I was worried about Violet’s reaction, since this time it clearly wasn’t for show. She, thankfully, seemed as ravenous as I felt. I feel like we’re barrelling down the motorway, heading directly towards something at full speed—but I have no idea where we’re going.
We’ve both been avoiding each other tonight, Violet’s face immediately going red any time our eyes meet. I’m not sure what to make of it. Does she regret it?
I catch sight of Alistair, laughing with Florence, who still seems a little worked up. He’s talking to her in low tones, in what I would guess is an attempt to calm her down. And she’s looking at my brother like the sun revolves around him.
I’m not sure why this sends a pang of jealousy through me—or envy; I don’t know the fucking difference. It’s always been easy for Alistair to do the right thing, and for life to go his way.
I had known, despite his attempts to shield me from it, that our dad was a piece of shit. But I’d chosen to ignore it—to go to friends’ houses and play football and not address the raging elephant in the room.
When it all blew up, and Alistair told Mum to decide, to throw our dad out or he would take me far, far away, I was left feeling like I was choking on all the emotions. The rage, the guilt of not having been the one who stood up to it, the sadness of knowing my mother bore the brunt of his wrath.
I started skiving off school, getting into trouble, being an absolute shite, which Alistair would later tell me was the last thing our mother needed. I just felt so fucking angry.
And that scared me. The last thing I wanted to be was angry, like our father.
Thankfully, football and rugby and whatever other sport I could get into helped take the edge off. But it did nothing for the guilt eating at me.
And then Alistair took himself far, far away instead. Moved to Canada and left me to take it from there. To take care of Mum, while also trying to deal with my own problems.
Everything all right?
Alistair saddles up beside me, obviously sensing my brooding from across the room.
Aye, I say, not trusting myself to say much else.
Alistair nods towards the door, the cool night air. Come walk with me.
We go outside and amble down towards the dock, both of us with beers in hand. Neither of us says anything for a while, sitting in two chairs Alba’s got set up down by the water. We can still hear the laughter and noise of the crowd from inside the bed and breakfast’s main lodge, where we’ve left everyone else behind.
We going to talk about it? Alistair finally says. I almost groan.
Talk about what?
About why you’re so angry with me.
And why would I be angry with you? But I hear it, the arsehole tone. How could anyone be angry at my perfect, hero brother?
If I had to guess? Because I moved away. Left you to take care of Mum on your own.
I’m happy to take care of her. She’s our Mum.
Then what is it?
It’s that you did the thing I couldn’t do. You stood up to him. And then you left. I had to figure out how to handle things with Mum, aye. Make sure she was safe, sorted. But deal with my own shite and all—while you moved out here, and started over like none of it happened. Like we never mattered, some petulant part of me thinks.
He takes a swig of beer before he replies. Do you honestly think I’ve forgotten any of it?
No, that wouldn’t be fair.
Or that I haven’t felt guilty, being so far away? Alistair asks. Of course I have, Finn. I can’t say I regret it, and a lot of that’s because of Florence, but I think I can start to make things right.
I pause, not sure where this is going. What do you mean?
Well, Mum’s moving out here.
Is he serious?
Are you having a laugh?
