I sat back in my chair and let out a frustrated puff of air. How was I being made to feel guilty for offering to help?
“Look, I’m sorry,” I muttered. “Really, Mum, you know I love your cooking. I just wish that once in a while you’d let me spoil you.”
“I don’t want to be spoilt. I want toseeyou. Being with family makes me happy, Harry. Cooking together makes me happy.”
“Harry?” Steph said, as she took the seat next to mine and rested her hand on my forearm. “Are you okay? You seem a bit… wound up.”
I sighed. Steph always saw way too much. And she was right – I would normally avoid snapping at my family about them not taking my help or bitching about peeling a few carrots. But I was so on edge after the fight with Verity that I wasn’t sleeping. I had no appetite, and everything seemed to piss me off. I flicked a quick sideways glance at Steph’s concerned face and clenched my jaw so hard I could hear it click.
“I’m sorry,” I said down at my hands on the table. “I guess I’m not myself. I just…” I trailed off and fiddled with a piece of carrot peel for a moment. The truth was that, although I loved my family, I always felt a bit separate from them. They had such different priorities to me; they didn’t see things in the same way. My brother was four years older. He’d been popular at school – outgoing, confident. He filled out at a much younger age than me and never had quite the same nerd tendencies. So he was never bullied and didn’t really develop the hang-ups I had about money, despite going to school with the same sort of ultra-rich kids. John loved his job as a teacher, but he wasn’t motivated by money the way I was, and – also unlike me – he didn’t have anything to prove. He didn’t understand why I kept working at the same pace when I could now comfortably retire. He didn’tgetme. But although my brother might not have been that ambitious financially, there were different types of ambition. He had Steph, he had the kids, he had a beautiful life. What did I have? A huge empty house in Chelsea that my family wouldn’t even come to for Sunday lunch. No girlfriend. My chest felt tight for a moment, and I took a shuddering breath in. Steph noticed and squeezed my arm. I had to make a choice. I could stay closed off from my family and never actually share anything with them, or I could, for once, risk showing a little weakness.
“My girlfriend dumped me.”
The atmosphere in the kitchen shifted, and when I looked up I saw John’s peeler was suspended in mid-air as he stared at me in open-mouthed shock. Mum and Dad had spun around to look at me, and Steph’s eyebrows were in her hairline.
“Shedumpedyou?” Steph asked in sheer disbelief, which made me feel a little better if I was honest. But then my family were used to it beingmeending things with women, not the other way around. Mum and Dad had been wanting me to settle down for a while. I just never seemed to find someone I was comfortable with. Someone I could sit on a sofa reading epic fantasy with. Someone I could trust. But now I had – and she’d gone. And I’d never felt the same way about another woman as I had for Verity. Having experienced the bone-deep need I had for her, everything else paled in comparison.
“Who is this stupid girl who would dare to dump such a handsome, wonderful man?” asked Mum, her hands going to her hips and her back straightening.
Now here’s the tricky thing. My family were not going to be over the moon at the mention of Verity Markham, or any Markham for that matter.
“Well, I know this is a bit of a blast from the past,” I said carefully. “But, well, I was at school with her.” I cleared my throat and braced myself for their reaction. “You remember the Markham twins?” There was a clatter of wood on the tiles of the kitchen, and I looked at Mum to see she had dropped her spoon. The blood had drained out of her face and her hand had gone up to her throat.
“Verity and Heath Markham?” Dad asked. There was more curiosity in his tone than the shock and horror of Mum’s expression. “Yes, of course I remember them.”
“What’s up with you two?” asked John, looking between me and our parents. “Why does Mum look like she’s seen a ghost?”
“Don’t you remember, John? It was the Markhams who lost your father his job,” said Mum, her voice shaking with fury. “What on earth are you doing getting mixed up in that family again, Harry?”
“That’s enough, Jean,” Dad said in a firm tone, and my eyes widened in shock. Dad literally never used that tone with Mum or told her when something was enough. Mum very much wore the trousers and, judging by her furious expression and the colour that was seeping into her cheeks, she was not appreciating her husband’s sudden alpha-male routine.
“Theydidlose you that job, Martin,” she snapped. “Those kids made out you were crazy in that meeting. They’d led you right up the garden path. You wouldn’t have raised concerns without cause. But it was just a game to them. Rich, entitled, aristocratic brats.”
“It was twenty years ago, Jean,” Dad said in a softer tone. “And I still think therewascause for concern…” he trailed off as he looked out of the window, a small frown marring his forehead. “And they didn’t lose me my job. I just had to step down as housemaster.”
Mum made a scoffing sound. “Theylaughedin that meeting, Martin. They laughed at you when you shared your concerns. It was humiliating.”
“They were sixteen, Jean, and, looking back, I think… I think they were scared.”
“Scared?” Mum said, her eyebrows in her hairline. “Lady Markham told me all about how uncontrollable they were. Those children weren’t scared of anything.”
Dad shook his head. “There was more to that situation than met the eye. Those parents… I still maintain something was off.” Dad turned to me, ignoring Mum when she started to argue. “How is Verity, Harry?” I blinked. Dad had been devastated to lose that job, but from his tone he seemed to really care about Verity’s welfare.
“Er… well, she’s okay, I guess. Apart from dumping me which–”
“And her brother?”
I blinked. “Er… yeah, Heath’s good. He’s a doctor now.”
“Oh,good. That is good,” Dad said with real feeling. This was all a bit weird. “And Verity? She’s an architect, isn’t she?”
“How do you know that?”
“Your mum and I watchDream Homes,” Dad said. “She and that Max Hardcastle – he was in my schoolhouse too – have been on that show a few times. She does all the talking for him though. Can see why – he’s a grumpy bugger. Hasn’t changed since school.”
“Yes, their company is doing the design for the LSE campus building. That’s how I met her again.”
“Well, it’s for the best, love,” Mum said briskly. “You don’t want to get mixed up with the Markhams.”
