‘Now, CJ, you need to calm down—’ Dad started but he was already on a roll.
‘I don’t even know why I bothered coming,’ he cut in with a grunt. ‘A self-important, so-called critic, an editor who’s so out of touch he wouldn’t know a good idea if it slapped him in the face, a precocious brat who needs a good slap and William? Well, the less said about you the better.’
‘My mere existence is offensive enough, I know,’ my brother said with a quick incline of the head as my mother and father watched on in shock. ‘But I reallythink it’s time for you to shut up and piss off now, Colin.’
‘Be quiet, I’m streaming,’ hissed Charlotte under her breath as she held up her phone. ‘This is gold.’
‘Or what?’ CJ challenged. ‘You’ll set your attack dog on me? Please, he’s not going to do anything.’ He looked over at Joe who bristled beside me, and above, the gathering storm clouds rumbled a warning. ‘Couldn’t even hit me, had to let a girl do it for him. Or were you simply returning the favour, Soph?’
‘Colin, don’t,’ I said, keeping my voice cool even though I felt anything but. ‘This isn’t the time or place.’ I started as I felt a single solitary raindrop fall on my bare arms.
He made a show of looking around, hands held out to either side as though what I’d said made no sense. ‘Can’t think of a better time or place. You’ve got so many fans assembled.’
‘I know I might get the sack but please can I hit him?’ Joe pleaded.
‘No,’ my dad replied.
‘Yes,’ answered his own father.
Strutting up and down in front of the crowd, grey underpants completely on show, CJ continued crowing. ‘For the life of me, I can’t work out why you’re covering for her. You must be mad, even offering to put your name to a shit book that only appeals to little girls with no imagination and silly cows who lack the intelligence to understand and appreciate real writing.’
‘Performance art at its finest!’ boomed William. ‘The cake’s shot to shit but who fancies a Mini Milk?’
Half the guests raised their hands, people starting to shuffle away, glancing at the sky.
‘Desperate wank fantasy with no more literary merit than a till receipt.’ CJ however was still going. ‘I could shit out something better. I could sneeze and come up with more impressive dialogue.’
‘But you didn’t, you one-hit-wonder-wanker,’ Joe interjected. ‘You wrote one very pretentious novel and you knew the right people so you got lucky. Every proposal you’ve sent in since has been rejected because not even someone as supportive as Hugh Taylor is prepared to put his name to them.’
‘That’s not true!’
‘You write like an AI trying to impersonate Bret Easton Ellis only the AI would do a better job!’ Joe shot back. ‘Sophie writes rings around you.’
‘Joe!’ I exclaimed, pulling him back as more raindrops started to splash my face. ‘Don’t!’
‘I’d rather publish one book and retire than have my name attached to something as vulgar and amateurish asButterflies,’ CJ wailed. ‘Hugh, Pandora, I hope you’re proud of what you’ve raised.’
‘Sophie, before I beat him to death with the croquet mallet, what’s he talking about?’ Mum asked, tapping lightly on my arm.
‘Nothing,’ Joe answered for me. ‘Don’t listen to him.’
‘Tell her,’ CJ demanded. ‘Or I will.’
Sarah squeezed my hand as William placed a protective hand on my shoulder and Joe gave me an almost imperceptible nod. Whatever happened next, at least I wouldn’t be alone.
‘Joe didn’t writeButterflies,’ I said, turning to face my family, their friends and Gregory Brent. ‘I did.’
CJ said something, presumably even more hateful than before, but it was impossible to hear him over thecrowd’s collective gasp. Even Charlotte’s arm fell back down by her side, livestream over.
‘Sophie?’ Mum said, blinking with disbelief.
‘Este,’ I corrected with a wan smile as a crack of thunder split the sky and the heavens opened. ‘I’m Este Cox.’
It was a spectacular end to a spectacular party.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
For the first time, I could truly say William earned his commission. Right as the rain began hammering the party into submission, he stepped in, giving Sarah the nod and ordering us both to return to the cottage immediately. Mal reappeared at exactly the wrong moment, running down the garden with an umbrella, and the second he saw the looks on my parents’ faces, I could tell he knew what he’d missed.
