I don’t vomit.
My stomach has grown a steel lining since I met my half-brother more than two decades ago. I also figure he has no idea that I’ve been with Blair in more than a political sense, which is mainly because he has no idea what’s happening outside his own intimate bubble.
He’s nothing more than a trojan horse.
“We need to prep you for Prime Minister’s Questions on Tuesday.”
He nods. “You know what they’re going to ask?”
I have a pretty good idea. I also have a pretty good idea that William hasn’t even thought about it. What I am curious about is that he knows Ben’s not around.
“Tell me about Ben Smith. Blair’s security.”
William grins. “She was fucking him. He threatened me a couple of times when I was out with her and I should’ve guessed then that he was worried about me moving in on her. Now he’s off the scene, I might be able to get where I’m meant to.” The look on his face is meant to be roguish smoothness but instead he looks like a dick.
I sigh. Deeply. It buys me time before I have to respond and I can contain whatever urge to kill him I have. I’ve perfected that resistance over the years.
“I don’t think she’s interested.”
He looks at me like I’m delusional.
“Seriously, William, you need to focus on what’s going in parliament and not on your dick.”
Again, another look.
“Blair needs a man who can let her do what she was meant to do: look pretty and smile nicely. Spread her legs when she’s told to…”
He doesn’t get to finish the sentence because my fist hits his jaw and he falls backwards onto the sofa with a thud.
I rub my hand because his jaw is harder than it should be. William doesn’t speak, because it’ll probably be too painful.
“Keep your words to yourself and just say the ones that are written for you.” I don’t say anything else. I daren’t. I might end up letting my hands speaking for me.
Twenty-one years ago
My mother wipes her hands on her jeans and looks at me. The kitchen is pristine, everything tidied away from breakfast and the smell of fresh bread baking still lingers. It’s the first day of summer and all I want to do is take my surf board and head out to the ocean, join the rake of people in the cove, sucking up the waves.
“Can I go out now?”
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Isaac. Maybe not today at all.”
She’s nervous and that bothers me. It usually means she’s short of money or the landlord’s been round and that’s never good, unless he’s going to fix the list of things that need repairing.
“What’s up?”
She rests against the kitchen worktop. “There’s someone visiting this afternoon. Someone who wants to see you.”
“And Ivy as well?” My sister’s playing outside with her friend. I’d promised to take her to the village tomorrow for ice cream as long as she didn’t tell mum I’d hit the boy at school who’d been teasing her.
“No. Just you.”
“Who is it?” I can feel my heart pound like it does when I talk to Ellie, the girl in my class with the blonde hair and pink lips that I can’t stop staring at.
My mother’s eyes have the look that she gets when she’s no answer or explanation, the one that says ‘it’s just life’.
“Your father.”
I’m never sick. I never feel sick or get ill. When everyone else has winter colds, I’m the one still playing football or swimming in the sea when I really shouldn’t be. But now I feel vomit creeping up my throat.
