Page 84 of Enemies to Lovers

‘Any man would be lucky to have you,’ I whisper to him, touched that he’d share that. Alex isn’t that way inclined: he’ll joke, but he’s slippery with his feelings. It’s about the truest thing he’s ever said to us as an adult. He scrunches up his nose at me. I scrunch mine up in return, a silentI love you.

‘AndIam afraid,’ Dad says, so that we complete the impromptu circle of trust, ‘that I’ve let you all down somehow, because I can tell all my kids are scared in different ways, and I wondered if I could have taught you differently than that.’

‘No,’ Kate says quickly. ‘If I raise my kids to be even half as remarkable as yours, Michael …’

Dad gives her a smile. ‘You’re kind to say that,’ he tells her. ‘And yet, you saying that doesn’t help me at all.’

Kate chews on her lip and holds up her hands. ‘Touché,’ she laughs. ‘Touché.’

‘Look what you started, Flo,’ Alex chuckles. ‘Jesus! Pass the bloomin’ tissues.’

‘Sorry,’ I say, pulling a face. ‘Except also, not sorry.’

Mum takes a big sip of water and says, ‘See, this iswhat getting together as a family is like. It’s why it is important. When else would we have talked like this? It’s always so quick, grabbing birthday meals at a weekend before you all go back to your lives; or there’s always so much going on at the house when we’re all there, scattered everywhere.’

‘We do a good job, though, Mum,’ I say. ‘Or rather, you and Dad do. Kate is right – you’ve raised a very good family indeed. I never would have managed these past few years without you. So, thank you. I don’t think I’ve said that, so it’s overdue. Thank you.’

I raise a glass, and everyone follows suit.

‘To the pain-in-the-arse Greenbergs,’ I say, and everyone giggles.

‘To the pain-in-the-arse Greenbergs!’ they reply.

At the sound of our laughter, the waiter comes to finally clear our dishes. We make a collective display of helping him, putting stray cutlery on plates and telling him how fantastic the food was – though from what we’ve left, you couldn’t fault him for not believing us. I feel like this is the second time this holiday that I’ve had a reminder that it isn’t only me who hurts. First Jamie, and now this, with my whole family. It’s obviously awful if anyone feels wobbly, but it’s reassuring that if even these gobshites have their ‘thing’, I’m doing okay after all. The atmosphere is emotional now, but full of catharsis. We’re self-conscious with it, getting back to the business of pudding menus and coffees and teas, but once the waiter takes our order, silence falls.

‘I don’t know what I’m going to do about Jamie,’ I say, because I figure,Sod it. Be the one to say his name. ‘If anyone is wondering.’

‘We are,’ Mum says with a laugh. ‘He’s a good boy, darling. I hope you don’t think you can’t be with him because of us. I’ve always thought he’s a lovely boy. Well, man, I suppose. And I can see what you mean about himseeingyou. He certainly looks at you like he’s got a lot of love for you …’

‘That’s sweet of you to say,’ I tell her. ‘But it wasn’t ever supposed to become this big thing. It’s definitely notlove. I do need to apologise to him, though.’ I look pointedly at Kate. ‘I’ve been counselled accordingly,’ I say, and she winks at me.

‘We won’t ask what you did,’ says Dad. ‘Since, if you’re going to say sorry, it’s none of our business.’

‘Ha!’ I hoot. ‘You lot saying something isn’t your business? Alert the press! Note the date and time.’

Dad puts a hand to his chest, feigning shock.

Laurie issues a little cough. ‘You’ll need to get a move on,’ he says, and because it’s directly to me – his first face-to-face missive to me all day – everyone else is startled into sudden noiselessness.

‘Sorry?’ I say. ‘What do you mean?’ I look around the table. Mum, Dad, Alex and Kate all seem as curious as I do. Why would there be a time limit on apologising, when we’ve got three and a half more days of holiday? I actually thought giving Jamie time to cool off wasn’t a bad thing.

Laurie takes off his sunglasses and rubs at the bridge of his nose, wincing as he does so: the bruise is apparentlyverysore. He looks like absolute shit: bloodshot eyes, purple-and-yellow bruising, stubbled and unslept.

‘Laurie?’ I press. ‘Did you … you didn’t ask Jamie to leave, did you?’ I say.

He ruffles his hair and stares at his lap. ‘I saw him after breakfast and Jamie said he thinks it’s best to give you your space – to give us all our space. He feels he’s let everyone down, so he’s going early, I think.’

‘You think or you know?’ I try to clarify, catching Kate’s eye. She gives me a look as if to sayfair question, babe.Why do I get the feeling Laurietoldhim to go?

‘Know,’ Laurie says. ‘It was Jamie’s idea, but I didn’t stop him.’

‘Laurie!’ I shout, louder than I mean to. ‘Jesus Christ! Why wouldn’t you stop him? You can’t hate himthatmuch? This is a massive overreaction.’ I feel shaky and panicked – there’s a pounding in my ears, and my throat feels tight. The person I really want to yell at is Jamie, because he’s doing a runner …again? I swear to god, I hate confrontation, but that man consistently disappears instead of facing the music, and it’s not bloody fair. Because as much as I owe him an apology, Kate is right: I need to get to the bottom of what happened at Christmas. I should have asked before, but it’s also true that Jamie should have offered an explanation, too. Did Laurie say something to him? Why wouldn’t Jamie tell me that at the time? And what changed for him betweenthen and now? I’ve quashed all these questions as best as I can, but now there’s nowhere for them to go except out into the open.

If Jamie goes before I have the chance to talk to him, he might stay away from the whole family for longer than he needs to. If he goes, is his plan to miss every meet-up we have, every bank holiday … and what about next Christmas? He doesn’t have anybody else! Somebody needs to make sure he’s there. I want him there.

No.

Shit.

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