by Jenna Cox
“You sure you don’t want to go out? You don’t have to miss out because of me,” he said, turning his attention back to the last of his sausage roll.
“Miss out on what? Skeezy bars full of guys groping me on the dance floor? No different to any other weekend, except everyone expects more because it’s Valentine’s day.” Brendan flashed an unconvinced smile. “Besides,” I added. “I’ve got my own guy to grope me at home.” He flicked his eyebrows.
“Yeah? Who else have you invited?”
I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow, and he huffed in mock pain.
“Okay, so what are we doing then? What do you have in that bag?” he said, trying to peer into the opaque plastic. I whisked it away from him.
“I told you, it’s a surprise. And I promise it’s not as cheesy as you think.” Brendan frowned, clearly wondering how anything I’d bought in Poundstretcher could not be cheesy. But I stood by my idea. And now that our ‘talk’ was over, and it had really been nothing, I was feeling excited about the night.
But there was the conversation with my dad to get through first, whatever he wanted to see me for. I glanced at the time on my phone. I had to go pretty soon, and my body was already tensing in anticipation. I was bracing for the impact. Then I felt Brendan’s hand slip into mine and link our fingers, and I looked up at him.
“How are you feeling?” My mouth opened and closed with no sound. “What’s your dad want to see you for? More of the same?”
“Trying to get rid of you? Probably.” I said. I winced inwardly at the harshness of my words. Brendan had shown no signs of caring what my parents thought of him, but I regretted putting it in his face. I tightened my grip on his hand. “I don’t know really. But I told him I’d meet him, so I’d better.”
Brendan was watching me, a small crease between his eyebrows, like he was considering something. He turned away and chucked the balled up bakery bag into a nearby bin without letting go of my hand, then turned back to me. “Want me to come with?”
“To see my dad?” I felt mildly shocked that he had offered, but certain he couldn’t be serious. I almost laughed.
“Yeah.” His jaw flexed but he smiled and flicked his eyebrows up mischievously. “Show him we won’t be bullied.” My heart squeezed then, and I wanted to throw myself on him and kiss him. I would have, except an elderly woman lining up beside us was already glaring, her eyes full of judgement.
I tugged on Brendan’s hand and we moved out of the shop onto the street, and then I did kiss him. Long and hard, until my whole body felt flushed. He pulled his hood up against the splattering rain, pulling it forward so it sheltered my face as well, and our embrace was almost hidden inside it. I felt enveloped my him, the warmth and scent of him on his hoodie wrapped around me, the taste of his tongue in my mouth. Even the slight rasp of stubble against my skin sent streaks of liquid flame through my abdomen.
“Thank you for saying that,” I murmured eventually, breaking the contact of our lips but staying tucked into him.
“Uh, saying what? I can’t even remember what I was saying,” he said thickly, and kissed my lips again. I laughed.
“You don’t actually have to come, though.”
“I want to,” he asserted. Then added, “If you want me there, I mean.”
I leaned my forehead against him and nodded. “I do. But is that too selfish? To put you in the line of fire just so I feel better?”
Brendan shook his head. “You’re not selfish, Kat. It’s the least I can do.”
My lips twitched. “You don’t owe me anything.” I said it more sharply than I meant to.
“I didn’t— I meant because you’re taking this flak because of me.”
It was the anxiety of what my dad was going to say or do that was making me jumpy and defensive, I was sure. But I couldn’t think how to explain my agitation.
“It’s not just you,” I said, shaking my head. “This is just their latest project. Another attempt at trying to control me. I meant that you don’t owe me anything because you’ve already done so much.”
“What have I done?” Brendan said, pulling his head back to look in my eyes better. His forehead was creased.
I shook my head slowly, searching his face, and trying to find the words. And hold back the prickling heat behind my eyes. I was not going to cry right now. “I just see things differently now. I never really stood up to my parents before you came along. Maybe here is the cheesy part of our day, but I just feel like you’ve changed me. Opened my eyes.”
