“The main gates won’t open, and you won’t be walking or getting the bus in the dark.” She rolls her eyes, but hopefully she knows how serious I am. I won’t have her wandering the streets late at night. I don’t care how safe this neighbourhood is.
I guide her back to the sofa and hand her the glass of wine. She takes a sip and leans her head back, resting it on the sofa, her glass tipping slightly to the side. She bolts up, brushing the sofa cushion where a few drops have spilt.
“Shit, shit. Sorry. Oh my god. Your sofa.”
“Reilly.” I laugh. “Don’t stress, it’s just a little spill.”
“At least it’s not red,” she mutters as she wipes a drop of wine off the side of the glass and licks it from her finger, her lips puckering around the tip. “Do not give me red wine on this sofa.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” I manage to say, even as the thought of having another opportunity for Reilly to spill wine over my sofa replays in my head. Her cheeks tinge red as she sets the glass right in the middle of the coffee table. Nudging it as far away as possible.
She sits up a little straighter and smooths her curls away from her face. My hand itches to reach towards her and pull them back down just to watch her do it again.
I adjust my trousers and clear my throat. “You’re good with Neive. Do you have siblings?” Of course she doesn’t. We discussed this the first night we met.
“No, just me and my mum growing up,” she says, looking around the room until her eyes land on a photo of a young Neive and MJ. “Neive is a great kid. She told me about her mum.” I know she has many unasked questions; they’re the same questions everyone has.
I don’t know how much I should divulge to Reilly. I want her to understand me, without scaring her off with my family drama. But maybe I should let her see me and make her own judgement.
“Our parents died when we were young,” I say, and she turns back to me with that same look of pity I despise. “We were dirt poor, and with no other family, we ended up in foster care.” My eyes flick to the same photo Reilly had been looking at before. “MJ was seven. I did my best to keep an eye out for her, but it was hard. Things … things weren’t okay.” I clench my fist at the memory of the bullying and harassment MJ suffered when she couldn’t live with me. “I managed to get guardianship of MJ when I was twenty-one. But a little too late; she was already drinking and generally heading towards a downward spiral. She was fourteen.” Reilly shifts closer to me and rests her hand on mine. I find myself gently stroking her knuckles. “Neive was born a few years later.”
“Neive’s dad?” Reilly asks. I shake my head and something close to anger crosses her face.
“Neive helped MJ turn her life around. She quit drinking and partying and got back to focusing on school. With the help of nannies, as well as Charles and Jeeves, things were going well.” I took a breath. This part was hard to relive. “Two years ago, MJ’s girlfriend died. Car accident. It hit her hard. They hadn’t been together long, but another death in her life was too much to handle. She started spiralling. I was distracted with work and women.” I pause to gauge Reilly’s reaction to my admission of my playboy ways. She says nothing. “I kept throwing money at the problem. Thinking it would get better.” Reilly opens her mouth but shuts it, not wanting to cut in.
“Anyway, I headed over to see MJ and found her in bed sleeping off a drug-fuelled hangover. The fridge was empty, and although the place was tidy, it wasn’t particularly clean. Neivecame home from school with a bag of McDonalds, apparently her regular dinner. I told her to pack two separate bags for her and her mum. I sent MJ off to rehab and moved Neive in here. That was three months ago.” I take a gulp of wine, uneasy at the vomit of personal life I’ve just spewed.
Reilly runs her hand up my arm and leans in, placing a soft kiss on my cheek.
“You’ve been through so much, Elton, and what you’re doing now for your sister and Neive is amazing. You’re an amazing person.”
I lift my hand to move a curl that had fallen over her eyes, then gently stroke her cheek. She nestles into my touch and closes her eyes. My breath stills. She is so beautiful. The candlelight casts a shadow over her face, highlighting her features. Will she let me kiss her?
The aggressive vibrating of Reilly’s phone interrupts the sweetest of moments.
“Shit, it’s my mum. Sorry I’ve got to take this. She’ll be worried.”
“Of course.” I grab a candle, and to give her privacy I show her through to the formal dining room, which we never use despite the table for twelve. I let the door close behind me as she answers her phone call, the phone call that stopped me from crawling on top of her and fulfilling all the dreams I’ve had of her. We will be picking up where we left off.
TEN
Reilly
“All is good, Mum. No, the lights are out here as well.” She continues down the phone at me, worrying about anything she can think of. “Yeah, I’ll stay here until they come back on. If it’s too late, I’ll grab a taxi. My car is stuck behind the gates.”
“Gates?! Has he put you in a cage?” I roll my eyes at my mother’s sarcasm. She’s not a fan of the wealthy. HerEat The Richpin she wears everywhere is a testament to that. Mum is proudly part of the fourth-wave feminist movement. Her pixie-cut hair is dyed an unnatural silver, and she exclusively shops in charity shops and on Vinted. I’ve never seen her without an outrageous pair of dangly earrings. Dorothy says Mum found her wild side during my early years. She was a little reserved when she first moved here. It didn’t take long for her to shed that skin, amazing what a broken heart can do.
“So he’s locked you away in a tower to have his wicked way with you,” she jokes with me. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she turned up at the house, pitchfork in hand, demanding my release.
“God, you sound like the girls. I don’t think he’s into me like that. Plus I’ve embarrassed myself enough. I’m not going to make another move.” The sound of Elton moving about in the kitchen stops my confessions and I drop my voice to a whisper. “Got to go, Mum. I’ll let you know my plans. You and Dorothy behave yourselves. Love you.”
I stare out at the blackness of the ocean. It’s so still. Not even a ripple, just the moon reflecting in the distance. I can just about make out the edges of the overcast sky. In the dark and quiet I find a space of peace and the calm washes over me. My thoughts turn to Elton and his family … they have been through so much. It explains the air of hardness around him, it’s a protective bubble for him and his. The door creaks open behind me but I continue to stare out the window into the black hole of the night. The candle flickers at the breath of air from the door. It blows out.
I feel him behind me. His heat towers over me. I cross my arms over my chest to stop myself from turning round and grabbing him in for a kiss.
His breath hits the back of my neck.
“I love the dark,” I tell him as he runs his hands down my arms and presses a kiss to my neck. “It’s peaceful.” I don’t know why I’m talking; he is obviously coming onto me, but he makes me so nervous. Elton slowly turns me around. The room is pitch-black, and the only thing illuminating his face is the light from my phone. Which he takes and puts on the side table.
