Family Portrait (Kingsley Family Trilogy Book 1)

by Rebecca Paulinyi

  “It’s ridiculous that Zach thinks he can ground me,” Eve said, folding her arms petulantly. “He’s only two years older than me, and he thinks he can just lord it over me.” Despite her belief that it was ridiculous, she still smiled as Danny approached…might as well try her best to avoid being stuck at home for the foreseeable future.

  “Heya,” Eve said, and he smiled at the effort she was clearly going to, in order to be nice to him.

  “Didn’t expect to see you lot here,” he replied, accompanying his words with a smirk.

  “I’m going to get a drink,” Imogen said, before stalking off to the bar. Luckily for the group of girls, they certainly did seem lax in the ‘Stars’ club when it came to asking for ID: Imogen and Eve had not had a problem all night with ordering alcoholic drinks. In fact, the bartender hadn’t even batted an eyelid – he’d been too busy attempting to flirt with them.

  After ordering a vodka and diet coke, she remained at the bar; she didn’t want to go back to the little group who would, undoubtedly, be discussing Zach, and his reaction to Eve being in a club. She could feel eyes on her, but ignored them; the guy stood at the bar was wasting his time if he thought he was getting any conversation out of this sixteen-year-old.

  Downing the end of her drink, she contemplated ordering another, but decided to go home instead. If she left now, Eve wouldn’t notice – not until the next day, anyway.

  “Another drink?” a voice behind her asked, and, assuming it was the guy who’d been staring at her, she turned to tell him where he could go. However, the face was slightly more familiar.

  “I hear buying a drink for the birthday girl is quite normal,” Danny said, sitting on a bar stool in front of the guy who stared, and forcing Imogen to stay. It wasn’t that she cared about being polite; she just didn’t want it getting back to Zach that she’d left her own birthday celebrations early. He’d think it was down to him, she was sure…he certainly wouldn’t be wrong, but she didn’t want him knowing how hung up on him she was.

  “Fine,” she answered. “Vodka and diet coke. Please.”

  “What’s happened with you and Zach, then?” he asked, once he’d ordered the drinks. The bar was beginning to fill up, and so the two ended up in a corner booth, hidden slightly from the rest of the club.

  “Don’t want to talk about it.” Imogen’s answers were, at best, short, and at worst down-right rude. But she really, really couldn’t have cared less.

  “Well, whatever’s happened, you’ve got the guy moping in his room every evening, according to Eve,” Danny said, downing the shot he had before him and starting on the beer to its side. Imogen didn’t want to think about the possible effects this break-up was having on Zach: she wanted to be mad at him; she wanted to hate him. When Imogen didn’t respond, Danny changed the subject.

  “Have you ever done tequila shots?” he asked, and Imogen shook her head. “Wait here – they’ll cheer you up.”

  He returned with two shot glasses, a salt shaker and two slices of lemon.

  “What?” She couldn’t help but smile just a little in confusion as he handed her a shot, the salt and a slice of lemon.

  “Lick the bottom of your thumb, then pour the salt on it,” he began, encouraging her when she just looked bemused. “Go on, seriously. Right, now hold the lemon in that hand too, and the shot in the other.”

  “What the hell is this, Danny?” she asked, laughing despite herself at how ridiculous she looked.

  “Tequila shots,” he answered. “Now, when I say go, you’re going to lick the salt, down the shot and suck the lemon. Got it?”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it! Right, ready? Go!”

  Spluttering on the bitter taste of the drink, Imogen giggled too – it seemed so stupid! Stupidity that cleared her mind of her worries, however, was stupidity she could cope with.

  “Another?” Danny asked, and she nodded.

  ***

  After another two, Imogen felt she ought to be finding Eve, Carrie and Violet. She hadn’t seen them since leaving for the bar, and felt guilty for ditching them. Especially since Eve had spent so long forcing her to go out. She’d been right; Imogen didn’t want to be out, but it was taking her mind off things.

  “Right, now I think I’m just going to…oh dear.” Imogen giggled as she almost tripped, grabbing hold of the edge of the booth to steady herself.

  “Careful there,” a much more sober Danny replied, grabbing her wrist to support her. She tripped again.

  “Right. Third time lucky,” she laughed. She tried to take a step forward, but failed for a different reason this time – Danny was stood in front of her.

  “Danny, shift!” She batted his arm playfully, but was not expecting his response: as he leant down to brush his lips against hers, she hit him once more. This time it was not playful.

  No matter how many vodkas, cocktails or tequilas she’d had, there was no way she was interested in anyone. Anyone but Zach. Her anger built as she realised he’d known she was drunk, and upset, and yet was still trying to kiss her.

  “Get off me you twat,” she said, pushing her way past him. It was amazing how quickly adrenaline sobered her up.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Imogen? Where are you going? Where have you been?” Eve’s voice chased her ears as she ran out into the street, looking for a taxi so that she could get home. She’d come out to escape her problems, and had ended up with more. Typical.

