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“Tell me what’s going on,” Graham says, and he’s taking on that fucking older brother tone of his. It’s the same voice he used to scold me with when we were younger. “I heard that the old man almost killed you.”
“So, you’ve got a mole at the estate?” I say. “You’re always pulling a new trick out of your hat, huh?”
“Pull over and talk to me.”
“Fuck off, Graham.”
I end the call.
My phone starts ringing again almost immediately. I ignore it once, twice. The third time, it feels like the fucking chime is inside my brain, reverberating through my thoughts. I fucking hate my brother for being so annoying sometimes. Up ahead, there’s a slip road that leads up to a long driveway.
I pull off the road there and answer his call.
“Leave me the fuck alone, Graham. Can’t you take a hint?”
“I’m worried about you.”
His admission shocks me into a momentary silence. For one, Graham would rather die than admit his feelings to anyone. It’s essential to the job and partly thanks to how we’re raised. If you admit your feelings, you’re giving your enemy a chance to get over on you.
“God,what is your problem?” I hiss, but my vehemence has whittled.
“Just tell me what’s going on. You clearly need someone to listen to whatever the fuck’s going on in your head.” Graham clicks his tongue on the other end. “Have you forgotten how many times I had to come find your ass in the middle of the night after you sped off into nowhere and got wasted?”
I don’t reply.
“I bet that’s what you’re doing right now.”
The headlights of a passing car shine a ray of light on the half-empty bottle of petrol station tequila laying in the passenger side. I stopped to get it after I left the estate. I didn’t intend to drink all of it. Just enough to settle my thoughts, and quiet the voices in my head.
“I don’t want to talk.”
“But you need to,” Graham says. “Lucky for you, I cleared myverybusy schedule to listen to you, right now.” I roll my eyes, adjusting myself in the seat and slinging my arm around the headrest. “Cinny’s down for a nap, so I’ve got about an hour or two.”
Now that the car is stationary, my blood feels like it’s filled with bees. My fingers and skin feel like they’re vibrating, and there’s sweat gathering on my neck. Yes, I know I’m stressed and confused, but it’s never been likethisbefore.
As I think of what to say to him, I remember all the times he’s been there to listen to me when I was younger. In a way, this is just like old times—only now, the stakes are higher and he’s thousands of miles away.
“It’s a fuckload,” I say, sighing. If we’re going to talk about this, I may as well get everything out as quickly as I can before I change my mind. “Father wants me to marry Ottilie Welser. That’s why we fought.”
“Huh?”
“He’s engaged to some gold-digger he met a month ago.”
“Who, father?”
My tongue starts to feel heavy as I think of the next words I’m about to say. “And I know the person in the picture you sent me of Mum’s killer. It’s Alize’s father.”
Graham doesn’t immediately respond to that one, and I can just picture his face, how angry he feels. Truth be told, if the roles were reversed, I would belivid.
He sighs. “Where do you want to start?”
“What?”
“You brought up three things. Which of them do you want to start with?”
His voice is collected, measured,calm, even. I’m taken off guard by it, to be honest. I knead my forehead with my fingers. “You choose.”
“Okay,” he says, and there’s a slight pause. “The Ottilie thing. That seems really random.”