I blinked said eyes rapidly a few times and swallowed against the lump in my throat. I wasn’t sure how I expected Brendan to react to that, but I’d been hoping for, if not some words, then at least a kiss. Instead he just released his hold on me and stepped back with an almost blank expression. My stomach clenched tightly. For someone who had not much more than a week ago said that he could maybe fall in love with me, he wasn’t receiving my words all that well. Maybe he’d misunderstood me. Or maybe I’d misunderstood him. Maybe his maybe was a lot more uncertain that I had taken it for.
He held my hand as we walked towards my dad’s office building, but didn’t say anything until we were almost there.
“This is it,” I said. “Still time to back out.” He looked up at the building I indicated, read the sign.
“This is where your dad works? He’s a lawyer?”
“Yeah. He’s not partner, but he’s on his way there. Always telling me that it will be our name on the side of this building someday soon. Harris, Maycomb & Miller. Or maybe Miller & Maycomb, since I think he has aspirations to replace… are you okay?”
Brendan felt like he’d turned to stone beside me. His hand was so stiff and tight around mine, that I had to yank away from him. I rubbed it gingerly, watching him as he stared at the building with dark eyes. Finally he roused himself, and glanced at me.
“Yeah, fine. And I’m not backing out. I’m coming up.”
“Okay.” I nodded tentatively, a slight frown on my face. But he followed me into the building, his face clearing — he even smiled at me briefly, and squeezed my hand gently this time, to give me courage as we rode the elevator up to the right floor. But I could see that his mind was somewhere else. And his shoulders never quite relaxed.
eleven
IT COULD HAVE been the environment, that he was aware of how out of place he looked in the sleek building. That alone had not been quite such a big deal in the cafe, but this was a large law firm, full of lawyers who thought a lot of themselves; their jobs required it. Plus we were going to face my dad.
But I couldn’t help feeling like there was something else going on behind Brendan’s eyes, something that I wasn’t privy to.
At the front desk, the assistant saw me, recognised me, and phoned through to my dad’s office. He had a brief, low conversation over the phone, then hung up and directed us to sit in the waiting room. I blinked at him, then just nodded and moved to the two, low white chairs near the door feeling flustered. That was unusual. I’d assumed these chairs were always just for show. Clients were certainly never left to wait there, and whenever I’d visited my dad at work before, if I wasn’t let straight through to his office — which I expected to be today, since it was only a Saturday — I was at least allowed to approach the inner sanctum (or the staff kitchen to make a cup of tea.) Was this because Brendan was with me? I was sure Greg, the assistant, would have told him, but I hadn’t expected such a cold shoulder. Maybe I had to get used to this now. Maybe this was part of my dad’s bullying tactics.
I sat stiffly in the chair next to Brendan, equally as stiff. I tried to hold his hand, but it was like trying to caress a block of wood, so I just squeezed it instead and gave up. Tucked my hands under my legs and sat on them to stop them fidgeting. And it seemed like an eternity that we waited.
By the time I saw my dad approaching through the glass doors, I was fuming. I made no attempt to hide it. I stood slowly and faced him as he emerged, hoping he felt the ful
l force of my displeasure, but I was beginning to wonder if he even cared. Did what I thought or felt matter to him at all, or only whether or not I was under his control?
“Katherine,” my dad said, with a nod.
“Dad,” I returned, in a pitifully weak voice. No matter how angry I felt, he still made me feel like cowering. I cleared my throat. “And you remember Brendan?” I said, more haughtily, turning to the side to indicate the boy standing a step behind me. I glanced at him and felt a tremor of shock at how menacingly Brendan was staring at my dad.
If my dad noticed the waves of disdain rolling off Brendan — and I was sure he must have — he ignored it, and smiled superciliously. He held out his hand.
“Of course. Brendan. Brendan Holt, isn’t it?”
