Page 62 of Something Borrowed

“We all know there’s only one person who could give Raff what he needs,” my dad says. His voice sounds amused.

“What’s that? And who is this miracle worker who’ll provide it?”

“He needs stability and love, Stan,” my dad explains. “He needs to know that someone cares enough for him to tell him no. Saoirse and Rollo never did that. They let him do whatever he wanted because it meant an easier life for them. It’s just lucky he was such a kind child, or he could have turned into a monster.”

“Like them,” my mum says. “I think Raff goes the other way. He’s far too concerned about other people’s happiness.”

“That’s because he still doesn’t see himself as a prize. They never told him he was,” I say solemnly. “He just learnt that other people’s wants and needs come way above his.”

I hear a sigh, and my dad says, “Just once, I want to see Raff demand what he wants for a change, instead of letting other people do as they please. He needs to stand up and shout and take what he wants because he knows he’s worth it.”

“He’s not L’Oréal. And you never said who this miracle worker is,” I say.

“Do you want me to?” my dad says, sounding astonished. “His name has four letters, starting with s and ending with n, with the letters t and a in the middle.”

I grimace. “Actually, no. Stop talking now.”

“There. I knew I was right. Rowena, take a note in the diary. Edward was proved right once more.”

“I’ll put a gold star by it,” my mum says obediently.

I groan and stand up. “I’m going to my room.”

“Well, that phrase has been said a fair few times,” my dad observes. “Usually in a state of rigid disapproval of your parents.”

“I need some records I’ve been storing there,” I say repressively, but I can’t hide my smile.

“Make sure you make a lot of noise,” my mum says. “It’ll teach your brother to come home at five in the morning and set the alarm off by trying to get into the shed.”

“The shed?”

“He thought it was the house and then got huffy with us for trying to get him into his own bed. Next time, I’ll leave him draped over the lawn mower.”

I escape and make my way upstairs, my muscle memory automatically counting the steps and allowing me to move easily. My bedroom is cool and airy and smells faintly of beeswax and a lost trace of Davidoff’s Cool Water. I’d practically bathed in it when I was fourteen, and it’s obviously penetrated the wallpaper.

I’m sitting on the bed and sorting out my vinyl, running my fingers along the braille labels I’d made so long ago when there’s a sound at the door. “Hello?”

“Are you finding more vinyl to bring to our place, Stan? At this point, I think we have more than HMV.”

I smile at Raff’s voice. “Oh, shut up. I’m trying to findComing Up.”

“By Suede?”

“Yep. I promised Lennon he could listen to it. He’s just discovered Britpop.”

“Wow! He’s actually left the seventies. Does that mean he’ll invest in a bowl cut and a pair of Clarks Wallabies?”

I snort. “Shut up.” The bed depresses, and I inhale his cologne's familiar spicy-sweet scent. “Did Wolfie beat you at football?”

“So conclusively that I can never face the FA again.”

“Their loss is Wolfie’s gain.”

“He fouled me and then had the nerve to blame it on me. I’ve been gaslit more times this afternoon than Stewart Granger.” I feel him lie back and exhale. “It’s so quiet here.”

“That’s because Vinnie is probably unconscious. Mum says he fell asleep on the lawnmower last night.”

He chuckles and the sound sends a tingle down my spine. “We can’t judge. Remember Lottie’s friend Louisa’s house party in Wimbledon when we were seventeen? We fell asleep in the bath.”

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