He sighed heavily, and again, anxiety quickly replaced by a growing anger as he accepted this possibility. She was the most selfish creature he had ever, ever met!
Then an image of her at nine years old popped into his head, her freckles, the curl of her hair on her shoulder and her utter glee when he had brought her home a rabbit, Hollywood, who soon became her most treasured possession. Dear God, he was veering here from fear, to anger, to maudlin nostalgia. Where was Matt the Man?
Matt the Man took control, squared his shoulders and rang his sister. Much more like it.
‘Darling!’ came her peppy tones as he answered, although they were hard to make out against theboom boomof the background noise, ‘Oh fuck! You’re in London, aren’t you? I completely forgot. You really are too good to me, Mattie.’
You’re not kidding. Suddenly he pictured those freckles, that curl and his hands around her bloody neck. When would he learn?
‘Oh dear, I’m not there. Well, um… you’ll just have to come here… oh… hang on…’ There was an even longer pause that coincided with Matt’s temper building and building. Was she joking? He was going to do more than kill her.
‘OK, that’s a great idea… I’m at a club at the moment but I can send a car. Oh, darling, I can’t wait to see you, you really are a sweetie. Now it shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes max, get yourself a drink as a primer and you’ll be here in a flash. We’re going to have such a great night, it’s been years since we partied together, I’m so excited! I can’t wait to see you! Oh… you can’t turn up here looking like a gardener, um… there are some of Andrei’s clothes in the spare room, I was going to cut them up, good job I didn’t. You can pop those on. See you in a minute. Ooh!’ – squeal – ‘Mwah mwah!’
He stared at the phone. He wasn’t sure but he didn’t think he’d actually got to say a word. Not one. What to do now?
He walked towards the drinks cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whisky. Pouring himself a glass, he looked out at the London skyline from the huge windows of Angelina’s swish glass-fronted apartment. Knocking it back, he realized that his breathing, his heartbeat had returned to normal.
A laugh, one of those deep, resigned-to-the-inevitable ones, broke the silence as he shook his head and his anger at Angelina subsided. How had he expected any different? She was a monster, but at least she was a monster knocking back champagne in a club with God knows who, rather than lying lifeless in a bath or sobbing hysterically on the sofa. Yes, she was a selfish, irritating, egocentric, narcissistic, self-indulgent trollop who lacked any kind of empathy or concern but she was his sister and she was right, they hadn’t spent a night out together in ages.
Bollocks – he was going to do as he was told. He let the whisky slide down his throat, warming all the way to the pit of the stomach. He was here now, he may as well go out and party! He could leave Scramble in Angelina’s room, to sleep on her bed, and the door to her shoe cupboard open. After all, his dog had been far better behaved than his sister and deserved a treat – but there was no way he was changing his bloody clothes.
As Matt was ushered through the innocuous-looking door into some chic secret club he wondered if he had had a lobotomy somewhere between home and here. Anywhere that flowing booze and barely clad females were gathered had been a haven in his early twenties, but now, now he liked the garden, a cup of tea, watching the smile in Rosy’s eyes turn to a great big cheek-to-cheek grin.
Oof! He felt an unexpected weight unbalance him slightly as he was hurtled into at speed by a very drunk little sister. ‘Mattie, Mattie… you’re here! I love you! Come, come!’ She led him to a table, filled with empty champagne bottles, glasses and what looked to be the upended contents of a handbag, where a scantily dressed green-eyed cat lady with sleek black hair and an intimidating gaze sat.
Angelina pulled him onto the banquette and ruffled through the table to find him an empty glass, which she filled to the brim, so much so it was trickling over the top, and pressed it upon him.
‘Matt, I’m so glad you’re here, we’re going to have fun! Fun! Now drink.’
‘You are a pain in my arse, I can’t believe you got me—’
‘Yeah, yeah, drink!’ She started to force his elbow up and he knew from experience if he didn’t take a big glug it was going to end up all over him. So glug he did. Angelina clapped her hands and squealed some more. The squealing really needed to stop! More alcohol would help that. He raised the glass again, noting approvingly that someone had approached their table and discreetly left a new bottle there for them.
He gave himself up to the uselessness of chastising Angelina. He had no doubt it would all come out in time, so he threw himself into the party spirit instead. Actually it felt good, this was fun, and before he knew it he and Angelina were giggling like children, clutching at each other and talking nonsense.
Then something shifted; she tensed and a flash of the fear he used to see as a child flitted across her face. The woman with them, Siobhan she had said, who was drinking as hard as they were but not laughing quite so much, narrowed her eyes and focused on a man walking towards them, who was accompanied by a stunning redhead. The girl was all quivery and doe-like, possibly no more than eighteen. Matt himself felt something visceral shudder through him; this was not a pleasant man, and yet he exuded a snake-like hypnotic power that captivated Matt.
Angelina grabbed tighter onto his arm. He could feel the pinch of her anxiety through the fabric of his shirt as she started to laugh and flick her hair about. All Matt’s hackles started to rise in defence of Ange, and in protection of the young girl accompanying Andrei (he assumed). This man was unpleasant. He sweated nasty.
Andrei paused by the table and nodded at Matt’s sister before carrying on, wordless and not waiting for a reply, heading to a table on the other side of the club. A table he could have accessed easily without walking past them.
‘Honey,’ Matt cooed at Angelina, whose eyes were now darting about, arms clutching her body, ‘do you want to get out of here?’
‘Absolutely not!’ slurred Ange. ‘I’m not fussed about him, I’m too good for him, and…’
‘Yep, you are.’
‘I know, it’s just that… just that…’
‘Oh shit… Do you need me to hit him?’
‘Oh yes, yes, yes… but do you… um… think you could do it outside in front of the people camera things? You know, kill the bastard! On film?’
Matt’s instinct to physically protect Angelina by throwing a punch into the smug, snake-like, child-dating face of Andrei dissipated a little.
‘Um, probably not, Ange. But… he didn’t… did he… hurt you?’
‘Yes, he bloody did! Bastard! He… he…’ She started to sob. Oh fuck! Matt was going to have to punch him after all, and after the amount of booze Angelina had poured down his throat this evening he wasn’t too sure of his aim. ‘He told me gold lamé didn’t look good on anyone over twenty!’ The tears spilt down her face, plopping into and running down the champagne flutes. Hard to see in the dark throb of the club but there nonetheless.
