“Good. Good to know,” my father says, and as per his usual style, it’s impossible to discern any emotion. “Fuck knows I’ve wasted enough money on the boy. It’s about time he paid something back to the business.”
Ah, yeah, there we go.
I don’t wait around to hear any more of my father’s diatribe, I just run, one hand on the seat of my D&G suit trousers and the other pre-emptively held out to smash open the door of the bathroom.
5
Saturday 1st May 2027
Harry
Reason to hate—and continue hating—Orlando Oakham-Goodwin number five hundred and sixty-six: the size of his fucking house.
It’s been a long time since I’ve stepped foot onto the Hooke Manor estate, almost a year, and I’d forgotten just how big everything is. How sprawling. The mansion sits right in the centre of acres and acres of grounds. It’s three storeys tall if you count the attic rooms, and nine enormous sash windows wide. Flanking the huge double doors are spiral hedge-type plants in pots bigger than my flat’s en suite.
It’s not dark yet, only four thirty, but there are strings of festoon lights crossing over the paths leading to the marquee behind the house. The party tent’s square footage must be similar to a rugby pitch, and the front lawns of Hooke Manor have been turned into a makeshift car park. There are even portable toilets housed in fancy as fuck looking shipping containers.
I’ve arrived at the wedding reception with Eggo, Eggo’s girlfriend Megan, Pi, and Pi’s girlfriend Georgia. I had to sit in the middle of the back seat between Pi and Georgia because I didn’t want the fuckers sucking face for the entire journey. Eggo pulls his black Discovery up under a tree, we all jump out, and I simply stare at the house.
“Holy fuckingsheet!” Pi says. Everyone else’s mouth hangs open. “You weren’t lying.”
Lando’s bedroom light is on. All the interior lights are on. A phenomenal waste of electricity if you ask me. There’s no movement inside, so he must already be at the party.
“Huh?” Megan says, pushing her glasses up her nose and glancing between the three guys.
“Abs used to fuck with the dude who lives here,” Eggo clarifies.
Georgia turns to me. “Used to? Why would you ever stop doing that and give this up?”
“I . . .” I can’t answer. Can’t take my eyes off Lando’s room. All the things we did in there. All the things he told me.
“Abs didn’t end it, Orlando did,” Pi says, putting his arm around Georgia. “Just ghosted him one day.”
“Noooo!” She turns to me. “Does he know you’re here tonight?”
Pi answers before I have a chance. “Does the pope shit bears in the woods? Of course he knows. Orlando probably insisted the whole shebang happened in his back yard just to prove something to Abs.”
I can’t disagree.
“Well, you look fire tonight, so his loss,” Georgia says.
It’s a nice thing to say, but it’s a lie. I look like a ginger potato cosplaying as a fancy human. I’m wearing my younger brother’s suit, my older brother’s shirt, which he’d ironed for me, and shiny brogues that I wore to my granddad’s funeral two years ago.
“You need to show him how much better off you are without him,” Megan adds, as though speaking from experience. “Whenever he looks over at you, make sure you’re laughing and having a good time. Be the life of the party.”
“Ha!” Pi barks. Presumably ironically. “Ha ha ha!” he says deadpan, right before dissolving into genuine laughter. Even Eggo joins in while both women swap confused as fuck glances.
“Do you get it?” Megan asks Georgia in a whisper.
It’s obvious neither of their boyfriends has spoken about me at great length outside of team crap. Typical.
“I’m pretty well known for my sparkling sense of humour and general ability to laugh at myself,” I say without smiling.
This sets Pi and Eggo off in a fresh wave of hysterics. The girls give uncertain chuckles, which fall away as soon as they realise I wasn’t joking.
“Okay, let’s get inside this marquee,” Eggo says when he finally catches his breath. “We’re not here to fuck spiders.”
“Hey,” Pi whines. “That’s my line.”
