‘Oh, hi, yes, hello. Sorry.’ He held out his hand, a very Jeremy gesture. ‘Hi, Fallon.’ I shook his hand with a small laugh.
‘Fixing something?’ I gestured to the thing in his hands.
His eyes shot back down to the object, a frown forming on his face. ‘I’m trying to. It’s complicated. What are you doing up here?’ He looked from the staircase to me, and then something like understanding dawned on his face. ‘Taking a minute?’
I nodded. ‘Something like that.’ We stood in awkward silence for a few seconds.
‘Well, I’ll, uh, let you go.’ He shuffled past me, not before patting me awkwardly on the shoulder, before he descended the stairs.
How Jeremy and Charlotte got together—let alone got married—was a piece of witchcraft I would never understand. I went to the bathroom and sat on the toilet lid for a minute or so, scrolling through my phone before mustering all the energy I had to go back. I wandered back down the stairs like a prisoner walking towards a noose.
Just get through dinner.That’s all I needed to do. Then, I could go home, eat cereal, and watch TV.
An hour and a half later,the table was enraptured with a story Evan was telling about his latest client. Everyone except me was paying close attention, laughing at how Evan made his client seem like a bumbling idiot. Client confidentiality was a concept that he didn’t put much value in.
I got lost in my thoughts whilst they prattled on. The main topic was my current unemployment. My mind musthave been playing tricks on me because whenever I tried to distract myself from their character assassinations, to think about some other aspect of my life, it flicked the channel straight over to… Oliver.
His eyes that could bore into mine with such intensity it was almost breathtaking. His life fascinated me, but it was more than that. His unerring confidence drew me in; I had no doubt the tough exterior was just that—the outer shell to someone perhaps wholly different.
‘Anything new on the horizon, Fallon?’ My dad’s voice broke through my thoughts about Oliver. Silence settled over the table, all eyes trained on me.
‘Well, uh,’ I sat up straighter, seeing a smirk rise on Evan’s face as if he revelled in my discomfort. Charlotte sipped her glass of wine like a celebrity being paid to promote it. Mum waited, eyebrows raised, hoping the next words out of her daughter’s mouth wouldn’t be, ‘I don’t know.’
The only person who displayed any embarrassment at my being put on the spot was Jeremy, who sat opposite me. He tried to smile encouragingly but ended up making a face like he was constipated or in pain.
Feeling a flare of anger at my family burst through me, I spoke and wished instantaneously that I had a time machine to swallow the words back into my mouth.
‘I do, actually.’
A frisson of surprise ran around the table.
‘Do tell,’ Mum said, her face brightening as she waved her hands at me to continue.
Shitting, fucking, bollocking hell.
Four predatory gazes seared into my skull, ready to pick over the bones of whatever I was about to say like a pack of hyenas. Jeremy on the other hand bit his lip nervously, looking like he hoped rather than trusted that I had something to back up my words.
‘I’m writing a book.’ I declared, my voice hitching on the last word.
‘What kind of book?’ Charlotte asked sceptically, eyebrows arched in derision. The type of bookobviouslybeing far more important than the fact that I was writing one.
‘A memoir.’
Why? Why are you digging this hole for yourself? Abort!
But as with most things, I rarely listened to that voice. Defence mode had been fully activated and my desire to prove something to my family was far too strong.
Evan barked out a cold laugh. ‘Who’d want to read about your life? You’ve done fuck all.’
No one corrected him.
Steeling my gaze towards my brother, I ground my back teeth together.
‘I’m writing a memoir about Oliver Blake.’
Silence echoed around the table. Evan, to my great pleasure, looked momentarily stunned.
‘The footballer?’ Dad asked hesitantly.
