly. Stay. I just need a lie down, Phoebs.”
“Are you sure?” I tilt my head.
“Positive. I’ll be right as rain later.” He gives me a kiss on the lips, his hand clutching mine. “Go back, have a glass of champagne.”
Scrunch my nose up. “I’m off that, remember?”
He frowns. “Maybe get back on it, then. It’s freaking me out.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll have a gin and tonic,” I lie because I won’t. I’m not drinking now. Maybe it’s because of Halloween or maybe it’s because of the morning of my birthday. I’m not sure I can tell yet.
“Perfect,” he smiles, leans in for another kiss. “Come back to Connie’s. I’ll be there.”
I nod and watch him walk off. My hand instinctively goes to my stomach and not why you think it does because that can’t happen to me, remember?
But I think it does because I want that to happen to me.
It was the conversation with his parents and seeing Margot and everywhere I look, it seems. You don’t think babies and pregnancy are everywhere until it’s the only thing you’re actively trying to seek out.
I don’t know why I do it to myself. It’s a possibility that isn’t even within reach.
It can’t happen. It won’t happen. It hasn’t happened.
I stare at myself through the mirror mounted on the wall opposite me, outside of the hall.
My dress fits me. It’s a size ten which is weird.
I’ve never bought any of my clothes in a size ten.
I think I put on some weight when I was with Digby.
That’s the only reason. Still makes me uncomfortable because I'm a girl and girls typically do get funny when they go up a clothes size. Fuck society and our own brains.
After five or so minutes, I make my way back inside the hall, where the speeches have finished. Everyone is now conversing, swanning through the tables, making nice with everyone they hate.
Spencer comes over to me. “Where did Arthur disappear off to?”
I wave my hand through the air. “Headache, he went home.”
She hooks her arm through mine. “Don’t you think it’s weird that Connie didn’t bring Primrose?”
“Maybe,” I shrug. “Did they break up?”
“I doubt it. They’ve been on and off since they were about fourteen.”
I nod mindlessly, my eyes focused on two blonde heads bickering by a table near the windows. I nudge my best friend. “You don’t happen to know what Carter is up to, do you?”
“No,” she frowns. “Why would I?”
“I don’t know,” I mutter. “You spend a lot of time thinking about the Hollands.”
She rips her arm away from me, stops in front of me. “That’s not true.”
“Really?”
“I have so many more important thoughts.”
“Like what?”
“Maths—solving Eisenstein’s equations—”
“Stop talking.”
And it’s actually in that moment that—coincidentally—Carter comes walking over to us.
He’s such a mini Connie. Their features are literally identical.
Platinum blonde hair, striking blue eyes that actually just seem to slice right through you, perfectly rounded pink lips that seem to always be curved into a grin.
They’re one of the same. You can’t even tell which one is older.
Carter flicks his eyebrows up at Spencer, gives her a little nudge, a wink. She shoves him away before walking off.
“Does that happen a lot?”
He gives me a look. “Does it fuck? Where’s your boyfriend? I like him.”
“Do you? Or do you just fancy his sister?”
He scoffs. “Both, mate. Evangeline is the girl of my dreams.”
I raise my eyebrows. “That’s a loaded statement.”
“And I mean every fucking word.”
“Cute,” I mutter, staring at him—god, you really just cannot look away from people with blue eyes, can you?—“Why are you talking to me?”
He blinks, once, twice. “Because I want you to have a word with your boyfriend.”
“About…?”
A grin slowly makes its way up his face. “Where I can find some Charlie ‘round here.”
“You’re not funny,” I say blankly. “And quite frankly really rather annoying—not to mention incredibly rude.”
“Ah,” he tuts, raises his hands. “My bad. I thought we were making jokes about that now.”
“We are.” I blink once. “You’re just not in the circle of people who can. Anywho, if you don’t mind—”
I go to walk past him but he takes one giant step and stops me in my tracks.
“I’m sorry, alright? My mistake, won’t happen again—but could you please put in a good word with him?
Ev’s like a rock, there is absolutely no cracking her—and now, don’t get me wrong,” he holds a hand up, eyes shut.
“I will hack at that rock everyday for the rest of my life but it would help so much if you just helped me speed that process up. I’ve heard it can take years to break a rock.
” He looks up at me with big blue pleading eyes.
“That’s really sweet and whatever but there literally isn’t a single good word to be said about you.”
I take one step away from him before he stops me again. “There is,” he nods proudly. “I’m good at playing instruments—give me one instrument and I’ll play it for you—” I shake my head. “And I’m fucking funny. You know my brother, so that’s a given really—and—and I’m really smart.”
“You’re dyslexic.”
He rolls his eyes, laughs once. “Now who’s being the rude one? Dyslexics can be smart. Just don’t ask me to spell, read or write.” He shrugs, gives me a pointed look like I did actually touch a nerve and now I feel bad.
I put a hand on his shoulder. “My apologies. I’ll speak to Arthur.”
He blows me a kiss. “I love you.”
I look over my shoulder. “No you don’t.”
He’s cute, I’ll give him that. And confident.
Maybe he isn’t all that much like Connie.
If there’s one thing I’ve noticed in recent months, it’s that Connie is actually a little bit of a coward when it comes to love.
Don’t get me wrong, love is scary. It’s so unnecessarily unreliable and confusing and a really gross murky grey colour (sometimes).
There’s other parts though, when it’s steady and makes sense and feels believable and lives up to the expectation that everyone gives it but also, not everyone can see that.
It can take years to see that. Some people die before they can see that.
I hate to think about it, but I think Connie might be one of those people.
He can’t see behind or over the fence, just what is in front of it.
When Connie and I finally leave, it’s dark outside—for him, for everyone else—but not for me. It’s midday, after a much needed cry from the sky. That fresh smell in the air? The rain sticking to everything? It’s my favourite weather and since I’ve been with Arthur, it’s stayed like that.
My stomach flips, the closer we get to Connie’s because I know he’s there and it’s so stupid because how long have we been at this?
You’d think I get over it. It’s nothing special seeing him but it is.
Everytime I lay eyes on him, it feels like the first time all over again.
The air suddenly shifts, the smell of marigolds and daylilies attacking my lungs with every inhale.
It’s very short lived, though, like most things because when Connie puts his key through the door and we walk, every light that was glowing inside of me is snuffed out.
Arthur is slumped on the sofa, and I think that isn’t anything strange but then I walk around and see what’s on the coffee table and I tell myself I must be dreaming because it makes no sense.
Cocaine.
He relapsed.
A breezeblock settles in my stomach, weighing me down to the floor as I cover my face with my hands.
I can’t look at that. I can’t look at the lines of cocaine laying in front of him.
He can’t have relapsed. This isn’t allowed—how can this be allowed?
He can’t do this to me. He promised. He fucking promised me with so much sincerity that I believed him.
It’s different this time, though, because we’re different. I’m different in a way I never have been before.