‘All this pressure she puts on herself and the rest of us. I always told George it would kill him one day.’
‘I’m so very sorry, Fergus… about George.’
He thought for a moment, his mouth downcast. ‘George wasn’t a particularly nice man. Even when we were young boys, he was always rotten to me. But… he was my brother.’ Ithought I heard Fergus’s voice crack, but he quickly wound back in any emotion that was unspooling.
‘He was always working away, so he didn’t have much to do with Miles and Tristan growing up. I should like to be there for them now, but I fear it’s far too late. I regret that… I regret I wasn’t a better uncle to them. Hell, how could I be a good uncle when I wasn’t even a good father? I regret a lot of things.’
I was at a loss for words. Fergus had never spoken more than a handful of words to me, other than to be a lecherous old bastard. Now here he was, voicing his darkest thoughts and his deepest regrets. I almost didn’t want to move a muscle in case I scared him away.
‘It’s never too late?—’
‘Oh, but we both know it is. The damage has been done. Ithink Clem thought that by mollycoddling Quentin and sending him to the same boarding school George and I went to we were doing what was best for his future. But somewhere along the way, he turned out to be as cruel and nasty as my father… and I just let it happen. I didn’t break the cycle. And now … now he’s getting out. What thehelldoes Jeannie think she’s playing at?—?’
A hand appeared on Fergus’s and he jumped out of his skin.
‘Oh, Mrs Harlow! You scared me to death!’
‘Don’t blame yourself, Fergus,’ she said sadly. ‘We all should have spoken up when we had the chance. Quentin is your son, it’s understandable that you want to protect him.’
I was always afraid to ask anything about Quentin. It was one of those taboo subjects that was never raised. But if I didn’t ask now, then I might not get the chance again. ‘What… what happened with Quentin?’
Fergus shook his head sadly.
‘Miles didn’t know,’ Mrs Harlow said tersely. ‘Please do not mention any of this to him. He is the only good one in this family, and he does not deserve to be tainted?—’
‘Fergus?’ came a sharp voice from the doorway. I turned to see Aunt Clem looking furious. Had she heard our conversation? ‘Come on, what are you doing all of that for?’ She snapped. ‘We need to get going. Just leave them there and Mrs Harlow will see to them in the morning.’
Fergus shook the suds from his hands and wiped them straight down his cardigan, abandoning the cutlery and the scourer in the sink.
Mrs Harlow and I bade him goodnight and I decided to stay and help her finish up. I tried to bring up the subject of Quentin again, but Mrs Harlow shot me a warning look that almost seemed fearful, changing the subject and inquiring about the kids.
By the time we’d finished, the house was quiet. Everyone had gone to bed, and the only light came from the crackling fire in the living room. As we made our way upstairs to our rooms, I saw Jeannie standing at the foot of the stairs, watching us go. I bade Mrs Harlow goodnight, hurrying along the gallery and down the hallway towards my room.
As I passed outside Tristan and Mimi’s room, I heard his voice, dampened by the thick mahogany door, but unmistakably angry. I paused, hovering, paralysed with whether I should listen in case he was about to get violent.
‘This wasn’t supposed to happen!’ Tristan barked.
‘Keep your voice down,’ Mimi hissed.
I felt a chill ripple up my spine. What wasn’t supposed to happen? Did they mean George dying, or something else? I gingerly pressed my ear against the door, holding my breath.
‘What are you so worried about?’ Mimi said. ‘You’re getting a huge payout.’
‘We’re not talking about the money!’
‘Ha! That’d be a first. It’s all you’ve been talking about since we got here.’
There was a silence, and I wished I could see what was happening.
‘Mimi, if—’ Tristan stopped abruptly, and I realised the door was starting to open. I bolted down the hallway and didn’t stop until I reached our room.
5
TRIGGERED
Despite my best efforts clucking around Miles, Callum and Martha– offering them hot beverages, snuggles on the sofa and even coaxing them to come out on a walk with me– they had shooed me away. I wanted to be there for them after George’s death, but in true Weiss style they much preferred dealing with things in private and on their own terms. Miles had buried himself in work, Callum had reached a critical moment in hisFortnitetournament, and Martha was spending every available moment on FaceTime with her girlfriend. I’devenasked Jeannie if she needed any help with the funeral arrangements, but luckily for me she said that Mrs Harlow was dealing with it all.
Miles suggested I seize the moment and spend it working on my book, which was his polite way of telling me to stop pestering. So, once again, I found myself alone and sitting in the pool room at my laptop, staring at a blank document. I was trying to think up a steamy scene between my female protagonist and her arch-nemesis-turned-lover, but all I could think about was George all tangled up.
