My brother went on a coffee run this morning.
Knocked on my door, opened it anyway without a response.
“Oh,” I looked over at him, crossing my arms as I sat up, “how kind of you to remove your tongue from Magnolia Parks’ mouth long enough to be a functional member of society—”
“Functional might be a bit of a stretch.” He smirked.
Handed me an oat cap. Handed Tiller his.
“Americano, right?” My brother smiled at him mindlessly.
Tiller frowned. “Right.”
I could see it on him, this weird discomfort in the fact that my brother knows him; knows him enough to know his coffee order, and to think of him in the morning enough to buy him one.
He overthinks, Tiller — I’ve said that before but I can see the cogs spinning behind his eyes. He thinks Julian buying him a coffee means that he’s assimilated too much, that he’s too much a part of the furniture, that my brother’s too used to him being here, but I don’t think any of that’s true. My brother’s just thoughtful.
People think he’s not, but he is. Very much so. He just chooses not to act on it a lot of the time. It’s not a far leap from thoughtful to calculated and no one would question me once if I called Julian calculated, but let me be clear: My brother is both.
Tiller put the coffee down, didn’t even take a sip.
“Gonna go for a run,” he said without looking at me. Swapped his pants, took off his shirt, pulled on his shoes and that was that. Fucked off quick smart.
I sighed, tired, even though we’d just woken up.
I walked over to my brother’s room, pushed the door open and groaned when I saw them in bed — even though it’s exactly what I thought I’d walk in on.
“Daisy!” Magnolia’s dumb face lit up. “Hi!”
She sat up straighter, leant out of my brother’s embrace — which was weird, actually — Julian’s not much of a cuddler.
“It’s great to see you— I’m sorry about last night.”
I rolled my eyes again and leant against his wall. “Are you guys trying to break some kind of record?”
Julian tossed me a look as he swallowed his coffee. “You’re one to talk, Face — you blocked out your memories of yourself this time last year?”
I flipped him off.
“Do you want me to pick out your outfit for New Year’s Eve?” she offered with a big smile.
“No—” I shook my head with a scowl. “I really, really don’t.”
“Oh.” She frowned, looked over at my brother. “Do you want me to pick out your outfit?”
“Nope.”
“Strange.” Her mouth puckered. “Everyone usually is dying for me to dress them — I’m very good at it,” she told us both, glancing between us.
“Still a no from me—” I yawned, walking out of the room.
“Good to see you!” she called.
And I kept shaking my head because I hate her. More than I did a minute ago because before that I hadn’t even thought about what I was going to wear tonight and I’d since rejected the assistance of arguably London’s most fashionable girl, so I’d had to go all out just to prove to her I don’t need the help.
When she’d see me later in the outfit I’d eventually pick,1 she’d tilt her head and stare down at my feet in their boots and say, “You might want to pair that with a strappy sandal instead.”
And I’d say, “Or I might not” before swearing under my breath, because fuck, she’s right. A strappy sandal would really tie this together.
God, she’s fucking annoying.
More annoying is that an hour later the perfect pair of strappy heels for the outfit is sitting on my bed, new with tags.
When in the actual fuck did that idiot have time to run out to Harrods and back?
I decide I’m not going to wear them until the very last moment when I haven’t found anything better and now the outfit feels incomplete, and I almost don’t care until I wonder if Christian will be there? And then I feel like shit, because maybe Christian will be there, maybe he won’t, but either way, Tiller will and so I should wear the shoes because I want to look good for him. And let me just reiterate, she is unbearably annoying, but God, she’s good at clothes.
I put it on, steel myself for the barrage of annoying comments I’m sure I’m about to get from her about being right and knowing everything and having the supreme style of the galaxy but all that happens when she sees me is her eyes fall down my outfit, land on the shoes and she smiles to herself a tiny bit before standing with my brother’s friends while she waits for hers to get here.
Tiller comes and stands next to me uncomfortably, surveying the crowd.
“This party is both better and worse than I’d imagined,” he concedes.
“Come on Tills—” I poke him. “Loosen up.”
“Daisy.” He gives me a look. “I’m in a room full of people who I have dedicated the last five years of my professional life to catching. Give me a fucking break.”
