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“I’ve gotta go,” he breathes, pulling away from me.
My mouth is still open. I’m breathless. Excited. Confused. Hopeful. Terrified.
“And you’re sure people can’t see through this glass?” he adds, looking up at his block of flats through the tinted window.
“Bit late to be thinking about your modesty now.”
“That’s not even funny. Tess is up there. Her seeing me suck your dick would be like fucking you in front of my grandma.”
A small laugh trickles from my throat. “You’re good. I promise. Nobody saw; not Tess, not your neighbours, nobody.”
He nods, appeased. “I’ll see you Monday?”
That’s too long. “Or before.”
“But not for sex.”
“No sex.” I salute him. “Scouts honour.” But fuck if this isn’t going to be hard. Literally.
Theodore smiles, opens the door and clambers awkwardly out of the car. “Goodbye, James.”
The door is closed before I can reply. My head falls back on the window and I close my eyes, composing myself while praying to a god I don’t even believe in that I’m doing the right thing.
Please. Please don’t let me ruin this.
**********
“Uckle James! Uckle James! Come and see!”
I’ve barely walked through the door to my brother’s house when Isobel tugs on my hand and starts pulling me into the living room. “Look at what, princess?”
“YouTube!”
I turn my head towards Max, drawing my eyebrows together, and whisper, “Three year olds use YouTube?”
Max chuckles. “She knows her way around it better than I do. Drink?”
“Just water, please,” I say, clapping his shoulder before joining Isobel on the plush three-seater.
Isobel is engrossed in the TV. I’m struggling to see the appeal. So far, all I’ve seen is a pair of hands opening two rows of Kinder eggs one by one.
Laura, Max’s wife of six years, appears with my water and she bends down and pecks my cheek. “Good to see you,” she says.
Smiling, I take my drink. “Thanks.” I take a small sip and then flit my gaze between her and the TV. “How is this entertainment?”
Laura laughs, shrugging. “The voiceover woman makes my ears bleed.”
“Whatever happened to Rosie and Jim? Tom and Jerry?”
“Uckle James!” Isobel calls for my attention, yanking the sleeve of my jacket. “Look! She got a paw patrol toy.”
“Wow. That’s awesome, princess.”
“Paw patrol is well sick.”
“Sick?”
“She spends a lot of time with my nephew,” Laura explains. “He’s twelve, and everything’s either sick or peng.”
Peng? I’m thirty-one and suddenly feel like a pensioner.
Laura disappears to finish dinner, leaving me alone with Isobel. For a while, I just stare at her. Her hair is longer since I last saw her and she’s definitely taller. Kids grow fast. She looks a lot like me, or at least like I do in childhood photos. I don’t like that. It makes me worry about what else I might’ve passed on to her. She’s perfect. Sweet. Kind. Adorable.
Happy.
Every time I see her I hope she doesn’t turn out like me. Sometimes I find myself analysing the things she says, her mannerisms, actively looking for similarities between us. If I’m honest with myself, I think that’s the reason I don’t come here too often. I love her so much, but the thought of tainting her somehow tortures my mind.
“When’s Nanna coming?”
I’ve been so busy watching Isobel I didn’t notice Max enter the room. He stands next to me, addressing Isobel. “She’s on her way. Go and ask Mummy for a wipe for that mucky mush of yours.”
Isobel licks the back of her hand and rubs it across her mouth instead.
“Isobel,” Max says her name sternly, making her huff. “Go to Mummy while I talk to Uncle James.”
Here we go. I’ve managed to avoid him since he left my apartment after my birthday trip to the hospital.
“If I do can I have a zine when we go to the shop?”
“We’ll see.”
Appeased, Isobel jumps up and starts running out of the room. “Mummy! Daddy said I can have a zine!”
“She can’t read, can she?” I ask. She’s a bright girl, and I don’t know much about kids, but surely three year olds can’t read magazines.
“She likes them for the shitty toys stuck on the front. The kind that break after two hours and end up punching a hole in the sole of your foot when you least expect it.”
I nod, though I’m not familiar enough with kids toys to really understand. “So, how’s work? Did you go to Glasgow?”
Turned out, Max was asked, last minute, to travel to his firm’s Glasgow branch to implement a new training method they’ve developed at his Manchester office.
“Stop trying to avoid the topic, James. I want to talk to you before Mum gets here.”
My jaw tenses. I don’t want to do this with him. I know he cares, and that I’m an arsehole, but it’s uncomfortable and I want to run away.
“Has the cut on your head healed?”
“Almost. Still a little tender but the stitches are starting to dissolve.”
“And how about inside? Are you sleeping okay?”
“Yes.” My tone is clipped. I don’t mean it to be but I can’t seem to stop it.
“Have you made a doctor’s appointment yet?”
I sigh, frustrated. “I don’t need one. I’ve already told you, I drank too much that’s all. I fucked up. It won’t happen again.”
“You shouldn’t be drinking at all.” His voice is concerned rather than reprimanding and guilt pools in my stomach.
“I know. I don’t usually, but lately…” I trail off, running a hand over my flustered face. “It’s been tough getting to grips with the running of the company. I just slipped.” I shrug. “But it won’t happen again,” I repeat, willing him to believe me.
“If you need help, why not look into selling a share? Finding another business partner?”
“No.” The word is acidic as it rolls off my lips. How can he even suggest that? “Dad managed, and so will I.”
“But Dad wasn’t…”
He falls silent and anger bubbles in my veins. “Wasn’t what?” I snap. “Sick? Mentally ill? Fucked in the head?”
“Stop it, James.”
I don’t want to stop. I want to defend myself, but when I hear my mother’s voice in the hall, I clamp my mouth shut. She doesn’t know the half of it, and she never will.
