He chewed on his toast. ‘Occasion is, I’m bloody starving. What happened to the hospitality in this place?’
I laughed and came closer to him. ‘Tell me, I’m dying to know– what did you did to the twins’ TikToks? Something is definitely up with them.’
‘A few things.’ He shrugged. ‘It was a three-pronged attack.’
‘Tell me,pleeaase, Cal?’ I begged.
He leaned in conspiratorially. ‘I don’t usually like to give my secrets away.’ He eyed me. ‘’Cause one day I might need to do it to you. But, in laymen’s terms, I used bots, a bit of AI and uploaded a few videos about them. People eat that shit up. They love to turn just likethat.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘It’s scarily easy to create a smear campaign these days. Especially against fit girls andespeciallynepo babies.’
‘OhGod,Callum, that’s awful! What do you mean, “nepo babies”?’
‘A nepo baby. Y’know, nepotism? Mummy and Daddy are boujee, flexin’ their drip. Hey, don’t hate the player, hate the game. You asked me to do it.’
I grimaced. ‘Well, remind me never to get on the wrong side of you.’
Callum smirked. ‘Oh, I don’t think you need reminding.’ He stretched his arms above his head and yawned, just the way Miles did, got up and left, his plate abandoned. ‘Catch ya later, Mummy dearest,’ he said drily.
I made myself a seeded bagel with cream cheese and headed to the dining room, where the windows were so large I could look outside and survey the potential prospect of freedom.
I was a little crestfallen to find that Fergus was already seated in there, a bowl of untouched cereal before him, his hand resting on what appeared to be a Bloody Mary.
‘Good morning, Fergus,’ I said, as cheerily as I could muster. ‘How is Clem today?’
‘Hmm?’ He looked up and noticed me for the first time. ‘Oh, I don’t know; still in bed. I don’t think she’s feeling too well.’
Jeannie was hot on my heels. ‘Good morning,’ she said, eyeing the Bloody Mary. Her mouth twisted. ‘Bit of a rough night last night, wasn’t it?’
I didn’t know if she was referring to the storm or Fergus’s drinking.
He grunted noncommittally and took a long sip of his drink. Jeannie and I exchanged a glance of exasperation.
‘I’ve just been on the phone to Stoke Heath Prison,’ Jeannie said, frowning, ‘to ask about Quentin’s release date.’
Fergus turned a shade of grey-green. I swear I’d seen his complexion every colour of the rainbow. ‘What did they say?’ he asked, bracing himself.
‘It’s the oddest thing: they said he was released two days ago.’ She shook her head, ‘I’ve told them there must be a mistake. I’ve called his phone, but no answer.’
‘Christ, Jeannie. Are you sure you know what you’re doing with Quentin? He’s my son, but… he’s not safe to be around. You’re mad to want him near Callum, Martha and the twins.’
‘Oh, tish-tosh, Fergus! He made a silly mistake one time. What have the children got to do with anything?’
‘Children need to be protected from monsters. I see that now.’ He held his head in his hands. ‘I see it all now… now that it’s all too bloody late! Maybe if I had put an end to Father sooner, Quentin wouldn’t have modelled himself on him. Well, I failed at that, too. I’ve failed at everything.’
I looked from Fergus to Jeannie in alarm. What did ‘If I had put an end to father sooner’ mean? Did Fergus kill his father?
Jeannie was surveying him with outright disdain.
‘Pull yourself together, Fergus! Eugene believed in Quentin. So what if he got a little hot under the collar, we all make mistakes. I know that whatever my sons did, I’d stand by them, no matter what! Here—’ She flung an envelope at him. ‘This letter came for you. The postman must not have been able to access the path to the cottage, so left it here.’ She watched him, waiting for him to make a move. When he didn’t, she sighed with irritation and made to leave. ‘You really should check on Clem, she’s been in bed an awfully long time. And you should get up and go out and do something with yourself. Make yourself useful for once! Meanwhile, I suppose I’ll be the one to track down your son.’ She headed out of the door, leaving Fergus silently ignoring her.
I settled into a chair across from him and bit into my bagel. The silence continued between us, punctuated only by the clink of his glass against the table. I had only met Quentin a handful of times before he was incarcerated. From what I recalled, he was not a family man, working all hours at the goldmine, and when he wasn’t doing that, he was drinking. Not unlike his father in that last respect. And Miles had told me he had a terrible temper.
‘I’ve had it up to here with that woman,’ Fergus snarled suddenly. ‘Interfering, downright obnoxious busybody who can’t see when she’s playing with fire.’
I chewed, watching him. ‘I take it you’re not happy about Quentin getting out? But maybe he’s changed? Maybe he’ll make amends?’
‘Changed?’ Fergus scoffed. ‘Men like Quentin do not change. You’re lucky, Miles seems to have skipped the violent streak in the family. Perhaps in that respect he’s more like George. Do you ever fantasise’—he took a sip of his drink, the celery poking into his cheek—‘about the day you’ll never have to deal withheragain?’
I remained silent. But of course I had. Many, many times. I waited for him to say more, but it appeared that he was done.