Brendan just glowered at the outstretched hand and didn’t return the greeting. “It is,” he said in a low voice. I was frowning between the two of them, feeling almost excluded from the hostility that crackled in the air. My dad still had a smarmy smile on his face, but I could see the angry redness creeping up his neck. Was this some primal, male thing that I didn’t understand? Did they feel some need to fight each other for ownership of me?
Not that I could ever imagine my dad physically fighting anyone — he knew where his power lay, and it was in his money and all the legal strings he could pull. He didn’t need to lay a hand on anyone to knock them flat. Brendan, on the other hand, I could vividly picture smashing his fist into my father’s face — and I pictured it with slightly too much relish. But then I felt an icy fear down my spine that he would actually try it in a moment.
“I’m here, Dad,” I said, shifting so that I cut into their eye-line, reminding both of them that I was there. “What did you want to see me for. Do you want me to come into your office?”
“I’m afraid I’m caught up in a meeting right now, Katherine, so we’ll have to postpone to another time.” Like I was some client he was rescheduling. Would I be receiving an invoice for these billable hours too? I licked my lips, trying to keep myself composed.
“Seriously? You’re the one who asked me to come.”
“Why don’t we talk tomorrow? Come by the house for Sunday dinner instead. You too, Mr Holt.” My jaw went slack at that, and I gaped for a moment before I recovered.
“Both of us?”
“Of course.”
My dad checked his watch, though I was sure he didn’t actually look at the time. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” I felt myself nodding, like I wasn’t really in control of my head. “Grand,” he said and began turning away. I glimpsed it then, the blush-pink smear on his neck just above his collar.
“Dad,” I said, and he stopped and turned back to look at me. “You’ve got a little something…” I tapped the side of my own neck to illustrate; his hand went reflexively to the spot and he rubbed it with his fingertips. I saw his nostrils flare slightly, but he just looked at me with a bland expression.
“See you tomorrow, Katherine.”
“Sure. Have a nice meeting,” I said, too loudly. His nostrils flared again, and then he was gone through the glass doors, back into his ivory tower of hypocrisy and deceit. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Greg was watching us from behind his desk, a smirk on his face, and I couldn’t tell if it was directed at Brendan and me, or at my dad, who was such a cliche it was pathetic. Probably both. And I didn’t really care either way.
I just had the feeling of being suffocated in the windowless room, and without waiting to see if Brendan was following, I pushed outside into the lobby and began jabbing at the call button for the elevator.
By the time it came and I stepped in, I was crying, like a fool, like a child. I didn’t even know why exactly, it was just all of it. I felt so frustrated and angry and confused about all of it. Brendan followed me in to the elevator, but he was still stony faced and no comfort. So I just stood there, feeling tears leak all over my face, silently fuming.
Neither of us had spoken by the time we reached the street below, and my mind was whirling. I didn’t even know what the problem was between us — hadn’t we gone up together in a show of solidarity? And yet somehow we’d come down with a huge, gaping chasm between us. What had just happened? How had my dad managed it? All he’d done was invite us to Sunday dinner — and be a smarmy git.
I pressed my lips together and set my face, holding back the fresh tears that threatened, and wiped my face on the sleeve of my jacket.
“I’ve got to go,” I said and began turning away. “You don’t have to come tomorrow. Or even tonight. It was stupid anyway—”
“Kat, don’t be daft.” I stopped moving and frowned, but didn’t turn back to him. “What happened to, ‘we talk about things, we don’t just leave,’ hey?” I blew out a breath. Of course my own words would come back to bite me.
I spun around, and then almost laughed when Brendan recoiled as if I was going to attack him. I wiped at my leaky eyes again. “Sorry.” I said it gruffly, but I meant it. And then I gave a growling sigh, balling my hands into fists. “He just makes me so mad. He barely has to say anything, and he gets to me. And what the hell was with you? You looked like you wanted to murder him.”
“Sorry,” Brendan said flatly, clearly not sorry at all. “I just don’t like lawyers.”
“Didn’t you know that’s what he was before?”
“No.”
I frowned slightly, bemused. “Is this a hatred for lawyers in particular, or just ‘the man’ in general.”
