Should Have Known Better

by A J McDine

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘I’m sure he would have if it hadn’t all kicked off with Chloe. Question is, would you have said yes?’

  With a denial on the tip of her tongue, Kate paused. Why couldn’t she admit to her own brother that Adam stirred feelings in her she’d thought had been buried for years? She was tired of being on her own. She wasn’t a bloody nun. OK, so meeting a man hadn’t been top of her list of priorities for the last eighteen years - Chloe had always come first. But now Chloe was about to fly the nest, leaving her on her own. Perhaps it was time she put herself first.

  She wrapped her fingers around her mug and gave Rory a sheepish smile. ‘I think so, yes. If he’d asked. Which he didn’t,’ she added.

  Rory patted her shoulder.

  ‘Don’t worry. He will.’

  Chapter Twenty

  CHLOE

  Chloe spent a fitful night tossing and turning, her dreams full of faceless strangers chasing her through woods, waiting for her to trip and fall so they could pin her down by the wrists and…

  At half-past three she woke with a start, her legs tangled in the duvet, her hair plastered to her sweaty forehead and her mouth as dry as sandpaper. Desperate for a drink, she pulled on her dressing gown and padded downstairs in search of a glass of water. Max lifted his head as she tiptoed into the kitchen, his tail thudding on the floor. He heaved himself to his feet, tottered over to the back door and whined softly.

  ‘Five minutes,’ she told him, unlocking the door and taking an involuntary step back as an icy blast hit her in the face. The security light flicked on as Max made his way to the area of longer grass by the vegetable patch where he preferred to do his business.

  Chloe stood at the sink and watched him as she sipped her water. He cocked his leg on the wheelbarrow, then started nosing through the grass before picking up a scent. Soon he was crossing the lawn back and forth like a zigzag stitch on a sewing machine. Grandpa had bought Max as a puppy from a local gun dog breeder who was selling him for a song because he was afraid of loud noises. He might give the appearance of a milk chocolate-coloured predator chasing down his prey, but Chloe suspected that if he ever came face to face with a rabbit he’d run a mile.

  ‘Crazy dog,’ she said, downing the last of her water and refilling the glass. Her head was still pounding. She crossed the kitchen to the drawer where they kept all their medicines, rootling through until she found a packet of paracetamol. She popped two out of the blister pack and swallowed them one by one. The security light flicked off, plunging the back garden into darkness, which meant only one thing. Max had followed the rabbit’s scent through the hole in the fence into the woods at the bottom of the garden. Chloe slipped her feet into her grandfather’s enormous Hunter wellies, picked up the torch by the back door and headed into the night.

  ‘Max!’ she called softly, not wanting to wake everyone. As she stepped onto the patio, the security light flooded the garden. Her eyes scanned the lawn, but there was no sign of the labrador.

  ‘Max!’ she called again. Still, he ignored her. For a dog that hated loud noise it was ironic he had been blessed with selective hearing. Swearing under her breath, Chloe clumped onto the lawn, her feet sliding like skates on an ice rink in the giant-sized wellies. Gripping the torch in her right hand, she peered into the gloom. ‘MAX!’

  In the witching hour, the towering pine trees that guarded their house by day loomed like menacing spectres, dark and foreboding. Hearing a rustle to her right, Chloe spun around and trudged towards the sound. As she did, the security light switched off again. ‘Bloody light,’ she muttered, shining the wavering beam of her torch into the trees. ‘Bloody dog.’

  She called him again. Another rustle, this time directly ahead. She swung the torch towards the sound, straining to see the dog’s outline in the shadows. Nothing. But she could have sworn she’d heard him crashing through the undergrowth with all the grace of a baby elephant. A movement caught her eye, off to the left where a wide grassy track led to the lane behind the house. A shapeless shadow of a figure, bent low. She froze. Who would be in the woods at this time of night? A burglar, come to case the joint? A poacher after Grandpa’s rainbow trout? Did people even poach these days? Easier to pop to Sainsbury’s, surely? All these thoughts raced through her mind as she stared into the trees, the light of her torch growing weaker as the batteries faded.

