‘Don’t change the subject,’ Mum said loudly, using her sternest, most chiding tone. ‘The pair of you havegot plenty of explaining to do yourselves before you start raising questions about other people.’
‘Do you want to do it straight to camera?’ Charlotte asked, peeping over the back of the chair again, phone in hand. ‘Or are you feeling a notes app statement? It’s a little retro but it could work if you let me draft it. You’re not that great at spontaneous chat.’
‘Thanks but I don’t think I need your help writing anything,’ I replied with narrowed eyes. ‘Aren’t you the one who saidButterflieswas your favourite book of all time?’
‘No,’ she said, staring right back.
‘Oh right, that was someone else,’ I nodded. ‘Never mind.’
The angry sound of Gregory’s bag scraping against the walls and smashing into each and every step on his way downstairs filled the whole house.
‘You better have the engine running, Joseph!’ he bellowed. ‘Get me out of this hellhole backwater ditch.’
‘The average house price in Harford is seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds,’ William said, stepping into the hall and holding the front door open for our guest. ‘What drugs are you on and can I have some?’
Dad was still smiling a victor’s smile but it was frozen in place, tight and uncomfortable, and he hadn’t noticed the coffee trickling out from his cracked mug, spilling all over the kitchen counter. I grabbed a tea towel to mop it up, placing the broken mug carefully in the sink. I was picking up the handle to drop it in the bin when Joe passed by the window, heading down the side of the house.
He wasn’t coming back inside.
With the sharp curve of ceramic still in my hand, Iraced through the kitchen and hall and out of the front door, where he was dumping his leather holdall into the boot.
Gregory marched over to join him, tossing his bag in the back beside his son’s, toppling Walter the sad walrus squishmallow who had been in there ever since the fete.
‘I left my number on the bedside table,’ Joe said quietly. ‘Call me later?’
My hand tightened around the mug handle, barely registering the sharp slice into my palm as I held myself back from him. But even without physical contact, the connection between us was as clear as day and on display for all to see.
‘Get your son away from my daughter!’ Dad shouted from the doorstep, storming across the gravel in his dressing gown, slippers and pointy birthday hat. ‘Sophie, get back inside, I don’t want you anywhere near him.’
‘As if my son would go near your daughter.’ Gregory howled with laughter and I squeezed the broken handle even tighter. ‘Look at him, look at her. She should be so lucky.’
‘In my defence, I’m not a morning person,’ I said, trying to bite some colour into my lips. ‘No one’s a ten out of ten first thing.’
‘All right, steady on,’ William warned as annoyance flickered across Joe’s face. ‘Try to keep your weird little feud between the two of you and leave the kids out of it.’
Gregory gave a gleeful little giggle. ‘It’s one thing to think you can steal my authors but if that’s the only bait you’ve got to try and trap my son, you’ll have to do better.’
‘Dad!’ Joe exclaimed, one hand on the boot. ‘Shut up and get in the car. Sophie, Hugh, I amsosorry.’
‘He’s going to feel very silly in a minute,’ I whispered to William, waiting for Joe to tell his father just how wrong he was.
‘Don’t worry, darling, he wouldn’t go near a girl like you on your best day,’ Gregory declared with a condescending leer. ‘Even if he weren’t already spoken for.’
The boot of the car slammed shut to punctuate his sentence and Joe stared back at me, his face suddenly frozen.
‘Dad, shut up and get in the car,’ he ordered. ‘Sophie, I’ll speak to you later.’
‘What do you mean, spoken for?’ I asked, looking to his father for an answer.
‘Ignore him,’ Joe pleaded. ‘He’s talking shit.’
‘Has he got a girlfriend?’
My voice sounded very far away but at least I managed to get the words out.
‘He’s got a wife.’
Gregory corrected my sentence in verbal red pen, bleeding every ounce of emphasis out of the word. ‘Real stunner she is as well. Show them a photo, Joseph, the one on the beach in Hawaii. Canadian, isn’t that right? She’s an editor at—’
