Page 5 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“But will you stay better because—” and this is where she breaks down, thick, heavy sobs. “Because I can’t do that again, Arthur,” she shakes her head, not bothering to wipe her eyes even though it kills me. “Not again—never again. Please, Arthur, I can’t—”
“Mum,” I take her hand, look right into her shattered eyes. “Never again.”
She nods, takes a deep breath. “You promise?”
“I promise—swear on Theo’s grave.”
Fuck, that was a lot.
“Arthur—”
I glance up at her, my mother, and for the first time in maybe ten years, kiss her cheek. “I promise.”
She moves then, goes to put her arms around me—I think—but then she stops herself and I wonder why. My heart thuds at a sickening rate inside my chest and I think that coming here might’ve been a mistake. Just because I was ready, doesn’t mean everyone else was. I’ve just fucking ambushed them with my presence.
“I—” reach up, rub my neck. “I think I’m gonna go.”
“Why?” Sebastian jumps up.
Swallow through my dry throat, wave my hand around. “I don’t think I should’ve come here.”
“Don’t be silly,” Mum wipes her eyes, takes my hand and squeezes it—most affection I’ve felt from her in a long time. “You sit down right now, Arthur.”
She can tell I’m unsure, can tell that I don’t feel like I deserve to but she drags me over, sits me down next to her on the sofa and grips my hand in her lap—afraid that if she lets go she’ll lose me all over again.
My eyes go over to my sister, sitting there, legs crossed on the sofa, looking so unlike the fourteen year old I left behind. She’ll be doing her A-Levels this year. And it hurt me the most to leave her, truth be told because she’s never had a choice. All that stuff that’s happened to her—she’s just been in the middle of it all. A punching bag for everyone’s hits that they couldn’t take out on anyone else because no one thought it would affect her. They thought she’d grow out of it, wouldn’t remember it, would forget, wouldn’t see things for what they really were. She was easy to hurt because she was a kid. Kids bruise like peaches.
She lost her brother growing up and then lost her other brother when it was time to grow up again. Who has she had all these years? My mum drugged up on prescription meds? My brother who was busy shagging his dead brother's girl? My dad who’s hid more than any of us? Me who didn’t even remember his own name half the time?
Standing in the midst of the tornado that is our supposed secure family unit, she’s been fending for herself, holding onto any piece of furniture that blows right past her.
“You look good, mate,” Sebastian reaches out, taps my knee. “How’ve you been?”
“Good, yeah,” I nod again because what are people expecting me to say? That for the past almost three years, I put myself through the worst kind of mental and physical trauma? When people ask you how you’ve been, they want to hear that you’ve been good and that the family is doing well. They don’t want a sob story.
“Anyway,” Dad rubs his hands together, not bothering to comment on my appearance because he’s seen me. Him and Grandad were the only ones I kept in contact with because I had to—legally binded to them in some unspoken, unsigned contract. Always will be. “We need to sort this out.”
“Sort what out?” I ask.
“Don’t you know?” Ev smiles. “Sebastian’s been fucking Mia Tisdale for the last five years.”
I blink once, twice—three fucking times.
When I arrived in London yesterday night, it felt like nothing and everything had changed. There was something so rife in the air that told me I was going to be walking head first into a war zone. Didn’t quite know what it was going to be but it definitely wasn’t this.
“Evangeline!” Mum shouts.
“Oh, sorry,” she puts a hand to her chest. “Did I get it wrong?”
“Ev,” Sebastian touches her shoulder but she shrugs it off. “Come on, don’t be like that.”
“Don’t be like what?” She sits up, laughing humorlessly. “Don’t be upset? Don’t be angry?” She shouts. “How do you want me to react?” She starts crying. “Do you expect me to be fuckinghappy or something? Every single fucking day I wondered why everyone around me wanted to die, wanted to get away from me! Every single day!”
She’s drowning in her sobs, finding it hard to breathe.
“You have no right to tell me how I should be!” She turns to my brother. “No right, Sebastian! You’re not any better than him!” She points over at me.
And even though all these tears and screams are being pointed at my brother, I think deep down, they’re aimed at me but like most people, she can’t bring herself to look me in the eye.
