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“So, a girl huh?”Bobby asks as he walks back in the room after putting Eddie to bed. He sits down in the wide arm chair next to his wife, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. Because he’s been away from her for a whole twenty-five fucking minutes. I would have laughed at him this time last year. Positively ripped the piss. But here we are. Cassy cuddled up into Finch’s lap on the sofa, him with this stupid goofy look on his face like she’s making the world spin. Tom sitting on the floor, phone in hand, absently messaging, probably tomorrow night’s lucky lady. And then Ali and me together on the other sofa, her heels off, feet up on my lap. My smile is bigger than a Cheshire cats.
“Yep. Seems like it,” I tell my friend. There was no point in keeping it quiet if Cassy knows. I could never ask her to keep it from Finch. And if he knows it’s only fair the other boys know too. I look over at my sister. Her eyes wide with excitement and apprehension.
“Hey, Cassy. I kind of need to speak to you about something,” I say to my sister, and she smiles at me, nodding and standing from her place in Finch’s lap. He grabs at her to sit back down; but she giggles and nods towards the kitchen.
“Coffee?” she asks, and I smile as the rest of the room cheer.
“Yes!” says Em.
“Fuck, we’re officially that old. What is it ten thirty? And you’re all excited for some evening caffeine,” Tom pipes up from his place on the floor. He’s made a little fort of cushions down there and he looks comfy as shit as he teases my sister.
“Fuck you, Thomas, I’m not even twenty-three yet. You guys might be old. Don’t tar me with your brush,” my sister sasses him, and I laugh as we walk to the kitchen and watch as she makes herself at home pulling mugs out from the cupboards and grabbing the cafetière.
I desperately need to tell her about the deal Preston’s offered. But I can’t. It’s not that I don’t trust her to not tell Finch, it’s that it’s not fair to ask her to keep that to herself and from him. And when he hears it needs to be from me. But I have something else that’s eating at me.
“Hey, sis. I, erm, had a meeting with Titch a few months ago.”
“Righhhhttt,” she says as she fills the glass pot with water straight from the boiling water tap.
“And, he, erm… Well, I know I probably should have talked to you first about it.”
“Talked about what, Maxxie?”
“He’s had a call. From this woman, her name is Imogen. Cass, she claims she’s our mum.”
I look at my sister, gauging her reaction.
“Max, our mum’s dead.”
“I know. But she says she’s our—”
“Max, I know who she says she is. But she’s not our mum. She might have carried us at some point but she’s not our mother. She didn’t want us. Our mum did. Sarah wanted us, she loved us. She made us whole, Max.”
“I know, sis,” I say as I weave a hand across her shoulder.
“What did you tell her?” she asks me quietly.
“I didn’t. I told Titch to tell her she’s not our mother and we don’t want anything to do with her. But if you do, sis. We can, we can look into it. It wasn’t fair of me to make that decision for you.”
“No. Max, you called it right. I don’t want her in our lives,” she says defiantly.
“I mean, no snap decisions. Think on it,” I try and reassure her.
“I will, but I won’t change my mind,” she says, and we both know she won’t. I nod. Her heads in the same place mine is when it comes to her.
“But why now? She’s had nearly twenty-three years to decide?”
“Well apparently, she’s always seen me and often wondered. Tried to connect a few dots. She’s seen you with me at things, but you were young, and I suppose the cameras didn’t focus on you. But after Cali, after you and Finch became a bit of a thing—”
“A bit of a thing?” she interrupts me, tone full of sass.
“Okay. Since you and Finch started showing the paps exactly what they want with your full-on street PDA’s,” I tease her back.
“We do not do that!” she huffs indignantly “We cannot help it if they catch up with us. You know that is never our intention!”
“I know, I know. But apparently this Imogen. Well, now she’s seen your picture, and read your name she’s found all the pieces of her puzzle and is trying to get in contact.”
“She probably just wants some money. Or some fame?” Cassy muses and I nod as I fetch a tray to place the coffee cups on for the coffee my sister’s made. Decaf for Ali and a cup of English sodding breakfast for Finch. Maybe Tom’s right, maybe we’re not rock ‘n’ roll at all anymore.
