‘You don’t have to look after me!’ Michael interjects with a scowl. ‘I don’t want you to stay here because of me.’
He’s getting irate and I could kill Finn for putting him in this position.
‘It’s okay, Michael,’ I say, reaching out to take his hand. ‘It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. I don’twantto leave you.’
‘No!’ Michael replies, infuriated, wrenching his hand away. ‘You don’t look afterme.’ He enunciates every wordslowly and meaningfully, just as our parents taught him to. ‘Ilook afteryou!’ he states. ‘YOU’RE. MY. BABY. SISTER.’
I stare at him in shock.
Is that the way he sees it? That he’s been the one looking out for me all along?
Could there be some truth to it?
He hated me living in his house, but he tolerated it. And when I think about all those times he dragged himself over for Sunday lunch, complaining about not really feeling like it or wishing he could be in front of the telly or at work, watching classic cars roll into the car park instead, I wonder if I’ve had it wrong all this time. Was he the one doingmea favour? Washesupportingme? Because he thought I needed him to?
The world around me shifts, forcing me to look at this situation from a different perspective.
But even if Finn and Michael are right, how can I consider going to LA now? Even if I wanted to up and move – which Idon’t– Finn has already fallen for someone else.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The cornflower-blue sky is littered with puffy white clouds as I approach the bench at the edge of the cliffs that I’ve come to think of as ours. A lone figure sits there already, his shoulders hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees.
I wasn’t sure if I’d see Finn again. I demanded to be dropped straight home after Chapel Porth – I was so angry at him for bringing Michael into our argument that I couldn’t even look at him, let alone spend a morning in his company.
Over the last couple of days, I’ve shed a lot of tears as I’ve tried to make sense of everything that was said. Even if I can see where my brother and Finn are coming from, I’m not sure what it changes. Things are finally taking off for me as a sculptor – I don’t want to start all over again in LA, a place that I feel no connection to. Maybe Michael – and Rach and Amy – would be okay with me leaving, butIwouldn’t be. It feels like too much of a sacrifice to make right now. And whyshouldit all come down to me? Where are the sacrificeshe’smade? Where are the compromises?
Finn slowly straightens up at the sight of me, his expression bleak but relieved. He reaches out his hand, his distraught eyes imploring me to take it.
I do. It may be the last time.
We sit beside each other and stare out at the sea, emerald green melting away into icy blue. My cheeks are already wet.
It’s the anniversary of my parents’ deaths, but the tears I’m shedding today are not for them.
‘Liv,’ Finn says in a hoarse voice, slipping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close.
I amachingfor him. It hurts so much. How will I ever feel this way about anyone else?
‘You could have come back any time of the year, couldn’t you?’ I say in a small voice. ‘But you’ve always chosen to return so you’re here for the eleventh of August. I thought you were coming back for the school holidays.’
‘I’ve always come back for you. For this anniversary. You don’t go through something like that with someone and sever ties lightly.’
I have a flashback to that night, remembering Finn sitting with me on the sofa as the police officers delivered the news, the way I clutched him and screamed out my grief, and how he cancelled his flight, staying by my side until after the funeral, helping out in any way he could. I’ve never fully contemplated what that must have been like for him, to witness someone else’s pain on such a raw and emotional level. He can’t not have been affected by it. We formed a bond during that time, a bond that can never be broken. We will always have this link to each other.
But I don’t want to be tangled up with him if he’s in love with someone else.
‘Tell me about her.’
He goes rigid beneath my fingers. He doesn’t want to have this conversation.
‘I need to know, Finn. How did it happen?’
He sighs and lets me go, avoiding my gaze. ‘When you’re working with an artist, you have to find out what makes them tick, so we spent a lot of time together before we even started writing, chatting over coffee at her house about life and dating and the breakdown of previous relationships, trying to find concepts for songs. It’s intimate and it felt organic, and Brit allowed herself to be vulnerable with me. She had a rough childhood too, so we had that in common. It’s hard not to feel something when someone is pouring their heart and soul into their lyrics.’
I want to catch the cotton-wool clouds from the sky and stuff them into his mouth to keep him from saying any more. But I know I was the one who asked.
I bet he felt star-struck too – a hugely successful artist like Brit opening up to him.
