Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
“They’re adorable,” Becca cuts in, clutching her chest at the sight of the young children.
“That’s Mac, one of our farmhands. Paula, she works in the shop. And finally, Nigel.”
The man introduced as Nigel lifts his flat cap briefly, nodding in our direction.
“Head of the family,” Josie finishes.
His dad. I’m making eye contact with the father of the man I kissed. The man who makes my world feel upside down. The man who, sometimes, feels like he only exists in my head. Only he doesn’t. He exists here. In this house. With these people. He’s part of this man with the weathered skin and heavy frame that’s just offered me a brusque nod.
I realise I haven’t been introduced to a matriarch, and Laurence has never mentioned a stepmother either. I wonder what happened there, to Emmett and Caleb’s mum. Divorce. Death. Went out for milk and never came back…
“Dinner’s almost ready for plating up,” Josie says before beckoning her husband. “Emmett, come and get our guests some drinks! What would you like?” she asks. “Beer, wine, pop, apple juice…”
I almost choke on my tongue. “B-beer’s great,” I stutter. “Thanks.”
“I’ll take a beer,” Ben pipes up, until I kick his foot. His cheeky smile soon fades. “Or a Coke.”
Becca and Lucy opt for wine, and then we’re led through to a large, rustic dining room to play happy families. I suppose rustic is a polite way of saying old. There’s a lot of wood, neutral tones, similar in theme to the cottage, only it’s all very worn. A lot of life has passed through here. Laurence’s life.
Suddenly, I’m betraying all my silent promises as I sit at the great oak table, by thinking of Laurence, imagining him as a boy. I wonder if he sat in this very chair, eating cereal, tracing the lines and knots of wood next to his bowl. Did he stare at that painting of cows above the open fireplace? Did he like it? Or think it was grotesque, like I do?
“…Will?” My name leaving my wife’s mouth drags me back to reality.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“I said we’ve been looking forward to this all day, haven’t we?”
“Absolutely.” I hope my smile is as enthusiastic as the way I just forced my voice to sound.
“Don’t mind him. His head’s in another world half the time since he started working in showbiz,” Becca says, apologising on my behalf to the few of us seated at the table. “Oh, I’ve just had a thought,” she adds, tapping my forearm excitedly. “Are we going to get to see your name in the credits?”
Huh. I hadn’t given that much thought. “Yeah, I imagine so. Very low down somewhere. Unless you blink and miss the opportunity.”
“That’s actually well cool, Dad,” Lucy says, and now I think about it, I suppose it is.
Slowly but surely, the table starts filling up with people. The two young girls are adorable. They can’t be older than four or five. The way they fight over who gets to sit next to their dad makes me chuckle. And grieve. I miss those days. A time when my kids vied for my affection. Looking at them now, making conversation with strangers, confidently discussing their independent lives and interests, I realise they don’t need me anymore.
“Here we go!” sings Josie, squeezing between her husband and his brother to put a large pot of what I assume is chopped Peter on the table. She follows it up with bowls of mashed potatoes and vegetables, and Nigel starts serving himself straight away.
“So, Caleb, lad…” Nigel begins, dropping another dollop of mash onto his plate. “How much longer are we gonna have to wait for you to have a Mrs at this table?”
“Oh, ‘ere we go. Give it a rest, Dad.”
Becca starts laughing, which makes Nigel focus on her when he says, “We keep tellin’ him, it’s alright if he’s fruity like his brother. Just let us know, lad.”
“I’m not bloody fruity!”
I’m conscious that I’ve been holding the serving spoon in the casserole for too long, but I’m worried my hands will shake if I lift it out. I risk a glance towards Becca, who’s sitting on my right. Her eyebrows knit together, confused.
“Uh…fruity?” she asks.
God, Becca. Please leave it alone.
“Gay,” Josie clarifies, rolling her eyes. “You’ll have to excuse these old boys, stuck in the stone age.”
“Less o’ that, young lady,” Nigel protests. “Our Laurie knows we take no issue wi’ it. He’s a bloody good lad, he is.”
I find myself smiling at Laurence’s father, as if on Laurence’s behalf. Nigel’s proud of his son. I can see it. I’ve never known what that feels like, but if it’s a patch on feeling it second hand like I am right now, then Laurence is incredibly lucky.
“I had no idea,” Becca says, and I feel her looking at me, but I don’t return it.