I sigh big and take a drink before I shake my head at him, sort of feeling as though I’d like a bit of row. “You know I didn’t make you come to this…”
“Yeah—” He rolls his eyes. “Like I wasn’t going to spend New Year’s with my girlfriend—”
“You didn’t spend Christmas with me.” I remind him, not sure why.
He gives me a look. “And how’d that turn out?”
“We could have spent it with your friends—” I shrug with an innocent face before I swap it to a glare. “Oh no, wait — we couldn’t have, because you don’t invite me to shit with them.”
He swallows, shaking his head. “Let’s not do this right now.”
“Why?” I ask, sort of liking the friction. Maybe because it’s at least something.
“Because I’m not ready, Dais,” he tells me with this look that makes me stop.
His eyes look round and sad and I remember that before he was my boyfriend who I fight with constantly because who my family is and maybe even who I am — to him — is fundamentally unacceptable, there was a time when Tiller was the man with the bluest eyes on the planet who for me became a winter coat in the dead of a cold December’s night when I was in nothing but a tank top.
“Okay.” I nod and take his hand, squeezing it. I nod my head out of the room.“Let’s go upstairs…” I pull him out of the room, catching my brother’s eye across the room. ‘Roof?’ I mouth to him.
Julian nods as he slips his hand into Magnolia’s, and I watch it kill BJ a bit and I watch my brother see that, scoop up the squashed parts of him2 and spread them on toast.
Julian’s relishing in it. He’s such a prick sometimes.
And then I realise Christian’s here, on his way up to the roof with us. I feel this burst of excitement and sadness. That he’s here, that I can see him, but also that I’m excited and I’m with someone else anyway and somehow I now seem to want different things than what either of them can give me.
Tiller strikes up a conversation with Henry because Henry could strike up a conversation with a mute foreigner in under five seconds — probably heal their muteness and teach them seventeen languages while he’s at it.
“Hi,” Christian says, siding up next to me. He looks so good.
“Hey.” I smile.
“Like your outfit.” He nods his head at me. “Sick shoes.”
Magnolia Parks looks over her shoulder and gives me a wordless, smug look and I wonder if she knows in this very moment I can think of three legitimate ways to kill her on the spot. Four! I just thought of a fourth.
The roof is a bar that my brother made. Fully stocked and staffed at all times with everything you could possibly think of. There are rumours about it, whether it’s even true — stuff of legends up here, the things that have gone down, the deals that’ve been made.
There’s one way up, one way down.3 There’s a secret path through the hollow of the roof to a little nook that’s not on any blue plans (not that there are blue plans) that I’m not meant to go to unless I’m hiding but sometimes I use for the view. Not lately, obviously — I haven’t been here lately.
Tiller peers down at me all curious when we step out onto it.
“You’ve never brought me up here before.”
I give him an uncomfortable smile. “It’s not really the sort of place you’d usually want to know exists.”
He nods once and looks around uneasy but he sits down next to my brother anyway — looking between Julian and Magnolia, who, once again, is on his lap.
“So, how long have you two been hooking up, then?”
“Hmm.” Magnolia purses her lips, thinking. “Probably broaching on seventy-four hours now?”4
My brother bites on her shoulder because he’s disgusting like that.
“Non-stop.”5
I make a sound at the back of my throat.
“And you—” She bats her eyes at Tiller. “You two have been quite together a while then, yes?”
Tiller nods, throwing an arm around me. “Nearly eleven months,” he tells her.
Christian shifts in his chair. Looks at his hands.
I feel sick.
Magnolia leans in towards Tiller curiously. “You have such a wonderful smile6 — your teeth are so clean.”
Tiller lets out this little baffled laugh which is one of three possible responses to Magnolia Parks at any given time.
“My mom’s a dentist,” he tells her.
“Ah.” She smiles pleasantly.
“You have good teeth too,” Tiller tells her. “What’s your story?”
“Oh.” She shrugs. “I just have very attractive, albeit rather shitty parents.”
“Same—” I say without thinking and Magnolia lights up at the connection point, so quickly I say, “What are doing back here? I thought you moved.” Because I don’t want her to think we’re suddenly friends.
Julian gives me a look, knows what I’m doing — I ignore him.
“I was offered a new role here if I moved back—”
“Doing what?” my brother asks, interested, and I look over at him, a bit annoyed.
“You’ve spent how much time together and you don’t know that?”
He shakes his head indifferently. “Haven’t done a lot of talking, Dais.”
