Page 9 of The Professor
He frowned, his bushy eyebrows drawing together. “You have to get your head down, young lady, this research thesis will open doors for you.”
“If it doesn’t, I’m sure you’ll open them for me.” I finished my bottle of water and dropped it in the recycling. “You know people in high places, right?”
“That is not the attitude.” He burped. “Oh, sorry.”
I frowned. “But a fact.”
He reached for a crystal tumbler and poured whisky. “A fact your brother could have made good use of.” He used the glass to gesture around the vacuous kitchen. “If he were around.”
I scowled. “Vince has made his choices.”
“Crap choices, Chelsea, utter crap. We gave him everything, all of his life he had a silver spoon sticking out of his mouth. The best private schools, he’d traveled the globe before his twenty-first birthday, hung out with the stars, trekked Antarctica, all at our expense, and now…now he’s just fucking gone when we need him most.” He knocked back a mouthful of drink. “Gone off with those…those lawless troublemakers who all deserve to be slung in jail and the key thrown away.”
I rubbed my temples. This was a familiar rant after a few drinks, and I had no answers for my father.
“They just do what they want, the law means nothing to them. Why he had to get mixed up I have no idea.”
“I’m sure he’ll see his mistakes and come back,” I ventured. “Eventually.”
“You live in a fantasy world.” My father slammed his glass down. “He’s sworn an oath to The Beasts, even had their goddamn logo tattooed on his back.”
“How do you know?” My eyes widened. I hadn’t seen Vince for eleven months, and he hadn’t answered my calls either. I was desperate for news. “Did you see him?”
“No, course not.” He rolled his eyes. “But I have been keeping an eye on him. What kind of father would I be if I didn’t?”
“Where is he?”
“With his big tough motorcycle club.” The scorn in his voice was snake-like.
“Here? In Oxfordshire?”
“No, from what I hear he’s been in Wales and now headed north. That’s what they do, they roam around looking for trouble.” He poured another drink. “Your mother would turn in her grave.”
My mother being mentioned always felt like a slap to the face when it came out of the blue. Although this wasn’t completely out of the blue. My father used her, the memory of her, to express his disappointment in Vince often enough. Maybe, if I was being kind, it was because he’d lost them both so close together.
“I have work to do.” I reached for the tote bag that held my thesis, or the very start of it anyway. “I’ll see you later.”
“Sure thing, sweet pie.” He held up his glass. “I’m proud of you, you know.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I made my escape before he went from being angry with Vince to gushy about me and then emotional about Mum. Tina could tend him if he needed anything other than a long sleep to digest his lunch and the alcohol.
I went to my room, a luxurious space in white and pale pink. French doors led to a balcony that this time of year was hung with a pretty lilac clematis that wound over the balcony. I dropped my bag on the outdoor table and sat heavily. I could really do with my brother right now. Not to talk to about the professor, he wouldn’t understand that in a million years, but to cope with Dad and his increasingly heavy drinking and march toward a coronary. We’d be orphans soon if he carried on.
Vince and I had been close growing up. He was only two and a half years older than me. Building tree houses had been fun, so had horse riding, kayaking on the Cherwell, and hiking in the Berkshire Downs with our three King Charles spaniels.
But when Mom had died suddenly, Vince had become angry more than sad, he’d been bitter and resentful of everything, and then he’d just vanished, leaving me at home to cope alone.
I missed him, the old him, every day.
But he wasn’t coming back. He’d jumped on the huge Harley he doted on and gone off with like-minded guys. The sort who lived hard, lived by codes, and lived the way they damn well wanted to.
The last time I’d seen him he’d had his knuckles tattooed and was dressed head to toe in leather. My father and he had a row that must surely have been heard from space. I’d kept out of the way in my bedroom, muffling their anger with a pillow over my head. The fury spurting from each of them was intense, their battle with words as harsh as blows to the jaw and guts.
My heart had pounded, my tears had flowed, and then eventually, after a final insult, Vince had straddled his bike and ridden away.
I hadn’t seen him since, and it broke my heart all over again.
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