Page 47 of The Home Grown
A vibration cuts through the air, forcing me to halt. Her phone buzzes against the counter, and both of our eyes snap towards it.
ELLIE
There’sa sizzling tension in the air.
Was he going to kiss me? Was I going to let him?
I can’t be sure, but the vibration of my phone breaks the spell and whatever that was is well and truly over as Mike and I stare at the screen of my phone, face up on the counter.
And in the split-second I take to glance back at Mike, his expression turns sour.
“Rick Langdon?” he says, his eyebrows pulling together. “Surely it can’t be—that’s not Patrick Langdon … is it? What the—what’s he doing texting you?”
Mike’s face reddens, like the living embodiment of the ‘angry face’ emoji.
“I—we’re just messaging socially, that’s all.”
His eyes widen in disgust, then his whole face seems to crumple—fury softening into something far more fragile.
“Is this who you’re seeing?” he says, his voice frail and uneven.
It takes a second to register what I’m hearing. Then it hits me—he’s upset. Properly upset.
Why? Why does it matter that much to him? But then I remember … Mike and Rick were both named in the Team GB prelim squad. Are they rivals? Is it more personal than that?
“Is this who you’re seeing, Kitch?” he says again, more quietly this time.
“What? No.” I hesitate for a moment before continuing. “Okay, so I don’t have a boyfriend. I panicked when your mam asked me and?—”
“Right,” he cuts in, but he doesn’t look at me. He just keeps staring at the phone.
Iscramble to explain, desperate to see that light in his eyes again. The same he had when he was about to?—
“He’s texting me because he’s the best man of my sister’s fiancé. That’s all. He’s trying to de-conflict some wedding plans.”
Mike scoffs. “Like hell he is. He’s a guy. He doesn’t give a shit about wedding plans—he’s trying to?—”
“He’s not trying to do anything,” I interrupt.
“Rick Langdon.” Mike repeats his name over and over under his breath, shaking his head. “Honestly …”
“Why do you care who I’m texting, anyway?” I ask, though I have a feeling I already know the answer.
He downs another shot before leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Because the guy is a complete asshat with no social skills. I bet he doesn’t even laugh at Christmas cracker jokes.”
“What do Christmas cracker jokes have to do with anything?” I blink at him, trying to follow.
“It’s my way of saying he has no sense of humour and he’s not a team player. Christmas cracker jokes are terrible because everyone can agree that they are bad. Imagine there’s a decent joke nestled inside, but only half the family gets it … it’ll divide the crowd and cause animosity. So, by everyone having a common enemy in the tune of a poor joke—it’s a team effort.”
I consider it for a moment. I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it before, but it explains why Kathryn doesn’t so much as smirk at a festive quip.
“I see,” I say.
“I’m just saying. The guy is an idiot. And he owes me a few grand.”
“What? How?” I say.
