‘I should have known, though, shouldn’t I? I should have realised the effect it would have, not committing to coming home with her.’
‘Yes,’ Joe repeated. ‘But maybe Hannah should have made it easier for you to see.’
‘We made such a mess of things,’ Jude said. ‘And now .?.?.’
‘Now you have to sort them out – be honest with each other about how messed up you both are. I believe you can. It seems pretty clear you want to.’
Jude nodded. Drank some more beer.
‘What now?’ he asked after a short spell of quiet. ‘I can’t keep living there, I don’t think.’
‘Probably not,’ Joe said. ‘Knowing Mum, she might well have packed your bags already. But there’s a plush spare room with an en suite in the Northern Quarter that’s got your name on it. Has done since the day I bought the flat.’
‘Is she .?.?.’ Jude sighed. Swallowed hard. ‘Will she be OK? Mum, I mean.’
‘I don’t know. If you’re asking me whether she’s well, the answer is probably no. I suspect there’s some personality disorder there, perhaps – it’s undeniable that she has strong narcissistic tendencies. But it’s hardly appropriate for me to try and diagnose her. It’s not like I can be objective.’
‘Should we try and help her?’ Jude asked. ‘Encourage her to .?.?. I don’t know .?.?. talk to someone?’
‘I’ve tried,’ Joe said, ‘but that doesn’t mean you can’t, too. It’s one of the first rules of therapy, though, that someone needs to want help. They have to want to get better.Bebetter. Not everyone does, and sometimes you have to accept that.’
‘I’m sorry too, by the way,’ Jude said after a short silence. ‘Me spending most of our childhood trying to be Mr Perfect .?.?. I took up all the space you left when you went away. I gave you no room to come back.’
‘I never wanted to come back,’ Joe said. ‘You know me. I’m all about moving forward.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Jude said wearily, raising his glass to see off the inch or so of ale that was left in it. Joe did the same.
‘To moving forward,’ they said, setting their glasses back down.
‘Which is much, much easier when you understand the past,’ Joe added meaningfully. It was clear he was referencing Hannah, and to his own surprise Jude managed a grin.
His brother was right, of course. But he couldn’t help marvelling that – even at a time like this – Joe was unable to resist claiming the last word.
26
Hannah wasn’t sure when she’d see or hear from Jude again after they parted on Sunday morning. The need for them to put a pin in whatever was happening between them was clear, and it wasn’t like he had a strong track record when it came to keeping in touch.
They’d kissed and said a slightly stilted goodbye, neither of them seeming quite sure where they stood. After the gorgeous intensity of their night together, the revelation of Marc’s public attack on her had felt like a drive-by shooting. Jude had told her he didn’t want to head home while she was upset, and she’d felt sure he meant it. However, she’d insisted she’d be fine with Charlie and told him not to change his plans on her behalf.
At Hannah’s insistence, she and Jude hadn’t hashed out some new, mutual understanding of their past – and in the present, he seemed as fearful as ever of disappointing his mother. Hannah reminded herself he was going back to Australia after the wedding, anyway. Yes, he’d said, ‘I don’t want to leave you,’ and it had plucked at some tender, fragile thing buried deep down inside her – but it had felt like a fleeting confession, not a statement of intent. They’d made one another no promises, and perhaps they neverwould, now. Perhaps what had happened between them on Saturday was how they’d say their final farewell. Maybe that would have to be enough.
The thought made Hannah feel like there was a chasm where her heart should be – like she was falling apart, disintegrating from the inside out. But she couldn’t afford to crumble right now. There was Marc to deal with, as well as the small matter of her brother’s high-profile, 160-guest, £150,000 wedding.
After Jude had gone home yesterday, Charlie had stayed by Hannah’s side all afternoon. For the sake of occupying her thoughts productively, they finalised the menu for Ed and Joe’s wedding, then did some very early prep work for a charity event they’d be collaborating on in November. Once Charlie had headed home, Hannah stress-cleaned the flat and took the decision to phone her mum and Claire. Livi had already clocked the social media disaster, thanks to her access to the Eventurous accounts and near addiction to checking their performance. Hannah decided it would be cowardly to let the rest of her family hear about ‘Never The Bride’ second-hand, and she also knew contacting them directly would be a show of strength. They’d worry if she seemed to be running from it, rather than considering it a temporary blip she could handle.
Both Jane and Claire had been typically stoic, with Jane assuring Hannah she was far too talented and hard-working for something as silly as this to derail her success. Meanwhile, Claire had declared, ‘As Taylor wisely tells us, trash will take itself out.’ Hannah hadn’t known what she meant by this, so her sister clarified: ‘He’ll overplay his part. Stretch the story too far. The nice-guy veneer will come unstuck and people will see Marc for what he is. All you have to do is wait.’ Hannah hoped, rather than believed, this to be true.
Twenty-four hours after the release of Marc’s new single, the Eventurous Instagram and TikTok accounts were officially out of control. Comment after comment had been left on old images, carousels and videos over the past twenty-four hours, and the firm had been tagged in what felt like thousands of posts. Hannah had been linked to reposts, shares and screen grabs of Marc’s latest (definitely notgreatest) release.
‘The song is utter shite,’ Livi said, wrinkling her nose. ‘That’s what riles me most.’
‘Is it?’ Hannah asked, incredulous. ‘Not the two thousand followers we’ve haemorrhaged, or the unexplained cancellation we’ve already had for next June?’ It was Monday morning, and they were in her sitting room, attempting some sort of crisis management after her breakfast time call with Tamsin, Joe’s agent.
‘Hm. Those things are riling me as well,’ Livi conceded. ‘I still can’t believe he’s done this. I thought he waswaytoo old to pull this sort of shit – not to mention a nice, romantic sort of guy.’
‘Age is no guarantee of maturity,’ Hannah interjected. ‘Trust me on that.’
‘As for the idea he’s a “nice, romantic sort of guy”,’ Charlie added, ‘that’s definitely how he thinks abouthimself– as well as what his record company’s trying to put over. In fact, he is a thunderous dickbag. This entire episode is founded on a delusion: the belief that because he’s singing sad songs about love, he must be some sort of wounded Romeo. What’s depressing is the number of people buying into this mass hallucination. Marc not naming Hannahisn’tthe same as not identifying her: he doesn’t get a fucking prize for refusing to reveal her identity, like that idiotMailjourno made out. How can people notseethat the breadcrumb trail he’s left is, at best, unforgivably careless and, at worst, a form of doxing?’
