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“Mum, I’m fine.” Irritably, I drop my arm, walk over to one of the armchairs, and drop into it. I know I’m being mulish, but it’s taking all my willpower just to stop myself walking out. I’m too miserable to make an effort.
I’ve never been the sort of person to want to talk through my problems, and to be fair my family knows this and they all ignore me for the next hour or so, while Pamela, our housekeeper, brings in the food that Pierre, the chef, has made. I pass on all of it, sickened at the thought of swallowing anything except the whisky. Why have I never thought about the fact that we have our own chef? How decadent is that?
About every five seconds, I check my phone to see if Alice has texted me, but the screen remains dark, and my Apple watch refuses to buzz against my wrist to announce an incoming call. Slowly knocking back the whiskies, and taking off my glasses, I grow more morose as the evening goes on, having to sit there and listen to everyone cooing over the babies and telling Saxon and Catie how wonderfully they’re coping with their newborns.
He looks obnoxiously happy, and it’s with some surprise that I realize I’m jealous. Despite all the odds, he got his girl, and he didn’t even really have to try. She fell pregnant after their one-night stand, and she came and found him. All he had to do was persuade her to be with him, and although it took him a little time, it was always going to happen. Saxon has always found it easier to turn on the charm. Maybe I should send him up to Gisborne for me. The thought that he’d probably be able to talk her around doesn’t help my feelings of inadequacy.
He chooses that moment to look over at me, and sees me glaring at him. He studies me for a moment, then says, “All right. What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve had a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp since you got here. What’s going on?”
The others fall quiet and look over at me. I squirm under their concerned gazes, my empty stomach rumbling. “Just leave it,” I mumble, finishing off my whisky.
“No, come on,” he persists. “It’s not like you to be such bad company. You’re normally the life and soul of the party.”
“Are you drunk?” Dad asks me, more out of surprised concern than because he’s angry.
“He was drunk when I turned up,” Damon states.
“What’s happened?” Saxon asks. “Is it something to do with Alice?”
“I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh shit,” Kennedy says, “she hasn’t broken up with you?”
I turn my gaze on her, but I lost the ability to subdue my cousin with a glare long ago. “Aw,” she says, “Kip. Why?”
“Jesus.” I put my glass down on the table with a little more force than I mean to, sending a clang throughout the room. “Just leave it.”
“Dude,” Saxon says with a frown as the baby in the car seat stirs and wails.
“Sorry,” I say, knowing I don’t sound sorry at all.
Saxon stands and picks his son up, then straightens, rocking the baby as he frowns at me. “Come on, what’s happened?”
“I knew I shouldn’t have come.” I get to my feet as well. “I’m going home.”
He hands the baby to Mum, then turns back to me and slides his hands into his pockets. “No you’re not. You’re going to stay here and talk to us.”
I give a short laugh. “No I’m not,boy.” A reference to the fact that he’s fifteen minutes younger than me. “I’ll call an Uber,” I tell Damon, and take a few steps toward the door.
Unfortunately, Saxon moves with me, blocking my way. He looks more amused than annoyed, even though I know me referring to being the eldest always annoys him.
“Don’t be an ass,” he says. “Talk to us like an adult.”
Irritation flares inside me. “Don’t talk to me as if you’re the grown up.”
“Kip!” Mum scolds, but I ignore her.
“You’re not superior because you’re married with kids,” I snap. “You knocked your girlfriend up by mistake.”
He glances at Catie, then looks back at me. “That’s a bit below the belt,” he says calmly, although his eyes flare.
I look at her and see her face has reddened. “I’m sorry,” I apologize, feeling a wave of tiredness. I’ve never been a rude person, and I feel ashamed to think I’ve embarrassed her. “Just leave it,” I tell him, desperate to go home.
“No, you don’t get to ruin our celebration without at least a semblance of an excuse.”
