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“Not going to be downing the shots yourself, then? You really are full of surprises, aren’t you? If only we’d have known about them sooner. Honesty would have been the best policy.”
I stood still, shoulders tall as I kept my eyes on his. I saw my previous self standing there, guarded by a thick wall of ego, untouched. I’d thought I was so happy, such a success and a partygoer, with my seedy habits under the surface. I wondered if Michael had any of his own.
“I’m not going to be downing shots,” I said. “I haven’t been drinking. Not for a while. I’m sure I said that in the letter.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you? After everything else you’ve been telling us for years?”
I tried to make light of it. “I prefer a glass of champagne to five straight shots of whisky these days. You can believe me on that, I assure you.”
“Well. Things really have changed in that case, haven’t they?”
“Quite.” I pointed to the kitchen, beckoning him to follow me, but he cleared his throat and folded his arms, still clutching the letter tight.
“Some things haven’t changed in the slightest though, have they? What a sweet little thing that was that just skipped away. Another sleezy conquest. Shame I didn’t give you prior warning I was coming. You could have thrown her out before I arrived.”
His words pissed me off, even through the pain and the shame of what I’d done to him, and to my life in Oxford. Had he not seen the tenderness in the way I’d held her tight and kissed her head? Seemingly not.
“Rosie isn’t asleezy conquest,” I told him. “She’s the very opposite.”
“What is she, then? The love of your life?”
“You said honesty is the best policy, so I’ll hold to that.” I paused. “Yes, she is.”
He rubbed his forehead. “Jesus Christ, man. I wish you could hear yourself. You really are out of your fucking mind.”
I could hear myself loud and clear, actually, and I was speaking the greatest truth I’d ever told him, but I couldn’t hold any judgement over him for misbelieving me. I hadn’t exactly done much to instil confidence. My dreams of open arms and understanding were shrivelling away. I thought I’d bared my soul in the letters, but maybe my soul wasn’t quite what they’d taken from it.
“Let’s get those drinks,” I said.
I went through to the kitchen and my brother followed me. I took mugs down and put the kettle on, my stomach still rolling.
“Have you any idea how frantic we’ve been? We’ve been looking for you, you know?” he said. “Have you any idea how terrified we’ve all been for you?”
No, I hadn’t. His words made me stop what I was doing, searching his stare.
“Looking for me?”
His expression darkened, and his jaw changed, trembling. And my brother – the strongest, most steel hearted man I’d ever known – looked as though he was going to break down before my eyes.
“We thought you’d have gone somewhere we knew, to someone who knew us, or used your passport, or your fucking business account card, or anything. ANYTHING. But there was nothing! You didn’t leave a single fucking trace!”
His hurt was rooting its way through anger, and I didn’t blame him. I didn’t blame him at all.
“I didn’t think I’d need to leave a trace,” I told him. “After all I’d done, I wasn’t planning on staying around.”
He held up the letter. “Yes. I know. You made that plain. Sitting here, plotting your own demise. Would you have truly done it? Ended your life alone here, with a pile of pills and a bottle of whisky?”
“I think you can tell that from my letter, yes.”
He looked at it, as though it was some trusted holy document, shaking his head. “I’m still struggling to believe it. You were ready to say your goodbyes and write your whole life off, just like that?”
“I didn’t have anything left to live for. I thought it would be in everyone’s interest if I did.”
“I can assure you it wouldn’t have been.”
I continued making the coffee, but he stormed on over at that, grabbing my arm and turning me to face him.
“We were worried fucking sick, Julian! Worried sick! You really think we wanted you dead? Seriously? For fuck’s sake man, you’re fucking INSANE!”
