Isabella’s nipples stood to attention, knowing they were being talked about.
Isabella: What would you do next?
Etienne: I’d roll my hands around your boobs. . .
Isabella: Omigod, you’ve got to stop. My grandma’s in the next room!
Etienne: We can be quiet. . .
Isabella laughed out loud and clapped a hand over her mouth. She sagged on the sofa, a hot ache in her lower belly. There was no more putting this off.
Isabella: Tomorrow?
Even as she wrote it, that felt a long way off. At least twenty-four hours too far away if Isabella was totally honest with herself.
Etienne: It’s my birthday. Everyone’s going to The Bolthole. Come along.
Isabella’s fingers were a blur in her hurry to reply.
Isabella: I’ll be there– oh, so will my friends! Gabi and Jesse are coming to visit. Might make things a bit difficult to be alone. . .
Etienne: We’ll find a way. Remember the cupboard under the stairs at Fox’s?
Isabella: Yes?
Etienne: Keep that in mind.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Etienne
The sounds from the market outside woke him. Stalls being assembled, produce being wheeled in. Shouts and cries as people greeted each other even if it wasn’t even 7 a.m. His phone beeped.
Brothers from Another Mother WhatsApp group
Walker: Happy birthday, bro. Just coming off shift.
Etienne: Thanks, bro.
Fox: Just starting my shift here. Happy big 4-0.
Etienne: Ha ha. 39, arsehole.
Fox: See you at The Bolthole. Abbie is coming over for the boys.
Walker: I’m sleeping till then. It’s been a week. Two house fires in two days.
Etienne: Love you guys.
Walker: Back at you.
Fox: Same.
Etienne put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. His birthday was always a weird day. The absence of his parents rolled over him like a steamroller, and for most of the last five years, he’d got through it without knowing where Alex was either. Fox and Walker had been the people that got him through those days. Not that he’d told them about Alex’s existence until recently; he’d been too ashamed of his part in his brother’s absence. But they knew about his parents. And they’d stepped in on their behalf. They’d had sober birthdays, drunken celebrations and everything in between.
But this year, he already had a better birthday ahead. Because Alex was coming home, and Etienne was going to put things right. He rolled over in bed and lifted his phone again, typing quickly.
Etienne: Happy birthday, Al, you old git.