  Suddenly she was startled by a swishing sound, and something careered into her legs, almost knocking her off-balance. A panting face. Warm, smelly breath. The smiling, solid bulk of their chocolate labrador.

  ‘Jesus, Max. You frightened the life out of me,’ she said, grabbing hold of his collar. He licked her hand and then stiffened, his eyes fixed on the trees. His hackles lifted like spikes on a porcupine, and he growled into the darkness. Chloe tightened her grip on his collar, switched the torch off, gave it a shake, and switched it back on again. The struggling beam fell on a squat rhododendron bush, its evergreen leaves glossy in the torchlight, before the batteries finally died.

  Letting out a breath she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding, Chloe hugged Max. ‘It’s only a bush, you silly sod.’ She tugged the cord from her dressing gown free, looped it through Max’s collar and headed towards the house.

  All evidence of the party had been removed when Chloe finally emerged from her bedroom, yawning and tousle-haired, shortly after eleven. Her mum was sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee, staring blankly at her phone. She jumped to her feet when Chloe wandered in.

  ‘How are you feeling, sweetheart?’

  The concern on her mum’s face rankled and Chloe pressed her lips together. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Have you remembered anything?’

  ‘Here we go again,’ Chloe said under her breath. She marched over to the kettle and flicked it on.

  Her mum’s gaze settled on Chloe’s wrist as she tipped a spoonful of coffee into her favourite mug. Chloe tugged down the sleeve of her dressing gown and glared at her. ‘Have I remembered anything about what?’

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘Nope. Where are Grandpa and Uncle Rory?’

  ‘Don’t change the subject.’

  ‘Mum, for pity’s sake can you please shut up? You’re driving me mad.’

  Her mum flinched as if she’d been struck. Chloe was immediately contrite.

  ‘I know you’re worried about me but honestly, I’m fine. So don’t go on about it. Please?’

  Her mum sighed. ‘All right. But if you do want to talk about it…’

  ‘I don’t. But if I do, you’ll be the first to know, I promise.’

  Her mum nodded, sat down and reached for her mobile.

  Chloe narrowed her eyes. ‘Why are you staring at your phone as if it’s about to spontaneously combust?’

  She shifted in her seat. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Is it because you’re waiting for a call from someone, by any chance? A man?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  Yeah, right. Chloe had no idea why her mum was so cagey about Adam. Any idiot could see they had the hots for each other. And Adam was a nice guy. A really nice guy. He’d looked after her last night when she’d been off her head, without patronising or judging her, which was pretty cool when you thought about it.

  Chloe poured Shreddies into a bowl. ‘You didn’t find my bangle when you were clearing up, did you?’

  ‘The silver one?’ Her mum shook her head. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I’ve lost one of my boots, too. I wondered if Max might have taken it.’

  Her mum frowned. Chloe sighed. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s probably under my bed anyway.’

  ‘But -’

  Chloe held up a hand. ‘Don’t start.’

  Her mum flung her phone on the table and pushed her chair back. ‘I’m just worried about you, but that’s fine. Have it your own way. Why don’t you take a look outside? Your bangle and boot probably fell off last night while nothing was happening. And while you’re at it, p
erhaps you could hose your vomit from the patio? I’m not accidentally stepping in that when I take Max out for his bedtime wee, thank you very much.’

  Chloe pulled a face. ‘Oh Mum, do I have to?’

  ‘Don’t whine. You’re seventeen, not seven.’ She gave Chloe a tight smile. ‘Apparently you’re too old for me to care. In which case you’re too old for me to clear up after you, too. You can bloody well do it yourself.’

  Chloe wrinkled her nose, turned on the outside tap and, holding the nozzle of the hose at arm’s length, pointed it in the general direction of the puddle of puke. There was a surprisingly large amount of it, considering she’d hardly eaten anything all day.

  Once the jet of water had washed the paving slabs clean, she edged closer, scouring the ground for a glint of silver or the shiny black leather of her missing boot. But there was no sign of either. Just a scrap of white silk caught on the thorns of a rose bush.

