Page 89 of The Interview
Ash fans her face and shakes her head. “Bloody hell, Joe. You and your dad are doing me like a kipper these last couple of days. Thank you. It means a lot that you feel that way,” she says.
“Sorry,” he replies with a shrug. “Thought you knew that’s how I felt. I was talking about it with the girls the other day when we were all over at Annie’s for dinner. I think with them both being pregnant, it’s made them realise what a sacrifice you made. Especially as you’d both done with having kids.”
“Despite everything,” my dad starts.
“Buckle up,” Marley says quietly. “Frank’s had a few. We could be here for a while, especially if he stands up.”
My dad’s a bit deaf these days, but my mum misses nothing.
“Marley George Layton, hush your noise, and show some respect for your father!”
“Yes, Mum,” he replies, deadpan. “Sorry.”
“Haha.” Me, Len and Bails all wag our fingers at him because being in our fifties and sixties has changed nothing. This is made even more apparent when Marls pretends to scratch at his whiskers but is clearly giving us the middle finger.
“Despite our terrible losses,” my dad continues. “This family is incredibly lucky. Lucky to have each other, and I just wanna say, me and your mum were talking on the plane over here, and I know not everyone’s here to hear me say it, but we’re so bloody proud of the lot of ya. I don’t need to get in front of a camera and say it, because fuck the rest of the world. The press and the public have taken enough from us over the years. The only people who need to hear this are all of you. So, yeah.”
We watch as he pulls himself up to stand and raises his glass.
“To family,” he says. “To the memories we hold in our hearts and will forever cherish of those we’ve loved and lost. May they always inspire us to live this life to the fullest, and shape who we are. And to those who remain, your presence is a gift. The unconditional bonds that tie us will always keep us united, strong, and knowing what it is to love and be truly loved.”
“To family,” the table says in unison—me, my mum, Jim, Ash, and Harley through our tears.
My husband didn’t get a fuck last night. Instead, he got to put his drunk arse wife to bed.
After my dad’s highly emotional speech, someone decided it was a good idea to order a couple of bottles of champagne, and apart from the manager coming over and asking if we could lower the noise level, I don’t really remember much else until I was home and Cam was peeling me out of my clothes.
I have a vague recollection of asking him to get one of my face washers, because no matter how drunk I am, I never, ever sleep in my makeup.
I’m now face down in our bed. Even only partially conscious, I know that I’m alone when I hear sounds of my family travelling through the house.
My head’s pounding, and I think my face is stuck to the sheets because I’ve drooled in the night and it’s dried.
The door to our bedroom opens, but I daren’t move my head to see who it is. The sight of my coffee cup being placed on the bedside table by someone wearing grey joggers lets me know it’s Cam.
He squats down next to me, leans in, and whispers in my ear, “You smell like a fucking brewery.”
I close one eye in an attempt to stop my head from pounding. It doesn’t work. “You smell delicious. Did you shower already? I didn’t hear a thing.”
“I’m not surprised with how loud you were snoring,” he says as he stands.
“Was it bad?”
“Let’s just say, Roonie and Becks came to investigate from their graves in the garden, and that Canadian bloke, Steve, whoyour dad watches on YouTube knocked at the front enquiring as to whether we knew anything about the sasquatch that’d been reported in the area.”
I smile but still can’t bring myself to open both my eyes. Cam gets into bed beside me and pulls my back against his front before he buries his face in my hair.
“There are a couple of paracetamol up there, and a packet of dark chocolate digestives. Knock the pills back with your coffee.”
“Thanks,” I say without moving. “How’d we get home last night?”
“H drove my car. He wasn’t drinking. Lu drove the other two back in H’s car because she didn’t drink, either.”
“My kids are more responsible than I am.”
“Last week was a big week. This week’s going to be bigger. I think we all needed a blow out,” Cam says with his mouth pressed against my ear.
It causes goosebumps to erupt across my skin, but I’m far too hungover for sex. Then his words sink in.
