Page 44 of Only Ever You

“Mortimer—” Arthur bustled along the hall, letting out the most nervous sound of laughter she’d ever heard. “Why don’t you come and have a cuppa’?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Faye didn’t think Mortimer minded much that he did a lot of things.

This arrival didn’t bode well for the atmosphere that shrivelled up as if someone had dropped a dead animal in the centre of the hall and no one knew what to do with it. Maybe Mortimer would simply have a drink, a chat, some food, and then disappear? The hold-all sitting by the front door didn’t exactly fill Faye with hope for that.

Saira touched her arm with an apologetic twist in her lips asshe moved past, a sort of ‘outsider’ solidarity, and Matt shared an exasperated look with Bash.

“Faye—” Michèle lowered her voice. “I am sorry. I will make Arthur have words with his brother.”

Faye didn’t doubt there would be words alright. “It’s okay.” She didn’t want to add to the fuss.

“It’s not,” Bash murmured. His hands were pushed so far down into his pockets that anyone would think he was stuck that way.

“So … ” Faye began slowly when the two of them were the last to linger in the hallway. “That’sUncle Mortimer.”

“Unfortunately.” Tilting slowly backward, Bash leant against the wall with a gruff, frustrated exhale.

“Did you know he was coming?”

“Nope. Don’t think my parents did either.” His eyes slid along the hall to where the discarded bag still sat on the floor. He didn’t look as though he wanted to pick it up, and Faye couldn’t say she was too keen either.

“He’s invited himself round then?”

“Seems like it.” With another sigh, this time of reluctance, Bash went and picked up his uncle’s belongings and left them at the foot of the stairs instead. “I bet he’ll be hankering to stay as well.”

Absently, Faye followed him, edging closer towards the kitchen where the hum of conversation sounded … tense. “Your mum didn’t look too happy.”

“She won’t be. None of us have quite forgiven Mortimer for how he made such a scene at Matt’s wedding and insulted half of the guests –Mamanand Saira especially. Plus, he’s a prick in general.”

Bash sighed for the third time and snapped back to his normal self when he looked at her. As if he’d expelled half of his frustration in that exhale, his eyes cleared. “I’m sorry, are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Faye’s thoughts only wondered just how Mortimer had made a scene at Matt and Saira’s wedding.

Bash’s stubbly jaw ticked. “I hate the way he looked you up and down like that. I swear he does this shit on purpose.”

Oh …“Thank you.” The lump in her throat caught Faye off guard. “For caring.”

The look in Bash’s eyes darkened the same intensity they’d done the other night when he’d fled through London for her. “Of course I care, Faye.” The gap between their bodies shrank as he reached for her. “You’re my best friend. I know you can stand up for yourself, but if Dad hadn’t have interrupted, I’d have?—”

“Are you two coming?” Arthur appeared in the kitchen doorway.

Bash drew back from the space he’d closed between them with a clear of his throat. “Yeah. Yeah we’re coming.” But Faye still wanted to know what he would’ve done if his father hadn’t stepped in.

There must be something sewn into the fabric of this house to make her lower her inhibitions like she did, because she stood up on her toes and softly kissed Bash’s un-bruised cheek. “Thank you.”

Tension dripped off from his shoulders like a snowman left out in the sun. The drops of ice water rolled down his arms to puddle at his feet. “You’re welcome, Peanut.”

They entered the kitchen side by side, where the air was more charged than a certain device inside Faye’s nightstand at home.

“What did we miss?” Bash asked the room though wasn’t as jovial as he could’ve been. As though he wanted to gloss over the fact Mortimer had arrived at all.

Faye had experienced her fair share of awkward family encounters, but never those of someone else’s family, and now she felt as though she shouldn’t be here to witness it. Like she’d invaded this family’s privacy. She didn’t dare say anything yet.

“Your Uncle Mortimer is going to be staying with us,” Michèle said mildly, a hand gripped around a spoon while she doled out yoghurt into bowls for her granddaughters.

“That’s … great.” Bash begrudged the words like they were marmite on his tongue.

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