  Chloe had a sudden recollection of someone pressing a handkerchief into her hand as she’d emptied the contents of her stomach. She remembered the satin-smoothness of it as she’d rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger. Without thinking, she lunged forwards and snatched at the piece of fabric. It was crinkly and stained and smelt unmistakably of vomit.

  A feeling of dread clutched her heart, and she gasped.

  Because if the handkerchief had been real, maybe the other memories were, too.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  KATE

  Two weeks later Kate packed away the last of the Christmas decorations and treated herself to her first bunch of daffodils of the year.

  Rory’s flight was booked for the following morning, and she was dreading him leaving. He’d kept her sane during that strange period between Christmas and New Year, when everything had seemed out of kilter, and she couldn’t put her finger on why.

  Not that she’d been home for much of it. Weddings on Christmas Eve and Boxing Day and a party for almost two hundred people on New Year’s Eve had meant she’d spent much of the holiday at The Willows. Patrick, whose unpredictability was the only predictable thing about him, had been more capricious than ever. Last-minute changes to menus and seating plans and drinks orders and staffing rotas meant more work, and Kate bore the brunt of it.

  At least she’d been so busy she’d had little time to brood about Adam and the fact that she hadn’t heard a peep from him - not even a thank you text - since the party. She’d been so close to calling him. Now she was glad she hadn’t.

  Chloe had spent most of the break in her bedroom, revising for her mocks. Whenever Kate had ventured in, she’d been hunched over her desk with her textbooks open, scribbling furiously. If Kate suggested she take a couple of hours off, Chloe would start ranting about how much work she needed to put in to achieve the three As she needed for university.

  Kate hadn’t dared mention the night of the party. It was easier to back out of the room and leave her to it.

  Her father had also seemed a bit subdued over Christmas, and Kate wondered if he was as worried as she was about Chloe leaving home. She said as much to Rory as she sat on his bed watching him pack.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Rory said, expertly folding a shirt and wrapping it in tissue paper before placing it in his suitcase. ‘She’s going to leave a big hole.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Kate was silent for a moment, then said, ‘Have you noticed he’s getting short of breath? And what about that chest pain he had after lunch on Christmas Day? I’m worried it might be angina.’

  ‘The chest pain that miraculously disappeared after he took some anti-acid tablets? He’s fine, sis. I’m always telling you he’s as strong as an ox. But if you’re worried, book him an appointment with the quack.’

  ‘What’s the point? He won’t go.’

  ‘True.’ Rory laid a couple of books on the top of his clothes and zipped up the case. ‘All done.’

  Kate gazed forlornly at her brother. ‘I wish you didn’t live so far away.’

  He sat on the bed beside her. ‘Is that all it is?’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘You’ve seemed so down since the party. Still no word from Adam?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not a dicky bird. He isn’t interested.’

  ‘How do you know until you ask? Maybe he’s worried you’ll give him the brush-off. Why don’t you text him and see if he’d like to meet you for a drink? If he doesn’t reply or makes an excuse, then I’ll admit I’m wrong and shut up about it. But at least you’ll have tried. Nothing ventured and all that.’

  Kate shook her head.

  ‘One text,’ Rory said.

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  Rory tapped his fingers together as if reaching a decision.

  ‘OK, here’s a deal. If I tell the old man about Louis, will you ask Adam out for a drink?’

  Kate’s eyes widened. ‘You’d tell Pa you’re married? That you’re gay? So I ask Adam on a date?’

  ‘Not just because of that. It’s time he knew. I can’t keep wimping out.’ Rory’s voice softened. ‘It’s not fair on him, and it’s not fair on Louis. I don’t want to spend another Christmas apart.’

  ‘If you told Pa, you could bring Louis with you next year,’ Kate said.

  ‘Or you could all come to us.’

  ‘Christmas on the beach. That would be nice.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘What the hell. I’ll text Adam if you tell Pa. Deal.’

