Page 20 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
Chapter Five
Prince Arthur
“Is The Queen gonna be in there?” Connie asks, as we sit in his car on the drive of my family home.
I shrug. “I don’t know—she might be.”
“Can I come in?” He nudges me.
“No—I’m getting my stuff and that’s it, I’ll be five minutes.”
He groans. “But she’s The Queen!”
“She’s my nan!”
“Who also happens to be The Queen!”
“Stop it, Con.”
I stare out of the passenger side window, watching the front door. I don’t want to go, knowing I’m unwanted there. Shit feeling, that is. Every time I walk through that door, I never know what I’m going to be met with.
My heart races.
After meeting with the twins, we came straight here so I could empty out the rest of my bedroom and rid my family of all proof of my existence. Not a single text from any of them since I left the other day. It’s a guilty feeling you get when you think about being unwanted by your family because surely that’s wrong? You’re their flesh and blood, why would your brain even go there. But sometimes it’s true, sometimes you are unwanted and even though they might be shit people, it still leaves a gaping hole in your chest that only they could fill.
And I think it makes it worse that there wasn’t a big argument over it—Mum didn’t kick up a big fuss so how can I hate her? There were no harsh words said that I can clingonto and remind myself of. There were no passing comments that stuck with me, no tantrums for me to remember. Ending anything on good terms is worse than ending it on a big row. Makes it so much harder to hate and move on and get over it because you’re still thinking deep down that they didn’t mean it.
I knock twice, Delphine answers as she always does. Gives me a look, a tight lipped smile and big eyes—a warning that yet again, I’d be walking into a shitstorm.
“Please, Mum,” Evangeline cries from the kitchen.
I walk through, see her at the table with a plate of untouched food in front of her. Mum sat opposite her, head in her hands.
Clear my throat, walking further in.
Mum pops her head up, plasters on a fake smile and comes walking over. She grabs my arm, pulls me into the hallway.
“What’s going on?” I scan her face, her eyes, but I see nothing.
I do, however, take notice of how she looks generally, though. For having had four kids, she’s skinny, tall, very docile. Constantly looks a bit weathered, the papers often call her out for looking old—and she might be, sure. She has wrinkles on her face and a permanent frown between her brows but that’s not from ageing badly. My mum, I realise, is just exhausted.
“It’s the food thing, Arthur,” she shakes her head. “I can’t do it anymore.”
“What food thing? I didn’t know Ev had a ‘food thing’.”
I’d know about something like that. I’m her brother.
“Sophia,” Delphine butts in delicately, hand on Mum’s arm. “Do you want me to talk to her?”
Mum folds her lips in, looks like she’s about to cry. “I don’t think anything you or I could say would go through to her.”
“What food thing?” I ask again.
Our life long nanny looks at me, swallows and then walks away.
“It’s a whole palava, Arthur,” Mum throws her hands up. “I can’t get into right now—anyway, come through, Nanny is here.”
Brilliant that is.
