The scent of his spicy aftershave still lingered on my dress from where he’d hoisted me into the air during ourDirty Dancingduet and I could still feel the firm grip of his hands around my waist, hear the raspy laugh that accompanied his singing. It was a long time since I’d spent that much intimate time with a good-looking man in a sweaty darkened room. A man who looked like he could crush walnuts with his thighs and tear phone books in two with his bare hands. Did they still make phone books? The one that lived on the little table in my parents’ hallway could well be an antique. Maybe he could have a go on the ten-thousand-word instruction manual that came with my air fryer instead.
Not that it was my fault, this was his plan all along. I considered myself a fairly intelligent, reasonably savvy woman and I’d still been easy prey. If I had to choose who would win a fight between Joe Walsh and a bear, I would back Joe Walsh. Not because he could reasonably defeat a bear in a show of strength but because he’d find a way to flatter it into submission then deliver a knockout blow when it wasn’t paying attention. The thought of him and his smug face working anywhere near my books made me so angry, I almost wanted to ask the man in the suit if I could keep the Lucozade bottle and courier it to Joe as a lovely way to start his weekend. Thankfully, as long as Este Cox stayed anonymous, I would never have to go into the MullinsParker officewhich meant, thankfully, I would never have to see him again.
But that didn’t change the fact that every single time I closed my eyes, I heard him say my name and saw his mouth inching closer to mine. And every single time, my whole body burned.
When we finally rolled into Chesterfield station, I stumbled off the train, gasping for air like I’d escaped Shawshank prison.
‘No offence, Soph, but you look like warmed-up dogshit.’
Blinking into the low evening sun, I looked around to see who had so damningly and accurately described me.
‘And she’s lost the power of speech. That should make the drive easier.’
‘William!’
Never in my life had I been so happy to take my brother’s abuse. I flung myself at him, suitcase slow-motion toppling off the pavement and into the road, earning us both a disgruntled honk from a man in a Mazda.
‘Wanker,’ William said with a smile, shaking his hand in the matching gesture once the car was safely down the road. He stooped to retrieve my fallen suitcase with me still clinging to his lanky frame like a baby koala.
‘How did you know I was here?’ I asked, giving him the biggest, strongest hug I could given the fact my arms were about as strong as used toilet paper.
‘I’m psychic?’ He patted me on the back to signal the acceptable amount of sibling PDA time had passed. ‘Also your arrival time, along with your departure time, arrival station, departure station, phone number, email,Instagram, FacebookandTikTok handles were all on the official Hugh Taylor Big Birthday Weekend Bash shared spreadsheet.’
‘Dad’s on TikTok?’ I said with a shudder. It was a terrifying thought.
‘Dad’s big on TikTok,’ he said with a grim nod. ‘He mostly sticks to CleaningTok but he’s sent me more than one Catluminati video. He stays away from BookTok, obviously. Right now he’s mostly into capybaras.’
‘Who isn’t?’ I replied. ‘Makes sense that he steers clear of BookTok …’
‘Imagine what would happen if someone said a word against Faulkner,’ William chuckled. ‘He’d hunt them down and beat them to death with his first edition ofThe Sound and the Fury.’
‘Wait a minute, what spreadsheet?’ I said, rewinding his sentence.
‘The spreadsheet detailing every second of every minute of every hour from the day the party was announced until the final second when the last guest fucks off back home. You didn’t get it?’
‘I did not get it,’ I confirmed, what little air left in my lungs seeping out until I was fully deflated. ‘Dad didn’t include me on the party spreadsheet.’
‘So weird,’ he said, scratching his beardy chin. ‘I assumed you were ignoring it because—’
He stopped himself altogether too suddenly but I caught the shifty look on his face before he could wipe it clean.
‘Because what?’
‘Doesn’t matter, don’t worry about it, let’s get in the car.’
‘William.’
My voice carried the unmistakable threat of getting kicked in the balls by your little sister in a town centre car park. It wasn’t an empty threat either, I’d done it before and I’d do it again.
‘OK, I’ll tell you but don’t shoot the messenger or knee him in the nut sack or whatever else you’re thinking about,’ he said, reading my mind. ‘The reason you’re not on it is probably because CJ is.’
‘And why would my ex-boyfriend be on my dad’s official Big Birthday Weekend Bash shared spreadsheet?’ I enquired.
‘Would you like me to lie to you?’
‘Yes, please,’ I replied, the last shot of Baileys bubbling in my stomach and threatening a dramatic comeback.
‘Because Dad definitely hasn’t invited him and he definitely isn’t coming.’