“I’m not just some kid with a problem with authority, if that’s what you mean,” he said, and his tone was sharp. He wasn’t returning my grin, and so I wiped it off my face.
“I was just joking,” I said. I reached for his hand, which he stiffly took. “Sorry. Do you want to tell me about it?”
He blew out a breath. “Nah.” Then he noticed the hurt on my face, which I tried to hide, but obviously failed. “Maybe later. No point ruining the day.”
“It’s not already ruined?”
“Nah.” He seemed to make a concerted effort to relax then, rolling his shoulders slightly, as he pulled me to him. Looking up into his face with his arms around my shoulders, I felt some of my own tension easing. I lifted on my toes and kissed him. That felt better. It seemed like anything could be made better if I just kissed him. “I’ve got to run home for a bit, but when do you want me to come round?”
“Uh, about seven? Or earlier, if you want. It just needs to be dark outside, so any time from like, what, now really?” I said, glancing up at the sky, with a shrug and and attempt at a grin. It was only 2.30pm. The sun didn’t set quite this early, even at this time of year, but the cloud cover did it’s best to provide as little daylight as possible. And the clouds were darkening, heavy with rain, though it fortunately wasn’t wet right then.
“Dark? What—” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Okay, seven works. Need me to bring anything? And what exactly are we doing, again?” he added, slipping it on to the end of his sentence like I wouldn’t notice.
“Nice try, but I’m not telling you. It’s not that big a deal, and it’s definitely nothing to stress about. It’s a good surprise.” I still got the feeling he didn’t like surprises of any kind, but he nodded and smiled for my sake, and let it go. “And no, don’t need to bring anything but yourself.”
“I’ll come starkers, then.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I wouldn’t put it past you. I bet Izzy would love a repeat of your boxer shorts performance. But wear clothes. Then I get the pleasure of taking them off you.”
I melted into one more kiss before I let him go.
*-*-*
“Expect the worst,” the weatherman warned. I flicked off the TV and shook my head as if disagreeing with him. He was talking about the storm sweeping in from the South of course, but though the rain and wind was already battering violently at the kitchen windows, my mind was on other things. Like how Brendan was meant to be here in two hours, and I’d forgotten to buy pasta sauce for th
e spaghetti bolognese I’d planned to make for tea. But was it really worth going out into the weather for that?
Especially because, in the cupboard in the corner, where my eyes kept darting before I dragged them back, I was sure there’d be a jar of what I needed. In Damien’s cupboard. I hadn’t seen him at all since our altercation over the corn chips Justin had eaten. He must have been purposely avoiding me to be so completely absent any time I was in the kitchen — he was still here, I knew, still alive, because I had spotted him once on the stairwell ahead of me when I was coming back from a class. I’d taken the steps two at a time to try to catch him, but he was in his room by the time I got in, and I’d been left winded and red faced and annoyed. And so I had done nothing about it yet. Taking anything more now would just be like putting the last nail in the coffin.
But what relationship was there to revive anyway? I thought this, tapping my lip as I stared at the cupboard from across the room. I glanced at the kitchen door. Then I edged my way across the room, telling myself I was just going to check, to stop speculating and see if he even had any sauce. If there was nothing there, it was all for nowt anyway.
I casually pulled the door back and looked inside. Fuck. It was there. In fact he had three jars of it. Three. Who needs three jars of pasta sauce just for themselves? It’s not like me using one would make him run out before I could replace it. I’d give it to him if the tables were turned.
But he was right; I never had anything in my cupboard. That was the cause of my problem now. The whole reason I was peering into his cupboard with sweaty, guilty palms.
“Watcha doing?” I nearly jumped out of my skin at the voice behind me, slamming the cupboard door abruptly. Though it was a girl’s voice, clearly not Damien.
“Iz, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” I said, clutching my chest and turning to her. She flicked an eyebrow.
“Only ‘cause of your guilty conscience.”
“I’m not guilty. I haven’t done anything.”
