Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
“Please.” Ava’s voice invades my chaos, and I turn to find she’s got out of the car and put herself between me and Mum. A shield. A barrier. “I’m asking you to move,” she says calmly.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say to Mum tightly. I can’t cope with the feelings she provokes. Any of them. It’s exactly why I’ve avoided Amalie for so many years too. “Why are you here? It’s Amalie’s wedding weekend in Seville. Why are you here?”
Mum’s eyes bounce between Ava and me constantly. “It’s your father,” she says, her hands now starting to play nervously. “The wedding, it got postponed because your father had a heart attack.” I withdraw, shocked. A heart attack? Is he okay? “Amalie tried to get in touch after you never replied to her wedding invite.”
Is that what she told them? That she couldn’t get in touch with me? Easier than telling them I declined. My sister wanted to save their feelings. God damn her. “Tell me why Amalie tried to contact me? Why not you?”
“I thought you would answer your sister.” She moves forward, and I move back. “I was hoping you would answer you sister’s calls.”
“Well, you were wrong,” I yell, frustration getting the better of me. “You don’t get to do this to me.” I’m in a better place. Finally, I’m in a better place, and seeing her now, listening to her, having all of these unwanted feelings, is no good for anyone. “No more, Mum,” I say, resolute. “Your influence already fucked my life up, and now I’m making it right all on my own.”
Denials.
Throwing blame.
Oh, Jesse. All these years you’ve blamed yourself, and now it’s Mum and Dad’s fault?
Mum withdraws like she’s been stung. “Twins?” she says quietly. I study her, taken aback by the pain in her eyes. Seeping from her old skin. It’s emblazoned on every inch of her. So much fucking pain.
“Ava,” I whisper, my throat thick and tight, my eyes still on my mother. “Please, get me out of here.”
She comes to life before me, as Mum goes back to looking between us, panic rising. Her chance to make things right slipping. “I’m asking you nicely,” Ava says, her tone stern. “Please, move.”
“It’s another chance, Jesse.” Mum crumbles before me, and suddenly the agony inside worsens. The memories hit harder. My heart breaks all over again.
“Come on,’” Ava says, leading me around the car, away from my mother. She doesn’t take her tearful eyes off me. Her mouth opens and closes repeatedly, her mind racing to find the right words, the words that will stop me walking away.
Ava guides me down to the seat, and I stare out of the windscreen, numb.
It’s another chance.
For whom?
Them?
Or me?
36
“Come with us, Jesse.”
I stand on the steps of The Manor staring at my mum, frozen.
Hungover.
Carmichael is behind me, silent, and Dad remains by his car by the fountain, unwilling to come closer.
“This isn’t the life for you,” she goes on, taking one step closer, looking past me. To Carmichael. He won’t say anything. He won’t intervene. “We’ll help you. Please, son, don’t waste your life. I can’t face losing you too.”
My eyes move to Dad, and he quickly drops his stare to the gravel. Unable to look at me. Ashamed? “I can’t,” I say, resolute. “This is my home now.” I turn and walk back up the steps into The Manor, passing Carmichael. My head is banging. There’s only one cure. “Vodka, please, Mario,” I say, ignoring the fact that he’s just glanced at the clock. He looks past me rather than gets me my drink, and I crane my neck to see Uncle Carmichael in the doorway. “What did she think would happen?” I ask, turning away from his expressionless face. “I’d pack my bags, all forgiven, and hop on a plane to Spain with them? Why the hell are they going to Spain, anyway?”
“Too many bad memories here for them, perhaps,” he says.
I wince. Bad memories that I created. I’m just one huge disappointment. Why the fuck would they even want me to go? No, this is for the best. They can plough all of their love and energy into Amalie.
I look at Mario. He’s still not getting me my drink. And I realize . . .
I face Carmichael, tilting my head. “It’s not even ten,” he says. “I’m all for you letting your hair down, Jesse, but you will always control your compulsions.” He leaves the bar and me to mull over his words. “Control is imperative. And you have a child on the way.”
“So do you,” I yell, not appreciating the reminder.
“And I control my compulsions,” he calls back.
I slam my fist down on the bar, looking at Mario. He shakes his head and gets back to his stocktake. Fuck him. Fuck Lauren. Fuck her for trapping me. Fuck my parents for forcing me to marry her. Fuck Carmichael for not defending me just then. And more than anything, fuck me for being such a fucking letdown.