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Bram’s father entered with Reynard Crisp, just in time to see his son making a dick of himself. He’d seen it often enough. Like most rotten people, he was probably too thick-skinned to care.
“So the mortician’s been invited, I see.” I tipped my head towards Crisp.
“Ethan wouldn’t have done that. But you know Mother. She can’t go anywhere without him in tow,” Declan said, sounding as disgusted as I felt. For good reason.
“It still amazes me you can stand being in the same room as him, and it must freak Theadora out.”
He sighed and nodded. “We just turn away. You know this scene. There are plenty of mutual haters—enemies who continue to rub shoulders because of some fifteenth-century convention.”
“With Bram’s slippery father as a close mate, they’re like a pair of snakes.”
Declan nodded. “They probably muscled an invitation. Have you discussed the tape with Carson? I’m sure he doesn’t need to know all the details. He’ll be able to deal with this.”
“How?” I asked. “He’s not a tech whiz. We need someone to hack into Bram’s computer and delete it.”
“Has anyone seen it other than you?”
“No idea. He just keeps threatening to post it everywhere.”
“Carson’s good at solving these types of problems.”
“So are you. Why aren’t you helping me?” I hated how shrill my voice had become.
My nephew was running between people’s legs, and Theadora came over to Declan, looking defeated. “Your turn. You’re the one that gave him those sweets. Now look at him. He’s running amok.”
I had to chuckle. Both my nephews were wild.
Our mother joined us. “You should take the children to the day centre.”
Ethan swung by, holding Cian’s hand. “Just taking him there now. I’ll take Julian if you like. There are other children there.”
Declan nodded. “Good idea.” He kissed his son’s cute cheek, and off they scampered.
I remained by my mother’s side. Despite being introduced to Carrington or Cary, as he was now known, we hadn’t really spoken a lot. That normally happened after a few functions. Especially dinner parties. That’s where the people revealed their natures. Nothing too deep. Our cohort was a shallow bunch. The only deep ones were the quiet ones that often smoked outside or hung out with the original editions at Merivale’s library.
Dressed in a tweed jacket, his greying hair combed back with a hint of product, Cary looked very much the writer. He spoke with a deep voice, and my mother became so absorbed in his every word, I could have threatened to run naked, and she would have said, “That’s nice, darling.”
Recognizing her starry-eyed look, I imagined that was me around Carson.
I tried to hide from Bram behind her and Cary. At least, he’d found a way to occupy himself by rambling to a pair of women in their twenties, who seemed fascinated by his drugged rock star act. If only they knew. They could have him.
“How’s your room?” I asked, looking from my mother to Carrington. I knew they were sharing. He practically lived at Merivale and largely kept to himself. Janet mentioned he spent his days writing in one of the less-frequented sitting rooms.
“Our room radiates a certain eclectic charm. Lots of colour. I imagine you’ll approve.” My mother smiled.
I was still getting used to her smiles. She was always so serious when our father was alive.
“I do like my room. Ethan’s done a smashing job. I love that he’s collected local contemporary art. Some pieces are fun and eccentric. There’s one with just a tiny eye in the middle of a large white canvas.” I chuckled. “With such stunning views, minimal art makes good design sense, I suppose.”
I turned to Cary. “Do you think that a busy interior conflicts with a spectacular view?”
“I think you can have both. I’m not a fan of minimalism. Give me as much visual stimulation as possible.” He smiled and looked over at my mother as though seeking her validation. “There’s so much creativity in the world. Nature and art can coexist in a harmonious marriage.”
As he uttered ‘marriage’ his eyes found my mother’s.
Mm… Interesting.
I liked him, though. At least he was chattier than Will. On those odd occasions of running into Cary at Merivale, he’d comment on the sky or a bird or talk about a piece of art that had captured his imagination.
