He took a sip of his coffee and settled back into the sofa.
‘And that was a highly proficient swerve from the topic,’ she said.
‘Let’s just say she wants me to do something I just don’t want to do.’
‘Mothers do that.Ido that with Angel.’
‘I don’t expect you’d make her stand up in a room full of people and talk about a dead relative.’
‘Your father?’
‘No, my brother.’
And there was Ben sweeping into his mind again. His short, dark hair, his engaging smile, the perfect American-dream poster boy. His jealousy and grief always intertwined so freely, both jarring, both painful to recapture. He’d loved his brother, desperately. He recalled the first time he’d thought they’d lost him. They were out on the ocean just a few hundred yards away from their summer beachside retreat, larking about on the boat when the weather had taken a turn for the worse. He’d done everything his father had taught him to get the boat to shore; Ben had taken charge, tried to quell both their panic. But they just seemed to be drifting further and further out to sea. And then a wave had rocked the vessel so hard, it had flipped his brother overboard. He still remembered thewaves, smashing against the side of the hull, angry, white crests, hiding his brother. He had stared into the water, eyes straining, looking for the bright orange of Ben’s lifejacket. What seemed like minutes had ticked by until finally he’d surfaced, spitting, coughing, his arms flailing against the current. Oliver had strained over the side of the yacht, uncaring for himself, holding the wooden oar at arm’s length and praying for Ben to reach it. He had and they’d lain on the deck knowing if the elements took them, they would be going together. Less than five minutes later, Richard had turned up on a speedboat and they were safe.
Oliver hid his face in his mug of coffee, drinking some of the liquid down and hoping it would settle his intoxication as well as his thoughts.
‘Ben died five years ago this week.’ He took in a breath. ‘My mother likes to ramp up the emotion at this time of year, as if we don’t acknowledge it, somehow we’ll forget about him. I have a different opinion,’ Oliver stated.
‘What doyouthink?’ Hayley asked.
‘I don’t want to forget him, but sometimes I feel he’s hanging over me like something out ofA Christmas Carol.’
‘And your mother thinks you’d be perfectly cast as Scrooge?’
‘You got it.’
He looked to her then, watching her shift in her seat, wrapping her fleece-encased legs under herself. Did she understand? Perhaps now, with just the vague outline. But if he told her what he was really, ultimately, afraid of, what would she think then? He swallowed.
‘Well, if it’s any consolation at all, I’m pretty sure my mother hates me.’
Her voice came out so matter-of-fact, it took him a second to realise fully what she’d said.
‘Hates you?’ he queried.
‘Too strong?’
‘I don’t know. Do you think it is?’
‘SheadoresDean, but then he’s the handsome, intelligent, not-pregnant-at-eighteen one.’
‘And you are?’
‘I’m the one who does everything wrong. I’m the one who threw away her dreams to have a baby. I’m the one she glosses over talking about at bingo.’
‘And that hurts.’ He watched her expression. She seemed to mull over his sentence. She brushed her hair back off her face and leant an elbow on the chair, propping up her head with her hand.
‘I don’t know if it hurts any more. I’ve got used to it.’
‘Have you talked to her about it?’
‘No. We don’t do that sort of talking in our family.’ She sighed. ‘But seeing as I left my ten-year diary at her house, full of angst and issues and referring to her as Grotbags… well, if she finds it, it probably won’t be long before she reads what I could never say.’ A chill ran through her. She didn’t want her mother finding the diary. She shouldn’t have left it unsupervised behind the Gonks. The trouble was it was just as dangerous here in New York where Angel could come across it as it was at Rita’s home. She unfolded her legs. ‘I see what you did there. Nice moves butI’mthe counsellor here.’
‘Who said it had to be a one-way street?’
‘You’re intoxicated. Everyone knows you never take advice from a drunk guy.’
‘Everyone knows you always tell the truth when you’re drunk.’
