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“It wouldn’t surprise me if you really were a whore,” his father spat. “You were born with your mind in the gutter.”
“I wonder who I inherited that from.”
His father shook a meaty finger at him. “I did my duty. I married and had my heir. Much as I wish I hadn’t bothered! Now it’s my turn to enjoy myself.”
Jay examined his fingernails. “The problem with that, Father, is that when you do, no oneelseis enjoying themselves. I have it on good authority. Right from Ashleigh’s sweet lips in fact, just before she used them to—”
His father gave an impotent shout of rage and stormed from the house. Jay continued up the stairs, the smile Sophia’s company had given him long gone.
The week went unbearably slowly. Jay swam, discovering his muscles weren’t quite what they’d been and fretting vainly about it. In two weeks, Sophia might well see him naked. Was that enough time to go from merely adequate to completely ripped?
He also asked the groundskeeper to sort out the neglected clay pigeon range. He’d almost forgotten how to clean a gun. The scent of the metal and oil took him back to a time that wasn’t happy, exactly, but wasbefore. Before the first mistress became known and the screaming arguments tore nightly through the house, ripping him and his sisters from sleep.
He used to shoot with his father. His father liked to hunt partridge and duck and only used the clay pigeons for practise. Jay, though, had always enjoyed the skill of it far more than the kill. Who wanted to eat gamey birds riddled with shot anyway? No. It was the whir of the pigeon trap, the calm focus, the squeeze and the satisfying clean crack that Jay loved.
He shot three mornings in a row, irritating everyone in the house with the noise until his wrist began to hurt too much and he had to rest. But he relished the clear head he had on those mornings, the ache in his shoulder from the stock of the gun, the warmth of the windburn on his cheeks from hours outside.
On the morning of The Lesson, Jay swam, showered, dressed with care, then redressed, had lunch, and annoyed his little sister by hanging around her room and talking non-stop.
She was twenty-two and living at home after finishing university. As much as Jay liked seeing her, he wished she was still away, safe from this house and its festering bitterness. Jay’s other sister, Jessica, was as close to him in age and temperament as to almost make them twins. They had both always fought fire with fire. Realising early on that their parents were utter disappointments, they both decided to be disappointing right back—like dogs biting the foot that kicks them.
Jules, though, took a different approach, simply rising above it all. She kept to herself, lived mostly in her room, mostly buried in a book, and observed the dysfunctional goings on of her family with sombre detachment.
But still. Jay wished he could protect her from it. She would like Sophia, he thought. They shared an essential goodness.
When Jules kicked him out of her room so she could carry on reading, Jay started pacing the landing before trotting down the stairs at ten to two and striding out of the front door, down the steps, and onto the gravel driveway, waiting arms crossed for Sophia to drive up, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that she would be punctual to the minute.
She was, of course.
She stopped the car near him.
He went over and tapped on the window for her to roll it down. “Follow the drive to the back of the house. I’ll meet you there.”
She did as instructed. Jay ran back into the house and all the way through it, nearly skidding as he came out of the kitchens but slowing to a casual walk as he saw Sophia get out of her silver Peugeot.
He eyed her up and down, lightly tossing his car keys in his hand—technically, hisfather’scar keys—noting the calf length, white pleated skirt, blue silk top, and cardigan. Her golden hair was half held back with a metallic hair clip, the rest flowing in smooth waves down her back. She looked so immaculate, so entirely correct and proper, that he wanted to grind his teeth.
“We’re going out,” he announced. “I’m driving.”
Sophia frowned, a little thrown. “But I thought we were going to—”
“Kiss. We will. With tongues and all, but I thought I should wine and dine you first. As any man should do before attempting to get to first base.”
“But there’s no need, Jay. You can just kiss me.”
Jay stumbled on his way to the garage, heat flooding his neck. And other regions.
“Maybe I’m the one who needs wining and dining first, Clements,” he said, attempting to grin. “Think of it as a practise date.”
He pulled the garage door open. “I apologise for the car. These were the only keys I could find.”
He led the way down a row of six sports cars to a canary yellow Lamborghini at the end. It was hideous. It was also his father’s favourite.
Jay pressed a button on the key fob, and the car’s wing doors lifted open.
“Are you OK to drive?” asked Sophia. “With your wrist?”
“It’s much better,” said Jay, not entirely truthfully. “We’re only going ten minutes anyway.”
