Page 55 of Knots About You
‘Sexy it up.’ Isla shrugged. ‘Bunting. Some florals, maybe spilling out from empty casks. Some festoon lights to make it shine.’
‘We never needed that to sell whisky before,’ Dad muttered, then laughed, then coughed.
The cough stuck.
It was the kind of cough that sounded wet. Mum’s hand was on his back before the second breath. His eyes watered, and he waved her off.
‘I’m fine,’ he said, reaching for his beer. ‘Went up by the stores and winded myself is all. Ramp’s steeper than it used to be.’
‘That ramp hasn’t changed since 1985,’ Mum chided.
‘Mmm.’ He traded the beer for bread when Claire passed a glass of water to him.
‘It’s probably that toffee sauce catching, is all,’ she said, like we weren’t all watching. ‘This’ll sort you out.’
The crease between his brows flattened as he gave Claire a tender smile. When my mum saw the way Dad looked at her, she couldn’t fight the smile.
Meowrse chose his moment, leaping onto Claire’s lap mid-sentence, kneading her thigh with his paws, then flopping belly-up and meowing mournfully at her.
‘I’ve been replaced,’ I said. ‘He’s a furry turncoat.’
‘He never sat on Becky’s lap,’ Isla pointed out. I choked on my spoonful of dessert.
Mum gently patted Claire’s hand. ‘The cat’s got good instincts.’
‘You didn’t like Becky?’ Claire asked before turning pink. ‘Sorry, that’s none of my business.’
Isla wheezed.
Mum smiled into her napkin. ‘I did like Becky. But I never saw my son look at her quite the way he looks at you.’
My pulse skipped as Claire met my eyes, her teeth catching her lower lip. I wanted to pull her over the table and kiss the little mark her teeth left.
We reset the room with the ritual of a hundred Mondays. Dishes passed from hand to hand. Hot water steamed in the sink as lemon dish soap scented the air. Isla stacked, Jeff pretended to help. Dad drifted to the armchair and pretended to watch the six o’clock news whilst his eyes sagged. Claire slotted in besideme at the sink, sleeves shoved up, wearing my apron, which swamped her.
‘You don’t have to help, you know,’ I said as the others drifted through to the sitting room, pouring the after-dinner whisky.
‘I like it,’ she said, rinsing soap off the dishes. ‘Feels… useful.’
‘I’ve got much better uses for you,’ I whispered.
‘Owen!’ She slapped my arm with a soapy hand and flushed a glorious shade of red.
From the living room, Dad snored once, and idle chatter hummed. We took twenty minutes to wind down over the taste of fine malt before rousing Dad and helping him to the door.
The goodbyes took twenty minutes in the hall as always. Coats, kisses, Jeff clobbered his elbow on the frame and whisper-swore because Mum was present. Meowrse tried his best to trip everyone up. Dad wrapped Claire in a fatherly hug that had my mum smiling.
‘Welcome to the madhouse,’ he said. ‘Keep my boy on the straight and narrow, eh?’
‘I’m not promising anything.’
Mum pulled me in close, half-hug and half-warning. ‘I like this one. Better than the last one. Don’t shut yourself off this time.’
She had no idea about the real reason we broke up, and I intended to keep it that way.
Outside, the night was soft with damp as I drove Claire home, stuffed bellies and softer smiles. Streetlights dropped orange circles on the cobbled ground. I walked her to her door, stopping to pull her into a kiss. Every sweep of her tongue made my heart swell.
‘Thank you for letting me into your behind-the-scenes,’ she said when I finally let her breathe.
