Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rowan
“Are you alright, love? You’re looking a little wan.”
“Thanks for asking, Mum, but I’m fine. Just tired.”
“I’d have told her, but did she ask? Walking that far isn’t good for you! And now she’s so pale, and that’s after we put on two layers of foundation. Look at those chapped lips! And the bags under her eyes.”
I toy with my fork, barely tasting anything. I’ve been relegated to the adult’s end of the table, squashed between Aunt Joan and Mum, who’s intent on my well-being in a way that was exhausting after one minute, and increasingly feels like torture as the meal goes on.
At the other end, Sophie holds court, glowing and resplendent. Henry dotes on her from her right, passing her the choicest cuts of meat, constantly topping up her glass, and looking generally every inch the rich prince charming.
No matter how much I try to catch her eye, Sophie doesn’t once look my way. Right now, she’s laughing at one of Henry’s jokes, her whole head thrown back, her throat exposed.
I clutch my fork tighter. Sophie has never found anything that funny in her life. She barely has a sense of humour.
She’s putting it on to spite me. I know it.
“Thanks, Mum.”
Mum lays a hand on mine and squeeze. “Just looking out for you, love. Now that you’re returned to us safely.”
From the fervour in her voice, I half expect her to cross herself, even though she isn’t religious, and has probably never stepped foot in a church in her life. Certainly, she’s never taken me to one in mine.
“It was only a hike, Mum. Very well-marked, relatively easy trail.” I can say things like that now I’ve done it, now that I’m a hiker.
I decide not to mention any of the tears, or the weather, or my broken tent, or Ewan’s ankle, or Angus.
I’m definitely not mentioning Angus. “I’m never in any danger. ”
“She goes off on her own into the wilderness, and that’s what she says,” Mum says conspiratorially to Joan. “As if I haven’t been up every night worrying about her, waiting for her to call. But did she? No. Of course not.”
“The Scottish Highlands are hardly the wilderness. It’s literally one of the most famous walks in the country, Mum! I’m fine!”
“But I didn’t know that.”
Thankfully, the servers come to take our plates, breaking Mum’s concentration as they clear the main course – lamb tagine with couscous studded with raisins and almonds, served with tender stem broccoli and roasted leeks.
All delicious. All perfectly cooked. Inside, I’m cheering Angus on with every course: the presentation, the taste, the atmosphere, the service. None of it can be faulted.
“She really didn’t invite Dad then.” My gaze falls back to Sophie as I sip my wine.
“You know your sister. Once her mind is made up on something, there’s no changing it.” Mum pats my hand again, and this time I squeeze it back. “You’ve got that in common.”
“But you wouldn’t have minded, would you? If he’d come.”
Mum sighs. “No. She’s his daughter too. I wouldn’t have begrudged him this, no matter how much I dislike the man.”
“I would have,” Joan says darkly.
But before she and Mum can enter into a competition to list the worst of my dad’s failures – a game I have been subjected to too many times at family functions – the dessert comes out: a wobbling confection of pannacotta scattered with raspberry coulis and summer berries. My mouth waters.
“Now that is a ride.”
For a moment, I think Joan is talking about the food, but then I catch sight of a tartan kilt as Angus leant over Sophie’s friend Stef to place a plate in front of her. He catches my look, and my cheeks heat.
Even now, his gaze has the power to set me alight.
Mum peers over to where Joan and I are looking. “Are lesbians allowed to ogle men? Isn’t there some lesbian rule against it?”
“Mum!”
“What?” she asks.
I want to sink into the table and disappear. “You can’t say things like that.”
“To my own sister? She’s not offended, are you, Joan?”
“No more than usual around you, Linda.” Joan sinks a spoon into her pannacotta. “Delicious.”
“See!”
“And my preferences might lie with women, but I can still appreciate a fine male physique. And that, right there, is top tier.” Joan is now waving her spoon at Angus, who is disappearing out of the garden again, and we watch his arse recede, pert in his tight kilt.
“She’s sleeping with him, you know.”
“Mum!”
“That’s why she left poor Ethan. He came all the way up here to see her, and she dumped him anyway.”
I spin around so quickly I nearly gave myself whiplash. “That is not what happened! Ethan cheated on me, not the other way around. How can you, of all people, give me grief? After Dad?”
A tear slides down Mum’s face as she takes another sip of her wine.
She isn’t listening. She is never actually listening.
“A week ago, everything was perfect. You and Ethan were settling down, moving in together. You had lovely Marnie, a stable job. You were calling me every day. You hadn’t had an episode in years. ”
Joan and I both wince.
