A screech pierced through the speakers, followed by a wail of feedback.
“Are you seriously going to tell me you’re not going to give it a shot with old Dub-Dub?”
I shrugged. I wanted this conversation to be over—and not only because Jonty’s breath smelt like a rubbish bin at a dog park on a hot summer’s afternoon.
“We’re not even talking to each other at the moment. I just want to go back to London, hug my gran, and see the boys. I don’t know what impression you’ve got or why it’s any of your business, Jonty, but their ain’t anything going on between me and Lord Buckford.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“Pardon.”
“I think you’re scared.”
“I grew up in the East End. Nothing scares me, bruv.”
“This scares you,bruv.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“Not at all. It’s been a while since I’ve heard you speak like that. That’s all.”
“What are you saying?”
Jonty’s mouth was back at my ear. “Listen, I know you. I’ve been on plenty of nights out with you and Ludo and the boys. You’re the leader. The organiser. The group’s fixer. Never an outward sign of weakness. But you don’t feel in control of your feelings for Dub-Dub, and it scares you.”
“Oh, piss off, Jonty.” I jerked myself free of him.
“OK. But I’ll say this?—”
“You’ve said enough.” I was ready to break the world record for throwing a posh twat across a bar.
“He deserves a shot.” Jonty squared up, his eyes intense. “I’ve known Dub-Dub since we were thirteen. We’ve been through some shit together, man and boy, but one thing’s always been true. If he loves you—whether you’re a friend, family, a horse—he gives you his all. I think you need someone like that.”
Jonty mussed his hands through my hair.
“And you deserve someone like that.” He disappeared across the dance floor towards the stage, and I watched as Lola jumped down into his arms. They spun around, their faces in raptures, like they were the only two people in the venue. That was about all I could handle. I went up to my room to pass out until morning.
Chapter 30
William
Iheaded up to the belvedere hoping to find Petey. I’d gone to the after-party in town with Mum and Bramley, expecting to see him, hoping to put things right. But he didn’t show, and after a couple of hours, I gave up. He wasn’t here, either, though. His stuff was gone. A wet towel in the bathroom was the only sign he’d ever been here. I’d have sucked his DNA clean out of it if I thought I’d feel closer to him, if I thought it’d fill the hollow in my stomach. It had been such a stupid little fight. I’d been clumsy in the way I asked him to stay, but I still hoped he’dwantto stay. I didn’t understand why he’d flipped out.
The next morning, I stared at the calendar. I had a hundred and fifty-three days to save the estate, but I was wallowing in bed. Eventually, Bramley appeared—like a judgemental Victorian ghost.
“My lord, I thought you might wish to be informed the production company removal vans are here, and they’re decanting all their props and will soon begin returning all the household chattels. I’m told the cameras and computer equipment will be uninstalled and collected by a team of specialists next week.”
“Yes, of course.” Aunty Karma’s voice echoed through my head. “Just make sure they turn all the cameras off, will you?”
“Of course.”
“You didn’t happen to bring breakfast up with you, did you?”
“I’m afraid not, my lord. I wasn’t aware wallowing was especially hungry work.”
We were interrupted by the loud, violent whacking of metal on wood and the whinnying of horses.
“Achilles!” I said, leaping up from the bed and racing downstairs. In the stable yard, Hank—the show’s horse handler—was struggling to load his Cleveland Bay mares into the horse float for their trip home.