  “Imogen, stop!” She did slow, but not for Eve – she was just running out of breath. It became clear that it was only Eve, and not the others, following her; Imogen turned to face her pursuer.

  “I just want to go home, Eve,” she said, ignoring a solitary tear – whether of anger or sadness, she didn’t know – that insisted on rolling down her cheek.

  “Imogen, what’s up?” Eve asked, genuinely seeming worried. “This isn’t all about my stupid brother, is it? You two will be back together before the end of next week, I’m sure of it!” Eve tried to comfort her best friend, but could see her efforts were resulting in nothing.

  “I don’t think so,” Imogen whispered, and sank to sit on the edge of the pavement. A sudden wave of nausea had hit her, and she needed to sit. What caused the nausea, however, she didn’t know. In the silence, her brain started screaming at her. What the hell did you think you were doing? Tequila shots? You’re pregnant. Not the best time for over-indulging in alcohol, you stupid girl.

  “You will, don’t be silly,” Eve said, joining Imogen on the cold and dirty pavement. “Why did you two split, anyway? I bet it was just something sill-”

  “I’m pregnant.” Her head between her knees, Imogen had stopped caring. What did it matter if Eve knew? She’d find out sooner or later.

  “Pregnant?” Eve echoed, and silence took over from the conversation for a few moments. Nausea overtook, and Imogen vomited into a perfectly situated drain next to her.

  “He dumped you? Because he got you pregnant? I’ll kill him,” Eve said, linking her arm with her best friend’s.

  “I split up with him,” Imogen said. “He said…he said…” She began to cry real, unstoppable tears, as she tried to choke the words out. “He said he ‘couldn’t do this’. He just walked away, Eve…”

  “I’ll kill him,” Eve repeated, standing and pulling Imogen to her feet too. She swayed dangerously.

  “Whoa, how much have you had to drink? Is that…” Eve was going to ask if it was sensible, but stopped herself; it clearly wasn’t, yet Imogen had done so all the same. Best to just ignore it. Imogen didn’t comment on Eve’s unfinished sentence.

  “Danny was buying tequila shots,” she said by way of explanation.

  “Danny? I saw him head for the bar – were you two drinking together?” Imogen nodded.

  “Three shots in and he tried to kiss me,” Imogen said, not seeing any harm in her best friend knowing.

  “He what?” Eve said. “I thought he liked you, but is he out of his mind? Zach will
go mental!”

  “Why? It’s not like he gives a shit,” Imogen said, lifelessly, hailing a cab. “I’m going home. You coming?” Eve nodded, and climbed in next to her.

  “You’re crazy if you think he doesn’t care. I’ll agree, he’s been an idiot – but he still loves you. Trust me; I have to put up with him moping. Constantly. And now I understand what’s happened….well, I’d say he knows how stupid he’s been. Have you spoken to him since?”

  Imogen shook her head, which was spinning, and leant against the side of the car. Her eyes met with the taxi driver’s in his mirror.

  “If your mate’s gonna be sick, you’re gonna have to get out here love,” he told Eve.

  “She’ll be fine,” Eve said, willing it to be true. “We’re nearly back now, anyway.” Sure enough, they arrived outside Eve’s home in mere moments; Imogen threw up again, on the pavement, as she stepped out of the car. Having been paid, the taxi driver sped off, clearly pleased he wasn’t having to deal with the drunken girls.

  “You’d better stay at mine; Ella will freak if she sees you in this state. I’m guessing she knows?”

  “No!” Imogen shouted, and then shook her head. “I mean, yes, yes she does know, but no, I can’t stay at yours. I can’t Eve, I can’t, I-”

  “Okay, okay. Calm down.” Whether it was the alcohol, the pregnancy, or just it all getting too much, Eve didn’t know; she loyally walked her best friend home, ringing the doorbell despite the hour. Although it was midnight, the lights were still on. Evangeline knew that Imogen was going to get into trouble for this, but she couldn’t just leave her to go in alone…not in the state that she was in.

  “I’m sorry,” Eve told Ella, as Imogen tripped through the open doorway. Ella sighed; this was exactly what she’d been afraid of.

  “Thanks for bringing her home.” The door closed on Eve, and she turned to head back to her own home, to have a few words with her older brother.

  ***

  Rolling over with a groan, Imogen held one hand to her stomach, and hoped she wasn’t about to throw up. Again. Why did she do it? She didn’t have a clue: it’d seemed like a good way of blocking everything out until she’d started throwing up, and then it seemed liked a stupid waste of time and money. But here she was: fully clothed and hungover in her bed at the Kingsleys.

  Wrestling her eyes open, the light flooding in told her she must have slept in late. Abby’s bed was empty, but that did not provoke the usual sense of anxiety – it was clearly late, and so it was natural that Abby would not still be in bed. Why did she do this? She felt like crap, and she hadn’t blocked enough out, for long enough, to make it worth it. She’d just created problems.

  You never read about it in those crappy romance books: the female lead was never hungover and about to throw up, she was always doing something worthwhile, something that would lead her to be with the man of her dreams. But then life didn’t really follow those romance novels – Imogen should’ve known that better than anyone.

