Page 45 of Unworthy
“No, I guess it’s not,” he whispered, staring off into the garden. I could feel the tears building and a lump forming in my throat. Images of Heath and Verity as small children watching their dogs getting taken away whilst they were left behind assaulted me. I shoved my face into Heath’s chest, and I let myself cry into his shirt, uncurling my hand from his to wrap my arm around his back. He paused for a moment, taking a deep shuddering breath in and then wrapped me in his arms.
“Jesus, Midge,” he said into my hair at the top of my head. “I didn’t mean to upset you, love. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you apologise to me,” I snapped as best I could, with my voice muffled in his chest and tears streaming down my face. “And I’ll cry if I want.”
He sighed. “Don’t pity me, Yaz. I’m fully grown now – not a child anymore.”
“It’s not about pity. I’m angry. These are angry tears.”
“There’s no point being angry. He’s dead now, and Mum may as well be.”
I didn’t press him to ask what that comment meant. There was no sign of his mother at the house. Mum and Dad had told me that the Markhams had divorced when the twins were teenagers. I’d seen pictures of his mum. She was very beautiful. Her father had owned a drug company, making her one of the mega-rich. She’d then married Heath’s dad, giving her a title on top of her vast wealth. But maybe being stuck out here in this mausoleum of a building was too constrictive for someone like her. After the divorce she apparently travelled the world, hanging out with the rich and famous.
Looking back, I realised I had seen her before in person during one of the times we stayed in a Markham family property in the south of France. I must have been about ten at the time. It was the middle of the night when I heard a crash downstairs, then wild laughter which woke me up. When I crept out into the corridor to look through the bannisters, I saw Heath crouched over a woman who was sprawled on the floor, a broken lamp lying next to her.
“Felicity, what are you doing here?” Heath said. His voice sounded funny – not soft and kind like it was normally. It sounded hard and annoyed, even angry. Her dress was shiny and tight, she was sosothin and wore bright red lipstick. She was one of the most glamorous people I’d ever seen.
“Heathy Beefy,” she sing-songed in a slurred voice. “How ever did you get so big, darling?” Heath put his arm around her back and hauled her up. She wobbled on her feet. “My boy, all grown up. Let’s have a drink. Where’s your sister? Verity!”
“Shh! It’s two in the morning. Verity’s sleeping and so is everyone else.”
“Psht, I can shout if I want in my own house.”
“Actually, it’smyhouse now. Or had you forgotten?”
There was that wild laughter again – she teetered to the side with the force of it, throwing her head back with her sandy blonde hair flying down her back in glamorous waves.
“Fuck you,” she spat when she had recovered from her laughing fit. “You always were a jumped-up little prick. Not so little now, but the same fun-sponge attitude. You and your sister, sucking all the joy out of my life like leeches. Now bring me some fucking champagne,leech.” She veered to the side to get around Heath but ended up falling at the foot of the stairs in a crumpled heap. Heath moved fast then, grabbing her by the back of her dress and hauling her to her feet.
“You can sleep it off here, but you’re out in the morning. And keep this shit with you.” He shoved her handbag at her. “There’re kids here, for Christ’s sake.”
Her beautiful face went pale for a moment before she retched. Heath wasn’t fast enough to step out of the way, and she threw up all over him. He looked absolutely furious as he hauled her off down the hallway to one of the spare rooms, her laughter echoing around the large space as she went. I’d run back to my bedroom when I heard Heath’s footsteps again – not wanting him to know I’d seen his mum (even at that age I was savvy enough to realise that Heath wouldn’t have wanted witnesses to that exchange). Mum woke me early the next morning. We weren’t due to leave till the following day, but she packed up and we were out of the door before even eating any breakfast. The spare room door remained shut, and as we were leaving everyone kept eyeing it like it was an unexploded bomb. There was no sign of the broken lamp or vomit in the hallway, and Heath was back to being normal Heath again. When Verity got up, he ushered her out of the house as quickly as possible. We took Verity to the airport, leaving a grim-faced Heath standing in the villa's doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. When he met us at the airport later on, nobody asked him anything. Mum just reached out to give his hand a quick squeeze, asked him if he’d eaten breakfast, and then gave him a slightly squashed cheese sandwich from her handbag, which he was too polite to refuse.
A little whimper from the dog and some movement from the front door pulled me back into the present.
“I think she needs feeding,” I said, pulling back a little to look up at Heath’s face. “Let’s all go get lunch somewhere. We can make a plan and feed the dogs. I don’t think there’ll be much edible in there.”
“There never really was,” Heath muttered, giving my hand a squeeze as we walked back to the others.
Chapter 22
You don’t even fit on the bed
Yaz
We went to the village pub for lunch and sat outside with the dogs. Winnie (her name was on the collar she was wearing) was given a bowl of Roger’s food and I fed Max’s sausage to both the dogs under the table, much to his disgust. I couldn’t exactly feed them my mushroom risotto, though – what did the tightwad expect? Heath and Verity were quiet at lunch, although there seemed to be some sort of unspoken twin conversation going on between them which we weren’t party to. The way they sometimes communicated was a little spooky. Dad gave Heath a couple of pats on the back and bought him a pint – I wouldn’t have thought that was the best cure for throwing up on the side of your family home, but in my dad’s book a pint of beer could solve just about anything. Mum fussed over them both, asking how we could help with the funeral arrangements – apparently the funeral directors had it covered. I did my usual thing when the atmosphere was heavy – goofing around to try and lighten it.
“Oh wow. This is bad, really bad, Max,” I said in an ominous voice as I examined his palm. He and Verity were discussing the LSE bid, and I’d offered to read his palm to let him know if they were going to get it. Weirdly, my brother actually believed in this stuff, even though it was the one element of my alternative repertoire that was completely made up for his benefit. I’d predicted correctly about a bad construction firm once and now he was hooked.
“What?” he asked in a panicked voice. “Is that shit Yurgen going to get it again?”
“No, no. You’ll get the job, it’s just…” I trailed off and he leaned forward in his chair towards me. “What?”
“This line here. See it?”
“Yes?” Everyone was leaning forward to get a look at Max’s palm now.
“Well, it’sreallydeep and long. I’m afraid it means that you’re a full numpty.”
