Page 160 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“I never understood it,” she carries on. “It was selfish. I thought you were so selfish to do that. And I know everyone tried to hide it from me but I knew right from the beginning. I was ten, Arthur. You went to rehab when I was seventeen. I knew for seven years and still never understood it.”
“Yeah,” I nod. “It was selfish—but if it makes you feel any better, no one else has gotten over it yet. Mum and Dad still hate me.”
“They don’t,” she shakes her head. “We talk about you all the time. Mum can’t get enough of you. She loves you more than me, I reckon,” she sniffs a little laugh.
“I highly doubt it.”
She hums, takes a deep breath, clears her throat. “Anyway, I have things to do today.”
“Nice, kicking me out,” I smile, stand up.
She smiles up at me. “Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”
I squeeze the back of her neck. “Fuck off.”
She nods, smiles all sarcastically as I leave her room.
Delphine is hovering by the stairs when I go down. “Do you want a drink, love? Something to eat?”
“Nah, I’m gonna make a move in a minute. Thanks.” I lean in, kiss her cheek.
Mum and Dad are talking in the living room when I go in. Mum looks over at me, looks sorry.
“I’m going now,” I tell them.
Dad gives me a brief nod.
Mum comes over to me, kisses my head. “I love you, Arthur. Please make an effort—with coming around more and him,” she nods behind her at Dad. “He’s struggling.”
“We’re all struggling.”
She sighs, gives me a shaky smile and another kiss.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Fuck it—just get a bottle,” Connie says, pointing at the menu.
George whacks it out of his hand. “That’s a dessert wine, you melon.”
Connie rolls his eyes, pulls a face at me when George looks away, The boys and I met up for dinner at 34. Bit overdue, really.We haven’t spoken much recently. Feels like it, anyway. I mean, we practically live in each other's pockets but still, everything has been going so fast lately. I haven’t been able to come up for breath.
“We’re not getting a bottle,” George declares, setting down his menu. “Arthur ain’t drinking and neither am I. Just get what you want and we’ll credit card roulette it at the end.”
“Hang on a minute,” Con pulls back. “What do you mean you’re not drinking?”
George blinks twice. “What I fucking said? I’m not drinking.”
Connie squints, laughs. “You’re having me on.”
He scrunches his face up. “Why would I be having you on?”
“No—no,” Connie shakes his head. “What do you mean you’re not drinking?”
George drags a hand down his face, points to him. “He gone fucking Mutt and Jeff or something?”
I frown. “Why aren’t you drinking, though?”
“Oh my god!” George rolls his eyes. “I’ve a fight coming up, don’t I? No drink, no fags, no sex—”
