Page 17 of An Unholy Affair
‘Yes,’ she replied, moving on auto-pilot to make him a cup of tea.
‘Jolly good.’ He reached for the biscuit tin and peered inside. ‘Where are my custard creams?’
Eveline looked over her shoulder to see Estelle holding up the nibbled remains of the last one.
‘I’m afraid this is all that’s left,’ Estelle said. ‘Want to finish it? I’ve saved the best bit till last.’
Simon stared at her as if she’d just offered him a sheet of second-hand toilet roll.
‘No, thank you,dear.’
The kettle came up to the boil at the same time as Estelle. Eveline took her friend’s arm and hauled her up.
‘Estelle was just leaving.’ She tossed her friend a pleading look.
‘Humph,’ said Simon.
‘Yes, I was,’ Estelle agreed. ‘Good luck tonight, Eveline.’
‘Eh?’ Simon interjected.
‘Eveline’s going on a thrilling date later,’ Estelle said. ‘A chap called Wolf Redwood she met on some Christian website. I’ve seen a photo. He’s mid-thirties, plays squash three times a week and is incredibly rugged and handsome. He’s a hedge fund manager and has a Labrador called Bunty.’
If Simon had appeared displeased at the lack of custard creams, this piece of information looked like it might send him into apoplexy.
Estelle gave her an over-exaggerated wink. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, you saucepot!’
‘Estelle!’
Her friend popped the remains of the custard cream in her mouth and waggled her fingers. ‘I’ll see myself out.’
4
Jack stood outside the front door of his family home, summoning the strength to knock. The only reason he wasn’t on a bus back to Bath right now was the love he had for his sister and her family.
The intense nausea from earlier had returned. He’d been over twenty-four hours without sleep and over twelve without food. Throw in his dad’s death, his mother’s meltdown, and discovering Eveline was here in Foxbrooke and he was unravelling too fast to control.
His sister opened the front door. ‘I saw you through the window. Come in.’
‘How is she?’
‘Upstairs, with Steph and Betsy.’ She smiled at the look of confusion on his face. ‘Let’s go into the kitchen and have a cup of tea. Kettle’s just boiled.’
He followed her through and sat at the dining table in the same place he’d always done. His fingertips ran along the faint indentations underneath, lines he’d scored in the wood with the point of a pair of scissors. One tiny rebellion. A little ‘fuck you’ to his parents, right under their noses.
Emily put a mug of tea in front of him and a glass of water.
‘Drink the water first. You smell hungover.’
He sipped it slowly, worried he might immediately throw it back up again.
‘Betsy needed her nap,’ his sister continued. ‘And Mum had a fit of remorse and wanted to help put her down. She lay on the bed next to her and pretended to fall asleep, which Betsy copied. They’re both sparko now.’
A shocked laugh escaped him. ‘What the fuck?’
His sister grinned back. ‘I know, right? Mental. Anyway, Steph’s sitting up there with them just in case Mum wakes first, or rolls onto Betsy.’ She tapped the side of his water glass. ‘Keep going.’
‘Yes, Mum.’