Magnolia smacks him quiet — never seen anyone smack him quiet before.
“Just the fashion editor at Tatler.” She says with a breezy smile before she leans in towards Tiller. “Julian says you’re an agent at the NCA?”
Tiller looks past her to my brother for a second, and I think he thinks it’s weird, maybe, that Julian talks about him? Tiller nods anyway.
“I am.”
“That’s such an exciting job.” She smiles, takes a drink from my brother’s glass. “Who’s the craziest person you’ve ever caught?”7
Tiller frowns a bit, catches my brother’s eye before he points a bit gingerly towards him.
“Oh.” She frowns, purses her lips. Shifting on my brother’s lap, turning in to face him. “Was it a misunderstanding?”
Julian stares at her for a few seconds, I think trying to work out whether she’s serious.
“Yeah.” He nods eventually.
“Oh—” She breathes out, content with that answer. “How wonderful that you sorted it out, otherwise this would have been very awkward.”8
“Right?” Jules nods as he flicks me an amused look.
Christian’s watching me closely, trying to catch my eye, but I won’t let him because I don’t want Tiller to see that I still look at Christian how I do, because I don’t mean to do it, I just do it, and I’m already feel sad because everything about Tiller and I feels so strained right now.
Tills isn’t having fun, that much is obvious — which means I’m not having fun, because he’s my boyfriend, and I can’t leave him. So even though I’m with a bunch of people I really like and Magnolia Parks, I’m having a rubbish time because he is. He’s stiffened up, talks a little to the Ballentine boys for a while, probably because they’re not criminals — but then TK, Booker and Decks pull up on the roof and his jaw goes tight and his face goes serious.
He clocks me. “I’ve gotta go, Dais.”
“What?” I frown, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from everyone.
“To sleep—” he says, lying. “Early start, you know?”
I shake my head a tiny bit. “I didn’t know you were working tomorrow.”
“Oh—” He shrugs. “I am.”9
“It’s a public holiday.”
“Yeah, it’s—” He shakes his head. “I’m trailing someone.”10
“Right.” I nod, and I can’t really look at him because I didn’t want this. I want him to remember that I didn’t want this. Also, I hate being lied to, and I know he’s lying. I know it’s just that he can’t work out how to ring in the new year with all these people who I love who just happen to be criminals and still do what he does for a living. That’s what it actually is, it’s easier for us both to just pretend he has an early start… that he’s not just going to spend tomorrow driving around following a lead that doesn’t exist for a case that isn’t a priority.
I lead him downstairs, down to my room.
He touches my face. “I love you,”11 he tells me.
He does. I know. But it’s past midnight on that stupid ship and the water’s up to our knees now.
“I love you too,” I tell him anyway. Sinking ships can pull you under like that.
“I’m not tired,” I tell him. “I might head back up.”
Something pained darts across his face, like how your face might go before a doctor resets a broken bone.
“Yeah—” He brushes his mouth over mine. “You should.”
I nod.
He kisses me again and I feel like I could cry.
“Will you be sad by yourself down here?” I ask, taking a step back.
He shakes his head. “I’ll be sleeping.” And we’re back to lying.
“I’ll come back down soon,” I tell him even though we both know it’s not true and it frightens me how life can sneak up on you and unravel you and your boyfriend completely, turning you into a pair of liars, making your safe place all of a sudden feel like a house of cards.
I close my door, try not to feel like I’m closing the door on us as I make my way back upstairs, Julian’s dog following me for some reason, which I guess is sort of cute. I don’t know where Christian is anymore, and that’s not why I’m coming back up now anyway, the thoughts aren’t connected. But it doesn’t bode that well for a boy like him, to not know where he is. Too many nooks in this house for him to use, he knows them all, I’ve shown them to him. He’s with Vanna now probably, I tell myself as I look around on the roof. I don’t know — I didn’t see her before, but then I wasn’t paying too close attention, nor should I have been because I have a boyfriend.
I have a boyfriend but here I am anyway.
And then I see him.
1 The black ‘Nyoka’ dress from Nanushka.
2 Him being, BJ, the person he was friends with a week ago.
3 …that anyone else knows about.
4 Revolting. Please kill me.
5 Kill me faster.
6 He does.
7 Oh, God.
8 She’s a spectacular idiot.
9 Another lie.
10 Another.
11 Not a lie.
