Quinn finished his own wine, but didn’t feel the need to refill it. He wanted a clear head for tonight, for what was in front of him.
‘What ghosts?’
‘Everyone feels entitled to me,’ Noah said. ‘Because they don’t see Mum, they think they can tell me how unfortunate she is, and then share their opinions on her life choices and how she deserved her downfall.’
‘People do that?’
‘They do. Especially those who knew of her before it all happened. Mum’s a legend around these parts, and not in a good way. It makes me feel embarrassed.’
‘I’m sorry, Noah.’
Noah finished his own wine, placing the glass on the table. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘They cross every single boundary. And you know what the weird thing is about it all? I’m not ashamed of her and I want to defend her. I feel like telling these people to sort themselves out. But I can’t do that because then they’ll turn me into a bad guy and I’ll look like the dick. So, I try to avoid this town as much as I can.’
Quinn looked out at the night. ‘But don’t you hate that? You grew up here. Don’t you miss seeing the place? Walking around the shops? Don’t you feel inspired here? Don’t you miss the people who have been here longer than us? The people who know us both for who we are.’
‘But that’s it, Quinn,’ Noah said. ‘We’ve lived different lives. People know you and like you because they’ve seen you grow. Peoplethinkthey know me, but they don’t. They know an old version of me, and a version of me that doesn’t exist. The author me. They think that because I’m some Z-list celebrity, they can say whatever they want because I don’t feel things the way they feel things. Imagine people coming up to you and telling you your dad is a whore. How would that feel?’
The word made Quinn cringe. But it flared something else within him: anger. How dare people refer to Hermione in such crude, cruel ways? No one would dare refer to his father as anything along those lines. So why was it acceptable to do so for Hermione?
Before he had the chance to tell Noah that he would help Hermione, Noah’s phone rang.
Noah stared at the screen, and his expression turned to thunder. ‘I should go.’
It was almost like he came out of a trance and realised where he was. He stood up, heading towards the door. ‘I’m glad you’re okay,’ Noah said, reaching for the handle.
‘Noah.’ Quinn half stood, unsure what to do.
Noah hovered at the door.
‘I mean it,’ Quinn said. ‘You can talk to me whenever.’
Noah’s phone rang again. He nodded, tense, and left the apartment.
* * *
‘Have you heard the latest on Hermione Sage?’
‘Does she think anyone would want to read that book?’
‘Must be desperate.’
‘That ship sailed a long time ago.’
‘I don’t know, Deb. I’m quite interested in reading her story.’
‘Don’t be silly, June. She wants to steal some limelight from her son.’
Quinn and Ivy stood in the town centre, the castle illuminated above them, their attention on a stage set up despite the snow. The Christmas light switch on was a yearly activity, and this year Miriam Margolyes would hit the switch, so excitement spread through the town like Christmas spirit.
Only the talk this Christmas was all about Hermione.
Quinn and Ivy found themselves huddled with some locals of the town, and somehow Deb and June were with them, because of course Quinn couldn’t escape the pair.
‘Hermione Sage isn’t an author,’ Deb hissed. ‘Her son is the author. She is a … a … well, I don’t wish to say it.’
‘Say it, Deb.’
‘No, I shan’t.’
