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The ache in my chest starts to throb, taking me away from my thoughts. I bring my hand up to clutch at it but quickly snap it away when an image of my dad laying on the floor clutching at his chest pops into my mind. Instead, I shake my hands out and ignore the pain, knowing it’s not physical or dangerous, and focus on my breathing. In for four seconds, hold, out for four seconds. It's getting harder and harder to ignore these little episodes, as I call them. I haven’t told anyone about them. I don’t want to worry my mum and sisters, and Dr. Ivy would have me in one of her private rooms having all sorts of tests when I know it’s nothing. My body’s being triggered by the stress, anger, and anxiety that make up my life.
Besides, it's nothing compared to the pain I’ve felt daily since watching my dad take his final breath. Watching the life ebb out of him as he struggled to breathe was horrendous, but watching the devastation his death caused my mum and sisters was almost too much to bear. It’s why I won’t ever be anything more than a son and a brother, and a shitty one at that. I won't become a husband or a dad, even though it’s what I want more than a restaurant and making my dad proud. But I couldn’t do that toPhoebe. She’s the only one I’ve ever pictured a future with, and had things been different with my dad…
I heave out a sigh and square my shoulders. Enough now. I won’t leave carnage, pain, and grief behind when I die. I won’t do that to Phoebe. She deserves more. And that’s that.
“Are you slacking off again? And here I was thinking you were a busy Michelin star restaurant owner. Someones far too busy and important to pick up your niece and nephew from school. How wrong was I?” Laughter floats around me and the sound soothes my heart and calms my thoughts.
She’s always had that ability. She makes everything seem better. Makes the grey days a little less miserable. She was the first person I called when my dad died. And the person I’ve avoided the most since.
I turn around to find Phoebe, Scarlet, and DJ standing opposite me. My breath stutters as I take in her appearance. Her hair’s in a high ponytail. She’s wearing more makeup than she usually does, and looks stunning. Did she wear it for me? A small part of me wants the answer to be yes, but the bigger more realistic part knows it’s not. She’s probably got a date tonight. The idea makes nausea swirl in my stomach. The tight black dress she's wearing clings to her in all the right places and my jaw drops open when I take in her toned, tanned legs that seem to go on for days. Fuck she’s hot. If she does have a date, he’s a lucky guy.
“Hi Uncle Fwowny face. I mean, Uncle Fweddie.” DJ’s little voice interrupts my blatant stares and I turn my embarrassed gaze to him.
“What did you call me?” I ask, a little confused and not too sure if I heard him right or if my lust fuelled state is impacting my hearing.
“Um, Uncle Fweddie.” He shifts on his feet a little and I narrow my eyes at him, knowing he’s lying by the hangdog expression on his face.
Scarlet pipes in and saves him from further scrutiny. “Did you see what Auntie Phoebe is wearing? She came to the school and gave it to all the stuck up mums who are mean to our mum. She’s awesome.” She turns her adoring gaze over to Phoebe who’s smiling nervously.
“Ha ha, Scarlet. I really didn’t do too much.” As she starts to speak, I fold my arms over my chest and arch a brow at her, knowing full well that if anyone messes with Lola, Phoebe will go for the jugular. “Don’t you arch that eyebrow at me, Frowny Face.”
“Ah-ha! So it’s you that taught DJ that! And I thought we were friends, Pheebs.” I notice the way her pupils dilate at the use of the nickname. I’m the only one who calls her that. Lola and Ivy call her BeBe, and I hate it. She’ll always be Pheebs to me.
“Friends call and meet up on occasion, double F. At this point we’re more acquaintances that grew up next door to each other, if anything.” She’s recovered well and stands a little straighter. Her words sting, and I wish I could rectify everything with her, but I know I can’t. A little flirting won’t hurt though—may torture myself a bit but hey, I’m already fucked, may as well get fucked some more.
“Acquaintances? I see. That’s how it stands, huh?” I place my hands on my hips and lock my gaze with hers. I know the desire and want is painfully etched on my face and I can see it mirrored back in hers. I lick my lips and watch as she tracks the movement of my tongue. I grin and she narrows her eyes at me, knowing I’ve caught her and not liking it one bit.
Before I can say or do anything else, my phone rings in my back pocket and I grab it to see my mum's name scrolled acrossthe screen. Typical. I show it to Phoebe and answer the call. “Hi Mum, you okay?” I ask with a false cheeriness in my voice.
“I don’t know where your dad keeps the hammer. I want to put a few pictures up and I can’t find the bloody thing.” Her voice is filled with frustration, and any emotions exhibited from her make me panic.
I take a deep breath and count to three before I answer, making sure my tone is soothing and calm and not showing her that I’m worried about her. “I’ll pop by in a little bit and put them up for you. It’s okay, Mum.”
“But I…” I hang the phone up quickly, unable to hear what she has to say. My earlier respite from all things responsible is gone and Mr. Frowny Face is well and truly in play again.
“Kids, let’s go. We have to go help Grandma.” I see the worry on Phoebe’s face but I don’t have time to reassure her. Instead, I bundle the kids out of the door, give a distracted wave of thanks to Pheebs as she shouts to let her know if everything’s okay, and rush toward my car. I have to do what I promised my dad I’d do and look after his girls for him. They need me. I don’t have time or a choice about anything else. Including my beautiful Pheebs.
“What the hell, Mum?” I ask as I walk into the living room to find her on a step ladder, banging a picture hook into the wall with a rolling pin. If I wasn’t so annoyed I’d be laughing like Scarlet and DJ are.
“What? Why are you always so grumpy?” she asks and continues banging the hook in. I step over to her and hold onto the stepladder.
“Because you could have fallen and broken your neck,” I scold back, but she rolls her eyes and pulls a frowny face toward the kids.
“Do you know how many times I’ve been up on ladders in my life? Cleaning windows, window sills, and hanging curtains? More times than you’ve had hot dinners, my boy. Now pass me that photo.” She motions to the armchair and I begrudgingly oblige.
I take a quick scan of it and spot my dad’s smiling face and then the contrast of my frowning one in the glass reflection. When did I become Uncle Frowny Face? Probably the same day my heart smashed in two.
“It’s a nice picture. You remind me of your dad a lot. But he smiled more.” I swallow back my emotion and hand her the frame. She hangs it perfectly on the hook, blows imaginary smoke off her rolling pin as if it were a smoking gun, and places it in the pocket of her cardigan. She steps off the ladder without taking the extended hand I offered and heads over to the kids, swarming them with a hug.
“I came over to do those for you.”
“And if you hadn't hung up on me earlier you would’ve known I didn’t need you to. I know you promised your dad you’d look after me, but I’ll tell you what I told him time and time again—I don’t need looking after. You have a life to lead, Frederick. You need to start.” She squeezes my shoulder, the same emotion etched on my face that comes every time she reminds me of that fact, and takes the kids into the kitchen for snacks.
I’m grateful for the reprieve. What the fuck is going on with me today? First I lose my shit with my head chef over jus, which is a fucking posh way of saying gravy. Then I flirt with Phoebe, remembering the way it felt to just be me for a little bit. Andthen I get scolded by my mum for being a miserable bastard and reminded she doesn’t need me as much as I think she does.
I need some sort of therapy or something. Definitely or something.
CHAPTER THREE