“I thought maybe I could stop worrying about you. And here you are, running away, giving up on your hopes, your dreams. Again!”
“It’s a relationship, Mum! Not my whole life!”
But Mum is determined to be inconsolable, tapping morosely at her dessert, as Joan and I devour ours, and the table gradually becomes louder as more bottles of wine appear and disappear.
Before long, one of Henry’s friends – who are all from Eton, or work in finance, and have the booming, confident voices of straight men who have grown up in privilege – stands on a chair and begins declaiming poetry at Sophie, who has never looked more disgusted in her life.
A pang shoots through me. I should be at the other end of the table, whispering jokes in her ear. Making her laugh, and then go red with embarrassment that she has laughed, and then laugh again at the next one.
When the dessert is cleared, I excuse myself.
From this point on, dinner will devolve, everyone throwing out their best Sophie and Henry stories, competing for the couple’s attention.
Mum and Joan are locked in a conversation about their latest soap opera obsession.
Sophie is determined not to look at me. I don’t really know any of her friends. In short, no one will miss me.
The garden leads straight into the kitchen, which is hot and steamy and exactly what you want a farmhouse kitchen to be: stone flagged, stone walled, an Aga taking up most of one end, and a massive breakfast bar in the middle that is currently covered with dirty plates and the remnants of dinner.
I would offer to help, but there’s no one there, so I hurry through, fleeing to my room.
There’s no one in the corridor either, but when I reach the stairs to the next floor, I hear a whoop from further in, followed by a peal of laughter and the chatter of merry voices.
I pause on the first step.
“The fuck did you banana me! Oh, it is on little girl.”
“Ewan!”
“Sorry, Lila!”
“Catch me if you can!”
I creep over to the room that Ethan and I broke up in.
Priya, Ewan, and Lila are snuggled together on one of the sofas.
Ross is lounging on another chair, opposite a man I haven’t met, but who has the same dark hair and eyes as Ross and Angus, and who I assume must be their other brother, Mason. Mario Kart is playing on the TV.
“YES!” Ewan jumps up from the sofa, flinging his controller to the floor, before he collapses again with a wince. “Fuck. My ankle. Sorry, Lila. Fuck. Sorry, Priya.”
“Were we this stupid at that age?” Mason asks.
“Definitely.” Ross grabs the dropped controller. “Stupider, probably. Do you remember that Christmas we wanted to make a fire, so you emptied some of Da’s gun cartridges—”
“—and lit the powder? Aye. Took weeks for my eyebrows to grow back.” Mason sighs happily. “Point taken. Definitely stupider.”
They look at Ewan fondly, as though he’s a puppy they’ve adopted.
“Another game?” Ross asks hopefully. He catches sight of me hovering in the doorway and does a double take. “Oh, aye. You scrub up alright, don’t you? Want to come in?”
“If nobody minds.”
I’ve had a long day, and I’m tired, and after Ethan and Sophie and Mum, I can feel my anxiety pressing in. You’re a waste of space, it says. You ruin everything. Their lives would be better without you.
“Join the party! More’s the merrier,” Ross says amicably. “We’re hiding from the guests. You’re welcome to do the same.”
“Aren’t you needed out there?”
I take a step into the room, self-conscious in my long dress and heels. Ross and Mason are in suits, rumpled now from their sofa collapse, but the others are still in their hiking gear, muddy and worn from five days of walking. Compared to the Rowan they last saw, I feel like a different person.
I don’t know if I like this Rowan, now that I’ve put her back on. She no longer fits, like a dress that has shrunk in the wash.
Mason scoff. “The farm’s not so big. They’ll get us if they need us.” He looks me up and down. “Nice to meet you. I’m Mason, Angus’ other brother. And you already know Ross.”
“We’ve met.” My cheeks heat.
“I’ll scooch down if you fancy a perch,” Mason adds, moving further along the sofa.
I pause as my heel sink into the dense carpet, bending down to undo the clasps and take them off. I breathe a side of relief.
“That is a lovely dress,” Lila says warmly.
“Go on! Give us a twirl!” Ewan, the last person I expect to admire my outfit, says enthusiastically.
I do as he asks, the slitted skirt flaring, striking a pose as I complete the turn, one hand at my hip, the other thrown up over my head, and this time my laugh is a little more genuine.
“Thank you,” I say, collapsing on the sofa next to Mason. “I’d almost forgotten what it feels like to wear clothes that aren’t made of Lycra.”
“You’re telling me,” Lila plucks at her trousers. “First thing I’m doing when we get home is having a long, hot bath, and getting straight into my cozies.”