Page 13 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
I go to turn to Arthur but then I realise he isn't here so I sort of just sink into my seat. And it’s been these kind of moments that have been getting me. Those small, very mindless moments of seemingly nothingness that remind me of the stab in my chest. Even just catching his eye as Spencer walked in would’ve been enough because he would’ve been thinking the same as me and then we both would have disappeared off to the bar to debrief.
You don’t notice just how many of those moments you have with someone until you no longer have them.
“You alright?” Digby frowns, putting his hand on my shoulder, drawing mindless shapes on my skin. “You look a bit…sad?”
Clear my throat, avert my attention back to the table and chime in with a quick laugh at whatever Connie just said.
“Sorry, sorry,” Albie shakes his head, shrugging his coat off. “Got caught up with some shit at the club.”
“Where’s Zara?” I look around. “Thought she was coming with you?”
Albie pulls that same annoyed face he always pulls at the mention of her. “Rang me on my way over, said she couldn’t come, come down with something, apparently.”
“More like she just is coming down,” Connie pipes up.
“When is she not?” Athena rolls her eyes.
When Albie sits down, we order our food and I kick George’s leg under the table and give him a look to order as much Beluga as he likes because Digby will be picking up the bill—he always does. Thinks it will make the rest of us like him more or something? It’s a load of shit because he already knows that he doesn’t fit in.
When we first met when I did my little stint at Uni, he stood out like a sore thumb. Could never get used to our lifestyle. Never fully understood why I was going to sleep at six p.m. and then waking up at ten to go out for the night. He tried to keep up, bless him, but we were always too far ahead.
“Surpsied to see you,” Digby nods his head over at Albie.
Albie’s eyebrows go up. “Why’s that then, mate?”
Digby shrugs. “Heard through the grapevine that you were meant to be taking a little holiday in Belmarsh—or was it Broadmoor? Whatever one’s for the screwlooses.”
My mouth drops open.
No, seriously, there’s nothing I can do.
My mouth falls open, my eyes go wide and I choke.
The entire table falls silent and all of a sudden a beaming spotlight shines down on the two boys—where one ofthem doesn’t just stick out like a sore thumb but more like a gun at a knife party.
We all collectively look over to Albie.
I catch Connie’s cheeks blow up like a hamsters behind his glass but I try my utmost not to let him drag me into it.
Albie’s jaw twitches, sniffs, darts his tongue out to wet his top lip.
I can’t even bring myself to look at my boyfriend.
I mean, what the fuck? Since when did he grow a pair of bollocks? Not even George has spoken to his own brother like that and we all remember the time he knocked seven shades of shit out of him in school.
“Nah,” Albie eventually says with a grin. “Got someone to take my sentence for me—actually, I think he’s good pals with the bloke in there doing time for your grandad. What was it again, Digby?”
“Um,” Digby shifts beside me. “Can’t remember—look, mate, it was only a joke, yeah?”
“I’m your mate now?” Albie laughs. “Fuck right off you prick.”
“Alrighty!” Athena claps just as our food arrives at the table. “Now who ordered the smoked mackerel?”
“I’ve lost my appetite,” I announce, throw my napkin down, push my chair back and beeline for the bathrooms.
It’s my fault.
I brought Digby into this group, this very unshakable, tight knit group and all he’s done is cause problems. My stomach feels hollow and I’d be lying if I said this was all new to me.
