‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I mutter.
‘He’s got more friends thanyou, for fuck’s sake!’ he erupts, irked himself now. ‘He’d be absolutely fine if you spent more time away from this place!’
‘No, he wouldn’t,’ I argue.
‘You can’t keep using Michael as an excuse not to leave. I think the truth of it is that you’re scared. You’re scared of being out of your comfort zone. You’ve been using this place as a crutch since your parents died.’
‘That’s not true.’
But he’s not finished.
‘I think that you might evenrelishthe feeling that you get when I leave. You’ve told me yourself that you throw yourself into sculpting. You harness the hurt. You need it to work.’
He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know, but I’m incensed he has the gall to say it.
‘I haven’t seen you sculpt a single thing that comes from a place of joy. I was glad when I saw that statue of Lord What’s-His-Face because his expression is peachy, but then I remembered that he’sdeadand that it probably killed you to sculpt him too.’
‘How dare you say that to me!’ I cry. ‘You’re such a hypocrite! Your songs are riddled with lines about your upbringing, about this place, about your tragic childhood … You’ve written songs based on your own pain and suffering for practically as long as I’ve known you! You’ve written songs based onmypain and suffering! And how many songs have you been inspired to write after leavingme? You use the pain to your advantage too – you’re exactly the same!’
‘I don’t want to feel like that any more!’ he yells. ‘I want to behappy, Liv! I want a peaceful life! A proper girlfriend! A wife and kids someday! I wantyou, but you’re not fucking available!’
Banging on the window jolts us both to attention. Michael is peering in at us, a thunderous expression on his face.
I open the door. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Why are you arguing?’ he asks in a raised voice.
‘We’re not.’
‘I heard you!’he shouts.
‘We’re having a discussion,’ I say, trying to compose myself.
Finn leans across the console to speak directly to Michael.
‘Your sister thinks she can’t leave St Agnes,’ he says.
‘Finn!’ I snap.
I thought he was going to back me up, not haul my brother into our mess.
‘Why not?’ Michael asks.
He’s no longer shouting but it’s not far off.
‘Because she’s worried about leaving you here on your own,’ Finn explains remarkably calmly.
‘I’m not on my own,’ Michael replies with a frown, shifting on his feet, and he looks so small standing there, at only five feet tall, drowned by the size of his hi-vis jacket.
Finn gives me a pointed look. ‘See?’
‘Don’t you do this,’ I warn him furiously.
‘Where do you want to go?’ Michael asks me, perplexed.
‘I don’t want to go anywhere,’ I reply.
‘She’s lying,’ Finn calls across from the driver’s seat. ‘She won’t come to LA, she won’t go back to Italy, she won’t even go to London. She won’t leave St Agnes and she won’t leaveyou. She thinks she has to look after you.’
