“Careful, mate,” Rory Wallace’s deep voice with his distinctive Scottish accent sounded from my front steps behind the whirlwind. “She might vomit again. I’ve already had to pay the taxi driver off with a hundred quid after she nearly upchucked all over his upholstery. She’s a fucking mess.”
Poppy’s eyes blinked open as she tried to focus on me, then her face went pale. “Oh God!” she muttered.
“Rafe, she’s gonna blow!” Rory shouted.
I deftly turned Poppy away from me to face a priceless vase on a shelf next to the door. Rory moved forward automatically to take her from my arms to his and held Poppy’s vast amount of blonde hair out of the way as she vomited into the vase.
“Christ alive, what the fuck did you do to her, Wallace?” I asked.
“What didIdo?” snapped an exhausted-looking Rory. His tie was askew and his suit jacket rumpled. “Youneed to keep her on a tighter leash, Sterling. She’s completely out of control. Poppy partied too hard, just like she always does.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, mate? Poppy never?—”
“Oh, don’t bullshit me, Rafe, I’m far too fucking tired. Poppy always parties too hard. You forget I knew her when she was a teenager, and I’ve seen the articles about her in the years since. Don’t make her out to be some sort of teetotal saint.”
“She’s not teetotal but she certainly doesn’t get in this state,ever.”
“I’ve held her hair back before when she was in this state.”
“That was when she was seventeen, you bastard. People are allowed to be dickheads when they’re seventeen. How many times did you vomit at the same age? We all go through it.”
Rory snorted. “Don’t think I haven’t seen her flashing her knickers at the paparazzi.”
I knew Rory held a grudge against my sister for an interview he gave her after the Rugby World Cup five years ago. I tried not to let it affect our decades long friendship. But this was beyond the pale.
Before that bloody interview, which I still maintain was Rory’s fault anyway, he’d seemed to like Poppy. In fact, she used to be one of the only humans with the ability to make the dour bastard crack a smile. But now, when he did see Poppy (which wasn’t often, seeing as she avoided him like the plague), he was cold and dismissive – not an attitude many people adopted with my sister, and certainly not one she was used to.
“You bastard,” I hissed. “She was mortified when that happened. You’ve no idea.”
Poppy groaned. “Honestly, Rafe, just leave it. He’s not gonna believe you anyway and I am something of a fuckwit. We all know that.” She was slurring now but at least she’d managed to stop vomiting.
“Poppy, darling, you’re not a fuckwit,” I said gently as I scowled at Rory and moved to take Poppy from his arms, but for some reason the stubborn bastard wasn’t letting her go.
“If she’s such a fucking inconvenience, Wallace, let me look after her and piss off,” I told him.
“Sh-sh-she’s hurt,” I heard Clara’s voice from behind me. Rory’s gaze shot from Poppy to Clara, and his eyebrows went up in surprise. “Y-y-you hurt her,” Clara’s voice was rising now, and I could hear the fury in her tone despite her stutter.
“What?” Rory frowned, shaking his head. “I dinnae––”
“She’s hurt!” Clara shouted, shocking the absolute shit out of me. I abandoned Poppy to turn to Clara, who was bright red in the face. Her arms were straight down by her sides with her hands clenched into fists so tight her knuckles were white.
“What?” Rory asked in confusion. “She’s not… oh Christ!”
I turned back to Rory and Poppy. He was still holding her up with one arm, the other coming up to stroke her hair back from her face. There was a small trickle of blood now seeping from her hairline onto the pale skin of her cheek. It was at that point that I’d had enough. I used the opportunity of his loosened grip around her to pull her away from him, holding her up in my arms instead.
“What are you playing at, Wallace?” I snapped, my voice rising. “You bring my sister home in this state and you didn’t even know she was hurt?—”
Rory stepped towards us, his face stricken and reached for Poppy again, but Clara leapt in front of me and Poppy, bristling with anger.
“Get away from her!” she shouted, standing toe-to-toe with Rory now, her small fists still clenched at her side. She was shaking, whether it was from anger or fear I couldn’t tell. The absurdity of tiny Clara facing off with Rory Wallace, who was six foot four and had playedrugby for Scotland for over ten years, was beyond ridiculous, but she looked fully ready to throw down to protect my sister.
“Clara, it’s okay,” I said softly. “Rory’s not going to hurt Poppy. She’s safe.”
“You don’t know that!” Clara was still shouting as she turned to me, but her voice was shaky and there were unshed tears in her eyes now. She spun back to Rory. “You hurt her,” she said louder now.
“I dinnae hurt or touch her, lass,” he said. “IpromiseI looked after her. I dinnae know she’d been hurt.”
“Out!” she shouted, trying to puff herself up in the face of their size difference, but it was clearly a losing battle. “You shouldn’t hurt people! You shouldn’t… she’sbleeding!”
