I was pacing out the front of her house waiting an inordinately long time for a fucking Uber, having a moment of genuine clarity.
Fucckkk. I think I’ve fucked up here.That sinking feeling entered my stomach.
***
I woke up the next morning and wished I had drunk more at that party. If I was hungover, at least I’d have an excuse for moping about my apartment in a hoodie and track pants.
I had not stopped thinking about how badly last night had gone. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d worked that out, standing in front of her house, and how much of a prick I was that I did not go back and apologise straight away. Not that she would have opened the door to let me.
Why didn’t I do that?
Fuck.
Oliver walked through my front door and headed straight to my fridge.
‘What are you doing?’ I said.
‘What?’
‘You have your own fucking fridge. Get out!’
‘All right, cranky. Keep your bloody wig on.’
‘Jesus, you are an annoying little fucker.’
‘You wound me.’
I sat down on my sofa and stared at the glory of Sydney while I continued to obsess about the horror of last night.
‘Mike said you and Abbey left about the same time. Do you have anything you want to tell me?’ Oliver said as he sat down with a carton of orange juice and an apple.
‘Can you get a glass?’
‘Don’t attempt to divert.’
‘No, I did not leave with Abbey.’
‘Bollocks. Nick, I’ve known you my whole life. Do you honestly not know that I know when you are full of shit?’
‘Fine, her gran had a fall, and I accompanied her to the nursing home because she was upset.’
‘Oh, you accompanied Abbey, did you? Did your tongue accompany her throat? Wait, is her gran okay?’
‘Her gran is fucking magnificent. Her name is Iris Cavendish. She’s extraordinary. I want you to meet her.’
‘That sounds unnecessary.’
‘Do you have plans today, Ollie?’
‘Yes.’
‘Cancel them. I’ll shower. Let’s go for a drive.’
***
We pulled up to Ashford House and my brother shot me a glare.
‘Nick, you cannot be fucking serious.’
