Page 57 of A Forever Home at Honey Bee Croft

‘Oh, purlease! You’realwaystrying to parent me but newsflash! You’renotmy parent and, breaking news, according to you, you’re not my brother either. Cheers for that.’

‘What?’

He adopted an even snarkier tone as he quoted part of my best man speech back at me. ‘Barney’s not just my best mate, he’s like a brother to me.’

How on earth had that upset him? Mum and Dad had mentioned earlier about how much they’d loved that part of the speech and I’d never imagined Chez – the person who’d often referred to Harry asmy brother from another mother– could take it negatively.

‘Well, he is! We’ve always been close and that’s something you say about close friends.’

‘Bet you wish he was your brother instead of me.’

‘You’re talking crazy now. That speech had nothing to do with you.’

‘Sure it didn’t.’ He held the bottle of wine to his lips and took several glugs, making me wince.

‘Don’t you think you should take it easier on the wine?’ As soon as I said it, I wished I could take the words back. Telling someone who was very drunk that they’d had too much to drink was pretty much the same as asking an angry person to calm down. Sure enough, it inflamed Chez further.

‘See! I told you! Helicopter parent. Trying to control how much I drink now. Well, let me tell you this, big brother. I will drink as much as I want to because I’ve lost my job, my girlfriend has dumped me and told me it’s for good this time, and my best mate has chosen his girlfriend over me, so I have nothing and noone and if I want to drink several bottles of free wine at yourrealbrother’s wedding, that’s what I’ll do.’

I really hoped he was exaggerating, and he hadn’t drunk several bottles. There was so much in that rant to pick up on, but I decided to go for the most recent incident.

‘I’m sure you and Lorna will get back together,’ I said, trying to keep my voice gentle and reassuring. ‘You always do.’

‘Not this time and I bet you’re delighted about that.’

‘Why would I be delighted?’ I’d done nothing but help my brother and the constant accusations that I’d take delight in his misfortune were bewildering, hurtful and incredibly frustrating.

‘Cos it makes you right. You said we’d never get a place together and now we won’t. Bet you’re sooooo happy.’

‘Of course I’m not! I like Lorna and I wish you two could find a way to make it work without all the break-ups but I can’t help thinking that maybe a split for good is what you both need. Maybe you’re not right for each other.’

‘There you go!’ he cried. ‘Parenting again! Offering your opinion where it isn’t wanted.’

And then he was off on one, all sorts of accusations being hurled at me, conversations thrown back at me which I couldn’t even recall, and twisting the meaning of innocent comments. Every couple of sentences, he’d pause to take a gulp from his wine and each time he resumed, his voice was angrier, louder, more bitter. I tried to reach for the bottle several times but he snatched it away and then, out of nowhere, he started shoving at me. I was bigger and heavier set than him and, in his drunken stupor, he could barely move me, which made him shove harder.

‘Fight back!’ he goaded.

‘I’m not going to fight you, Chez.’

‘Scared I’ll hurt you?’

‘I’mnotgoing to fight you,’ I repeated, my voice firmer. ‘Why don’t you put the wine down, go to bed and sleep it off? This thing with Lorna will probably have blown over by the morning.’

He took a swing at me, but I ducked and he stumbled but, once more, managed to regain his balance.

‘Stop telling me what to do!’ he yelled. ‘And what do you know about relationships anyway? You were dumped two weeks before your wedding. Dumped by a woman who didn’t want kids and has now had another two, so it was obviously you she didn’t want, not the kids. Probably couldn’t put up with your nagging. And how successful have you been with women since then? You can’t get beyond a first date cos they only ever want to be friends although God knows why cos you’re such an arsehole.’

He might not have winded me with his shoves, but he had with his words and I stared at him, barely recognising the brother I loved, worried about, cared for in the angry young man in front of me.

‘Please, Chez…’ But I was too hurt to find any words. Had he really thrown my broken engagement back at me like that?

He barged past me and stormed towards the door, but he stopped and turned round. ‘You want me to put the wine down? How’s this?’

He launched the bottle in my direction, and it smashed by my feet, showering me with red wine. Heart pounding, stomach churning, I stared down at my soaked trousers and the broken glass and looked up at Chez, expecting him to be shocked by what he’d done and how close the bottle had been to hitting me, but his expression held no remorse.

‘I hate you!’ he yelled before running off the terrace and slamming the door behind him.

I was shaking as I crouched down to pick up the broken glass. I laid several pieces in my left hand but the intensity of my shakes caused my hand to tighten and I flinched as I felt thesting of a cut. Blood dripped onto my chinos, mixing with the darker wine. He hated me. My brother really hated me. What had I ever done but care for him? I pictured the expression on his face, heard the venom in his voice and it was too much for me. I sank down onto my backside, the chunks of glass slipping from my hand as sobs shook my body.

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