  She wondered what Ella would think of her – she had to have been able to see how drunk she was when she stumbled home the previous evening (well, technically it was that morning, actually) and was probably angry. Or upset. Or disappointed. But Imogen knew that she didn’t care – a negative response to this incident might just have made feeling like this worthwhile. After all, she and Ella had been getting on; she wouldn’t want her mother to think that she liked living with the Kingsleys.

  Rolling over once more, she threw up into a conveniently placed bucket by the side of her bed – she guessed Ella had put it there – before crawling back under the duvet and pulling it over her head, not wanting to face reality for a few hours yet.

  Reality would hit soon enough – and she knew it.

  Reality greeted her far sooner than she wished it to, however, as a dull beep emitted from her chest of drawers just a few moments later. She tried to ignore it, but it was persistent, and eventually she climbed from her bed (quietly: she didn’t want Ella coming to investigate and interrogate) and grabbed the source of the noise. It was her mobile phone, which she’d hidden away to remove any temptation, begging to be recharged.

  As she went to hit the off button – she couldn’t be bothered to find the charger, now that she was back in the sanctuary of her bed –she acted in a way that reminded her why she’d hidden it in the first place. She looked at the screen.

  Twenty-five text messages awaited her, but they weren’t what interested Imogen, and nor were the multiple missed calls. No, what caught Imogen’s attention, as she hovered ready to turn the beeping contraption off, was the little symbol at the top of the screen – the symbol that was telling her she had an answer-phone message. Curiosity overriding her better judgement, she pressed and held one as she was instructed.

  To listen to your messages, press one. Hitting one, Imogen wondered whether it was a mistake. There was a reason she’d avoided talking to Zach all week…she just couldn’t remember, at that moment, what it was.

  This is obviously the only way I’m going to be able to speak to you, so I’m just going to say all this in an answer-phone message, since you’ve clearly been avoiding me at school. Not that I’m necessarily blaming you. But we have to work this out, Immy.

  My reaction obviously wasn’t what you wanted, and I get that: I was stupid and rash and ridiculous and…and I’m sorry. I don’t say it often, so you’re lucky you have it recorded…but seriously, Immy, I’m sorry. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. I-”

  To listen to the message again, press one. To delete, press two. To save, press three.

  She remembered now why she’d avoided speaking to him; she’d known she would let him back in far too easily. Already now, by him saying he couldn’t lose her – well, she was considering forgiving him. Then her own guilt kicked in, guilt about what had almost happened between her and Danny the previous night – despite it not being her own fault – and she felt even more confused. She was glad when the next message began, even if it was just because it drowned out her own confusion.

  Answer-phone cut out. Anyway, I love you. And I just got scared, and then started thinking about my parents, and how shit they are, and how shit I’ll probably be. And I know it’s not an excuse, but it’s all I got. I’m sorry, I love you. I love you, and I need you, and if we’re having a baby, then that’s fine. That’s great. I just want you, Imogen; I can deal with anything else. A baby, your nutty family, your real family – anything. Ring me. Please.”

  The note of desperation in his final plea made her want to hit the redial button immediately, but she managed to find the self-restraint not to. It wasn’t sensible, she knew that, to react purely on her emotions; on what her heart was telling her to do. She had to let her head have some input. The only problem was, at that moment, her head was screaming for her to ring him too.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  She made it until seven o’clock that evening. She wasn’t sure how. By then, she was already going stir crazy, as she seemed to have unconsciously decided to forgive him the second she’d heard his voice on the message.

  One reason it took her until seven o’clock to allow her resolve to collapse was Ella; Ella insisted on having a serious talk with her about drinking and pregnancy. She supposed she understood: teen daughter comes home, says she’s pregnant, then goes out drinking. Hardly an advert for teenager of the year.

  Imogen’s ambivalence confused the hell out of Ella: one moment they seemed to be getting along fine, the next Imogen was a sulky, eye-rolling, sarcastic teenager. Perhaps that was normal; perhaps she’d been lucky so far that Sara’s teenage years had not mirrored this behaviour.

  “You can’t just go out and drink that much, Imogen. I saw you; you clearly had more than just a couple of drinks last night. What you drink, the baby’s going to drink…”

  Ella’s speech continued in this vein for a little while, and Imogen felt herself switching off, and then felt bad for doing so. Despite feeling glad e
arlier that her drinking could cause conflict between herself and her adopted mother, she knew that had been childish response. Ella did want the best for her, she was pretty sure of that; she was just so…motherly about it all, all the time, to the point of annoyance.

  There was only one thing dominating Imogen’s thoughts, however, and that wasn’t her drinking. It was Zach.

  ***

  By one o’clock that day, the house had been practically silent, and for this Imogen was glad. Ella had booked dentist appointments for all the younger kids, and Millie and Sara had accompanied them – leaving just her and William in the house.

  “Want a coffee?” William asked, calling from the kitchen over the sound of the boiling kettle.