‘What?’
‘I interrupted you before,’ she said. ‘You said you had something … ?’
She watched his throat bob, watched him hesitate. ‘It doesn’t matter now. Let’s just get you home.’
It looked very much as though itdidmatter, but he was already moving, already walking, and she fell into step with him, the silence between them needling now as they tracked through the city, the salt wind cold upon their faces. The lamplighters were already out with their ladders, each lamp casting a soft trail of golden light across the square.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, risking a glance at him. His gaze was fixed determinedly on the road before them – hands stuffed into his pockets.
‘I was just wondering what my father would say,’ he said. ‘If he could see me now.’
They turned onto Park Lane, the briny scent of the wind mingling with coal smoke.
‘He’d likely tell you that you need to visit a barber,’ Ava said, eyeing the faint line of stubble upon his jaw.Thatelicited a smile from him at least – although it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
‘I think he’d be more horrified by the state of my shoes,’ Damien said, reaching to rub at his eyebrow. ‘Or perhaps he wouldn’t. Perhaps he’d look at me, now, and see—’
She watched him open his mouth and close it again, a knotted expression upon his face.
‘See what?’
‘See what he has always seen,’ he said, his voice soft.
They were past the church now, and nearing her house – with the tangled clump of weeds in the narrow front garden, the black iron gate – although it was open, and squealing back and forth on its hinges in the wind.
And Ava frowned.
For there was something on her doorstep –someonecurled into a ball upon it – and it was only when she drew closer that she realized who it was. And she felt her heart shoot into her throat.
‘… Oliver?’
Chapter Forty-Six
Her brother groaned, looking up at her through pale eyelashes. His collar was rucked, his coat sleeve torn at the cuff – and there was a line of blood smeared upon his left cheek.
‘Go home, Ava,’ he muttered.
‘Iamhome,’ Ava said, casting a glance at Damien – who was frozen beside her. ‘Are you … drunk?’
‘You’redrunk,’ Oliver mumbled, his head slumping forwards. ‘You’re spinning.’
Ava stepped past him to slide her key into the lock – opening the door into darkness. ‘Pa?’ she called – but there was no answer.
‘He’s out,’ Oliver said. ‘With Mrs Moss.’
‘Come on,’ said Damien, crouching to put Oliver’s arm across his shoulder. ‘Help me get him up.’
‘Who’re you?’ Oliver tried to push Damien away, but only succeeded in pawing a hand feebly against his forearm. ‘Don’t touch me.’
‘You’ve met before, remember? At the teashop? This is Damien.’
Oliver mumbled something that might’ve been ‘lemon cheese’ through his lips, although it was hard to tell.
‘On three,’ said Damien. ‘I’ll help you get him inside.’
They lifted as one, though Oliver did nothing to help, and it was like trying to lift a sack of potatoes. Except perhaps that would have been easier, for sacks of potatoes didn’t tend to strain backwards – throwing their weight in entirely the opposite direction.
‘Use your legs,’ Damien growled, voice straining. ‘We can’t lift you otherwise.’
