The pair of us turned and walked briskly away, the soles of my sandals bouncing over the freshly mown grass, CJ still defending his creative block to my dad, rambling about the myopic lens of an alienated society, and I was extremely relieved not to be the one who had to listen to it any more.
‘Well done,’ my brother said as we slowed our pace. ‘I can’t even look at his rodent face without wanting to slap the taste out of his mouth.’
‘I had many more years of practice than you,’ I reminded him. ‘Every time I feel the urge to bludgeon him to death with his Critics’ Circle Debut Novel trophy, I remind myself how few copies ofDeckled Edgessold, awards or no awards.’
He laughed and held up his hand for a high five which I gladly met. ‘Publishing loves books about publishing. We both know it’s a piece of overwritten shit. Scathing satire addressing the perils of a young female editorial assistant in a London publishing house my arse.’
‘Might’ve been helpful if he’d ever been an editorial assistant, or a young female,’ I suggested. ‘Or you know, even spoke to one.’
‘I saw it on a list of worst male-written female characters a few weeks ago but I didn’t send it on. I know you’d rather be the bigger person.’
‘Oh, god, no. Send it to me, I can always use something calming to read before bed.’
‘If you’d only let me scream from the rooftops you’re the bestselling author in the world,’ he grumbled. ‘Go on, you know you want to. This would be the perfect place to do it.’
‘Only if your plan is to give Mum and Dad his and hers heart attacks for his birthday.’ I inhaled deeply and blew out as much stress as I could. ‘You’re right though, I can be the bigger person. At least until I get the chance to spit in CJ’s drink or push him down some stairs.’
‘That’s my sister.’ Slowing almost to a stop, William looked around at the over-sixties crowd. ‘Where’s Sarah tonight?’ he asked. ‘I thought Nixon might’ve graced us with her presence.’
‘She’ll be here tomorrow,’ I replied, smiling at the thought. ‘She has the kids Friday, Dave has them Saturday.’
‘He couldn’t take them tonight as well?’
‘Dave couldn’t take his own temperature without step-by-step instructions from Sarah.’
‘Pretty but stupid,’ William assessed, not incorrectly. ‘OK, this is my official, updated best romantic advice: find something nice to look at that’s still mentally competent. I’m not saying everyone’s husband needs to be able to explain how the Hadron Collider works but at least find a partner who knowsLord of the Ringsis fiction and not something that happened a very long time ago.’
‘In his defence,’ I started, wincing at the memory of my brother’s first conversation with Sarah’s ex-husband, William looking at me expectantly. ‘No, I haven’t got anything, you’re right.’
‘It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t been so determined to convince us he knew a Hobbit.’ He glanced over at the grill where Sanjit stood empty plate in hand and a blank expression on his face. ‘If you’re all right on your own for a minute, I should go stop Sanjit before he eats himself into gout. The man has no self-control when it comes to a barbecue.’
‘No worries,’ I said even though there were in fact worries. Many, many worries. Outside my brother, my options for company at the barbeque were limited. Mum was locked in an animated discussion with her best friend, Jericka, another critic, a very intense woman who couldn’t have a conversation with anyone about anything without bringing up Russian literature. Dad’s pub friends only knew how to talk about politics, war novels and actual war, three things I had no interest in debating with a group of old men on a Friday night or ever. I’d sent William away, Charlotte was nowhere to be seen, CJ made me want to poke out my own eyes with a chicken kebab and I would happily chew off my left leg to avoid talking to Aunt Carole and Uncle Bryan,who were dressed for an arctic expedition despite the fact I was sweltering in jeans and a T-shirt, which left only one other person and I was, as had been requested, keeping my distance from him.
Artfully dodging all potential social interactions, I sloped off to the back bar, or to describe it more accurately, a pasting table under a tablecloth, and poured a full-to-the-brim glass of rosé. I didn’t even want it but I needed a prop, something to do with my hands and, if necessary, throw at someone.
‘You always did like your pink wine.’
‘And you always liked bothering me when I wanted to be left alone,’ I said with a sigh when CJ sidled up beside me at the bar, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. ‘So I see neither of us have changed.’
‘Oh, Sophie, Sophie, Sophie. You and your sense of humour.’
He laughed and brushed his dark blond hair back behind his ears, something I used to find boyish and endearing but with the way it was beginning to thin at the temples, I couldn’t help but think he ought to leave as much of it forward as possible. ‘How have you been?’
‘Fine until I found out you were coming,’ I replied sweetly.
‘Just because we’re not together any more doesn’t mean I’m not part of the family,’ CJ said, flashing huge puppy dog eyes.
‘Colin, that’s exactly what it means.’ I took a long, unhappy chug of my wine. It would be a waste to throw it. ‘They’re my family, not yours.’
He swirled the whisky in his glass, bringing it to his lips but barely taking a taste. I was probably the only person here who knew he’d much rather have what Iwas drinking. Colin loved rosé and hated whisky. CJ, it seemed, had learned to tolerate it.
‘Sophie, I want you to know, I do empathise,’ he said, one hand in his pocket, shoulders drawn back straight. ‘It must be difficult for you, watching me live my dreams from afar while you’re stuck in a dead-end teaching job, but you need to move on.’
I turned to stare at him.
‘What did you just say?’
‘It’s time you got over me,’ he said, pressing the whisky glass against his chest. ‘For your own sake.’
