Page 83 of Cross To Bear

“Water for me,” I replied.

“Just something soft.” Razor shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Maddie might be coming around tonight. That’s the only thing that will really relax me.”

“Heard you two formed a mating bond,” Knackers, another of the dads, said, grabbing glasses from the top cupboard. “In a pretty spectacular fashion.”

“You really threaten to rip the Steel Dragon VPs throat out for looking at her?” Jake leaned over the kitchen counter and grinned up at Razor.

“Fucking oath I did.”

My brother’s reply was short and to the point, backed up by his endless stare.

“Seems like that deserves something a bit stronger than a Coke.” Taz pushed four glasses of black bubbling liquid towards us. My request was ignored, but I didn’t let that get to me. Outside of my sleuth, it often was. “How about a splash of rum in there for good luck?”

“These boys are high on love. They don’t need booze,” Jake said with a chuckle.

“Yes, well, let’s start with some nibbles shall we?” Nelly said, pulling platters of hors d’oeuvres and setting them out on the bench.

“These look lovely, sweetheart,” Taz said, giving her a squeeze and then picking up a toothpick skewered through with a cocktail onion, tasty cheese and a slice of kabana. “Yum.”

“Tuck in,” she said, removing lids and plastic wrap. “But don’t spoil your appetite. I got the biggest leg of lamb and made roast potatoes, carrots, pumpkin…”

Her chatter was drowned out by the rushing of blood in my head as Jesse stepped closer. He didn’t look at the offerings before him, but us.

“Little mini sausage rolls?” He picked one up and then dipped it in the container of tomato sauce. “Always fucking love these. Want one, Bjorn?”

My brother was perfectly capable of getting his own snack. Fuck, if we got in the car and drove back home, like I wanted, I’d make him a batch from scratch, with meat I hand minced myself. I could flavour it with sage and garlic and—

“Thanks, mate.” Bjorn took the morsel of food, holding it up in a weird kind of cheers before taking a bite, like none of the last few weeks’ drama had happened, because that’s how families worked. They lied to each other, always lied.

But there was a bigger one coming, and we all knew it. The initial tension, where everyone watched to see if Bjorn would punch his brother’s teeth down his throat, had dissipated, and a new one rose in its place.

I just needed to know why.

My hand shot out, grabbing a toothpick with a garlic prawn on the end and then I shoved it into my mouth, chewing thoughtfully as I watched the rest of Bjorn’s family like they were actors on a stage. I’d find out soon enough what the big gotcha moment was. I could feel it brewing, creating an electrical feel to the air. Soon, I nodded to myself, soon it’d all come out.

Chapter 49

Mum got out the plates and cutlery, setting the dining room table like we were going to have a three-course meal, not a slap up one of fish and chips. Dad returned, toting a newsprint wrapped bundle, spreading it out on the table, ignoring the plates before tearing off a piece of paper for each one of us.

“We should serve it on proper plates—” Mum protested.

“No point, love. Just get them all greasy and then you need to wash them up afterwards. This way, no mess, no fuss.” Dad looked like a naughty boy, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Here you go, love. Got you a nice piece of butter fish.”

“Phillip, you should’ve got grilled fish, not battered,” Mum twittered in irritation. “Madeline, just pick the batter off.”

“Mum—”

“Batter’s the best bit. Lemon, love?” Dad asked me, brandishing a slice.

“Thanks, but—”

“Fish is quite good for you, but I can’t understand dousing it in all that batter. So many carbs, so much oil.” Mum’s hands fluttered through the air like wounded butterflies.

“Mum—”

“I’m just thinking of your health.” She slapped her hands down on the table and we all went quiet, not even a rustle of paper heard throughout the house. Mum’s eyes locked with mine, a mirror of my own brown ones. “You know your grandmother died of heart disease.”

“At the ripe old age of 96,” I said, as I pushed aside the food, the savoury smells somehow souring now. “I think I’ll be fine. We all will be.”

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