Page 26 of The Layover
‘Mmhmm,’ I say, which is non-committal enough to brush off if I’m ever challenged on it, but just sympatheticenoughthat Leon carries on.
‘Selfish prick. I should’ve –fuck, we should’ve known he’d do something like this. I knew he was bad news. Right from the start, Mum said—’
He cuts himself off, though, so abruptly I just know whatever he was about to say would’ve been juicy and damning. He shuffles in his seat again, shoulders bunching, and clears his throat awkwardly.
‘Didn’t your nana not like him?’ I prompt, fighting to keep my voice neutral. If Leon doesn’t like Marcus much, if his mum doesn’t either … I know Kayleigh huffs and puffs and rolls her eyes a lot about going home, but she’s been griping about visits back home foryears, way before Marcus was on the scene. It was like she’d … outgrown them. Was sick of the drive back and forth, the poky little terraced house they’d pile into for a family dinner and feeling obliged to stay in the childhood bedroom she shared with Myleene, them not understanding why she wanted to live in London or cared about things like dry-cleaning her silk blouses and drinking bubble tea.
She had her own life now, and they didn’t fit. And I guess with Marcus on the scene, she decided they were even less of a priority. Which makes evenmoresense if they never actually liked him …
Oh, the drama she’s been keeping from me.
So as much as I want to grab Leon by the shoulders and yell, ‘Spill the tea!’ I stay put in my chair, hands folded in front of me, giving him a sympathetic look, and I mention his nana instead.
The same grandmother that Kayleigh cut off and called a bitch after the last time she saw her, then cried crocodile tears over at the funeral.
Leon is so visibly affected by the mere mention of his nana, though, my heart does genuinely bleed a little for him. It’s always so easy to gobble up Kayleigh’s melodrama and take it at face value, I forget sometimes that it’s all a story she’s rewritten to put herself at the centre of. But Leon’s face crumples, and he swallows hard, even looking a little misty-eyed, and I remember that his nana looked after me in the school holidays when my parents couldn’t, and she showed me how to bake the best chocolate-chip cookies I’ve ever had in mylife.
I bake them sometimes still, when I need a little pick-me-up, and something cosy to turn off my mind.
I feel such a wave of compassion – of sympathy for his loss, a shared moment of grief that his nana has gone, a shame for trying to throw it in his face even in some small way – that I reach out to put a hand on his arm. Leon’s mouth twitches in a wobbly attempt at a smile.
But whatever he’s about to say about his nana or Kayleigh or Marcus is stolen by Francesca plonking down three steaming paper cups on the table, looking ready to face the wolves.
Chapter Fourteen
Leon
I’m not sure that I’m quite ready to tackle Francesca’s whole ‘emotional affair’ mess with my soon-to-be brother-in-law, but I can’t deny I’m relieved that she’s back; it gets Gemma off my back for now. She can be like a dog with a bone, so I’m sure she won’t forget that thread of conversation any time soon, but at least I have some breathing space.
Admitting the truth – that collectively, we don’t like Marcus, or the person Kayleigh is with him – is harder than I thought.A lotharder.
I’m not sure how I’m going to manage to say any of it to Kay herself, when it’s tough enough trying to vocalise it to someone who already sees that Marcus isn’t some saint.
As for Francesca – I don’t even know where to start. I can’t help but acknowledge that it’s Marcus who sends the borderline-flirtatious selfies, Marcus adding kisses to the end of his texts, Marcus keeping the conversation going when he could easily just let it die off.
Francesca’s not the only guilty party, but there’s got to be a good reason Kayleigh called her aharpy, right?
Luckily, I get a few moments to stew over all that as she plonks some takeaway coffee cups down on the table and then doles them out to us. She glances at me as she pushes one in front of me, along with a couple of sugar packets.
‘Milk and two sugars, right?’
‘Uh, y-yeah.’
She must’ve heard me ordering earlier. I’m surprised she noticed the sugar packets I dumped in. I have been trying to cut them down, but … if ever there’s an excuse to indulge a bit, isn’t it for a wedding?
Even one you wished wasn’t happening?
Maybeespeciallythen.
‘Oat milk, two vanilla shots,’ she adds, to Gemma, who grins and says, ‘Thanks, hon,’ as if they’re best mates, and she didn’t just out Francesca for flirting with an almost-married man.
I’m surprised Francesca even bothered to get us drinks. I thought she was just … storming off.
I must get a look on my face, because she says sharply, ‘It’s not poisoned.’
‘Didn’t think it was.’ Although …
No, that seems like more of a Gemma scheme, if anybody was going to do it.