  She held out a hand. Rory shook it.

  ‘When are you going to tell him?’

  ‘I’ll take him for a pint before lunch. At least he can’t start shouting at me if we’re in the pub. And they’ve got one of those defibrillators outside the village hall in case his ticker does give up the ghost.’

  ‘Turns out he’d suspected for years,’ Rory said, shaking his head in disbelief as he helped Kate lay the table. ‘Just because I never had girlfriends at uni and because I spend an inordinate amount of time preening myself in the bathroom.’

  Kate burst out laughing. Rory pursed his lips.

  ‘He was quite affronted that I thought he’d be upset. He had a couple of friends during National Service who “batted for the other side”, apparently.’ Rory raised his eyebrows. ‘His words, not mine. And despite that, they were “excellent chaps”.’ He cleared his throat and launched into an uncannily accurate impression of their father. ‘“Rory, m’lad, I’ve heard stories in court that really would make your toes curl. If you prefer men, that’s your prerogative. I’m only sad you felt you couldn’t tell me sooner.”’

  Kate squeezed his hand. ‘So, at the grand old age of thirty-four, you’re properly out. How does it feel?’

  Rory grinned. ‘Fucking fantastic. And now it’s your turn.’ He mooched over to the dresser, unplugged Kate’s phone from its charger and handed it to her.

  ‘But I need to get lunch.’

  ‘Lunch can wait. We had a deal, remember.’

  Kate held her thumb over the home button and opened her contacts. Adam’s name was at the top. She chewed a nail.

  ‘What should I say?’

  ‘I don’t know. How about, “Hi Adam. It’s Kate. Fancy a shag?”’

  She tutted. ‘Don’t be an arse. C’mon Rory, help me out here. I’ve never asked a man out in my life.’

  ‘Whereas I, my sweet, have asked out dozens. Give me the phone,’ he instructed.

  Kate watched nervously as he tapped away. ‘Show me before you send it!’

  He grinned again. ‘Too late.’

  ‘Rory!’

  She grabbed the phone and stared at the blue speech bubble, an anxious knot forming in the pit of her stomach. What the hell had he written? To her relief, the text was reassuringly banal.

  Hi Adam, Kate here. I wanted to wish you and Ben a happy New Year and to see if you’d like to meet up for a drink sometime. Kate.

  ‘Short and to the point,’ Rory said. ‘Perfect.’

  ‘I guess.’ She slipped the phone into her back pocket. ‘B
ut I bet I don’t hear back from him.’

  She was wrong. The phone buzzed as she strained a pan of new potatoes, making her jump and sending a splash of scalding water over her fingers. Yelping in pain, she ran her hand under the cold tap until they stopped throbbing, dried them on a tea towel and stared at the screen.

  Hey Kate, you must be a mindreader. I was just thinking about you. A drink sounds perfect. Is 7pm Friday any good? I know a great wine bar. I'll send you the address. Maybe we can grab something to eat afterwards? Adam.

  Kate’s face broke into a smile, her burnt fingers forgotten.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  CHLOE

  Chloe flicked through her economics textbook until she found the chapter she was looking for: The Measurement of Macroeconomic Performance. Today, even reading the title gave her a headache. Usually, she loved economics; intellectually demanding, it suited her analytical mind. To excel at the subject, you had to learn the economic theories and apply them to real life. You had to understand human nature and the principle of cause and effect. It was logical and rational. Increase supply and prices will fall. If prices fall, demand will go up. Stick to the theories and everything else will slot into place.

  Only real life wasn’t that simple, was it? The economy might be mostly reliable, but people were emotional and unpredictable. They hadn’t read the textbook, and they didn’t follow the rules. They went off-piste and did what the hell they liked. They were a bloody nightmare.

  Take Ben. Ever since the party he’d been texting at least a dozen times a day. The first had arrived the morning after when she’d been feeling paranoid and liverish.

  Hey Chlo, hope you’re not too hungover. xxx

  Without thinking, she’d tapped a reply and pressed send before she had thought through the consequences.