I want to sink into the earth.
“Can we please not do this in the middle of the corridor?” Sophie tries again.
“You’re the one who announced it for everyone and the world to hear,” Henry retorts.
“I didn’t realise anyone was here, let alone everyone on this damn farm.”
“What’s going on?” Aunt Joan lets herself inside through the door at the other end, smelling of sunshine and cut grass. “Ican hear you screeching from outside. Quite spoiled my morning meditation. Sophie?” She finally notices the pale, hollowed-out expression on my sister’s face. “Are you alright, pet? What’s happening?”
“She’s leaving me, that’s what’s happening. On our wedding day! Practically at the altar!” Henry shouts. “I’m missing the FA Cup Final for this.”
“Is that all you care about? The football?”
“Says the woman who dumped me in her dressing gown?” He looks her up and down. “Give it back.”
“What?”
“The ring. My grandmother’s ring. Give it back right now.”
“You’re such a child.” But even as she says it, Sophie is twisting at her finger, pulling off the ring, and hurling it down the corridor. Henry scrabbles for it on the wooden floor, comical in his wet, dishevelled, shirtless state. “Here! Take it if you want it so much!”
“ENOUGH!” Joan shouts with the volume of a drill sergeant, cutting through the din. “Stop it! All of you! Henry, Sophie, go to your bedroom and discuss this like adults. The rest of you, clear off and give them some peace. This isn’t a zoo.”
Chastened, Henry stands up, ring clutched in his hand, and sulks down the corridor. “Fine. If you want to talk, let’s talk.”
Sophie sighs. “Come on then.”
They disappear inside their room, the door closing behind them, but as soon as the latch clicks shut, the argument starts again, the shouting quickly rising in volume.
Joan flaps her hands at the rest of us. “Go on then. Get. Don’t stand around like headless chickens. Give them some peace.”
“What shall I do with these then?” Ross asks, still holding the champagne.
“Drink it,” Joan replies cheerily. “If you don’t, I will.”
Heart heavy, I slip away, edging down the corridor, as if there is any chance that Angus won’t notice me trying to run.
But as I pass the stairwell, he grabs my arm, grasping tight enough to stop me in my tracks.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
His eyes are lidded. Dangerous. Awash with emotions I can’t name. For the first time, a frisson of fear fills me when I look at him. Whatever he is feeling, Angus is clearly unhappy.
“Um… away?” I offer.
“Come on, London. We need to talk.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Angus
The wedding is off.
The fucking wedding is off. I can’t believe it. Months of planning and work and preparation gone in an instant. The bright future, the word-of-mouth recommendations, the glowing reviews, the chance that someone else in this obscenely wealthy, obscenely privileged crowd will off-handedly tell one of their equally obscenely wealthy, obscenely privileged friends about this perfect, off-the-beaten-track Scottish farm: all gone.
Sure, there will be other opportunities, but we put so much work into this one. Into this chance.
Now it’s over.
