‘How do you see this playing out?’ I ask.
There’s a shift in his demeanour that’s reminiscent of the little boy from my dreams. Young Gregory is sitting at the table with me, reminding me what tonight is about. He’s going to reveal everything to me and the thought must scare him because it’s terrifying me.
He turns the base of his wine glass with his fingers, then slowly raises the frosted glass to his lips. ‘Like I said, I’m going to tell you everything. The bad, the ugly, for as long as you want to listen. I’ve never told anyone, not everything. I don’t talk about it. I’m not sure how to say it out loud. All I know is that I have to try because the last five weeks have been hell. I don’t want my life without you in it and I know you need to hear this if you’re ever going to understand why I pushed you away.’ He takes another sip of Sancerre. ‘I’m praying that once you’ve heard it, you won’t run. But I’ll understand if you want to. You should know that. I wouldn’t blame you. God, I’d probably think you made the right decision. I’ve brought so much shit on you and I— I couldn’t hurt you any more.’
‘Youdidhurt me more, when you left me with no choice but to move halfway across the world.’
‘I know. I do. But I did it because I thought I was protecting you, Scarlett. I did it to keep you away from what I’m going to tell you.’
‘Your appetisers,’ Roshan announces as he re-enters the room, placing a trio of seafood in front of us both. ‘You have spiced crab cake here. In the glass, salmon mousse with cucumber garnish. In the bowl, cold fish soup with tomato base.’ He beams at me and tops up Gregory’s wine before leaving us alone.
Gregory leans back in his seat with a long inhale and twirls the base of his glass with his fingers again, staring down at the table.
‘I’ve only ever loved two other people.’ His eyes close and slowly reopen. ‘My mother. And my sister.’
‘You have a sister?’
‘I had a sister.’
He sips his wine and his shoulders drop a little. That’s the first admission and I don’t know if he started with the easiest or the hardest.
‘I’m sorry.’
He nods and stares back to the table. ‘Her name was Elsa. She was older than me. Four years older.’ He smiles sadly. ‘She was beautiful. Sweet. Smart and funny.’ His eyes flick up to mine and away again, just as quickly. ‘I adored her.’
I swallow as he makes the first chip in my heart.Pull yourself together, Scarlett; this is about him.
‘She— She ah—’ He drags a hand through his thick, brown hair. ‘She killed herself. She was fourteen.’
I dig my teeth into my gums, the pain a distraction from the lump building in my throat.
‘That’s why you were worried I might’ve harmed myself the night I didn’t come home from the office.’
He lifts his head to face me. ‘Yes.’
‘I’m sorry, Gregory, I really am.’
He moves back to turning his glass. ‘She killed herself because of me, Scarlett, because I couldn’t protect her.’ He rubs a hand roughly across his mouth and chin.
‘Your father,’ I whisper.
‘Yes.’
Roshan comes back into the room and removes our all but untouched plates after we assure him the food is good but we’re leaving room for the main course. He pours Pinot Noir into our red wine glasses as I watch Gregory. He’s left the room, gone to a place only he knows. I have to fight with myself not to go to him and fold my arms around his neck.
‘I don’t remember it starting,’ he says. ‘It seems like he just always beat us, for as long as I can remember. I see new things sometimes, in my sleep. Mostly, I remember the physical stuff but I saw a lot.’
I want to tell him to stop, that I don’t need to know, but the words don’t come because deep down, I know if we have any chance, he has to keep going. For us. For him.
‘He would beat my mother raw. At first, when we knew he was coming home or when we heard his car, my mother would get Elsa and me in bed. She told us to pretend we were asleep and we did. But we heard. We heard every punch, every scream. I didn’t do anything about it.’ He takes a gulp from his Pinot Noir.
‘You were a baby.’
He shakes his head. ‘Sometimes, Elsa would come into my room, or I’d go to her, and we’d hide under the duvet, listening, crying, afraid, until it stopped. We’d get up the next day and it would be like nothing happened. He would go out to work and my mother would smile, make breakfast. Christ, and you know, that was easier. It was easier to be normal and pretend like life was fine. So I did.’
Almost reflexively, I reach out across the table and rest my hand on his.
When Roshan returns, we break our brief contact. He places two plates of thinly sliced rare beef with grilled asparagus and tomatoes in front of us, then leaves.
