‘I know what it is,’ he says, serious now.
‘I’m sure you do, but it gets worse, bromeo. She loaded a, let’s say, very intimate photo as my profile picture.’
‘No way,’ he says, sounding as scandalised as our Granny when she caught me flashing my arse out of my bedroom window. I was twelve. She’s still bringing it up to this day.
‘Aye. The D. You must see I can’t call her. The only way to satisfy the woman is to hand over a bouquet containing my balls, as well.’
‘All right.’ Kit concedes with a quiet sigh. ‘Leave it with me. You’re away to the Highlands aren’t you? How many properties have you to see?’
‘Two more, way up past Aberdeen.’
‘And where are you staying now?’
‘At the cottage.’
Kit is quiet for a beat, no doubt processing. ‘You’re staying at the house our no good father left us—’
‘I prefer sperm donor.’
‘—the one you said you’d never set foot in again.’
I sniff. ‘I happen to be standinginthe house I said I’d never step foot in, actually. The one he left to charity. And to be fair, it was stay in the cottage or the local B & B.’ It’s not like I can sleep here; the place is a tip.
I can almost hear his shudder at the mention of his least favourite acronym. I’m not exactly a fan myself.
We talk about business then, each of us more than eager to step away from the past. Holidays for others is business for us; we come from a long line of hoteliers, right back to our great grandfather’s day, though Kit and I are currently working on something of our own. Exclusive boutique hotels; country homes turned into hotels with a difference with decors and facilities to rival anywhere. Getaways for an elite clientele.
By now I’ve made my way up the once grand staircase of our current project and into one of the rooms supposedly earmarked for an executive suite. A copper bath, covered in blue protective wrap, stands in the large bay window. There’s a hole cut into the floorboards, presumably where the tap will stand. Luxury getaways? Right now, I doubt we could get vagrants to stay in this place with much success.
‘We should’ve left that place well alone.’ Kit’s ominous words bring my feet to a sudden halt. This isn’t something we discuss ever, having tactically decided to leave the past where it belongs. ‘If he’d wanted us to own the place he’d have left it to us in his will. The auld bastard’s probably had it cursed.’
‘You might’ve mentioned your thoughts before the auction.’ Not that it matters. I might’ve said I didn’t care that our DNA donor didn’t love us enough to leave us the house I’m standing in. But as his oldest son, I was hurt. I wanted it, as my auld granny would say, by hook or by crook. That’s my granny of the good grand-parenting side, unlike the old twat who died, leaving this house to an aged greyhound’s charity. ‘Anyway,’ I force my tone to lighten above my thoughts. ‘The only bastards around are us.’
‘Like that’s ever bothered either of us. Just do me a favour and stay out of town for a while. Let me see what I can do about Beth.’
‘Sure,’ I say laughing, because he really has no idea. I can stay out of London for a while, but the woman is certifiable. He’ll get no sense out of her.
‘I’m not interested in your sloppy seconds,’ he says, mistaking my tone.
‘On account of her not havin’ a beard, I imagine. Either way, it’s your funeral.’
‘And it’ll be yours if I can’t get her to play nice.’
I hate leaving him to sort out my shit. ‘We’re not at school now.’ God knows he spent enough time dragging me out of trouble back then.And it was usually over girls.
‘It’s not just your problem though, is it? Not when it’s threatening our timeline.’
I let out a defeated breath. ‘I was upfront with her, man. She agreed—we weren’t even a thing.’
‘Don’t be daft. With women, there’s always a thing.’
