Charlie
We are tipsy and talking loudly over one another by the desert course. There are four different conversations at the table that sometimes cross over each other.
Even Danny is relaxed and laughing.
A few times, his legs brush against mine under the table, and I wonder if it’s by accident.
Tristan has served up or, more precisely, paid someone else to serve up a storm. The extent of his work was letting the caterers in and showing them where the kitchen was.
Dinner was a complicated, decadent beef wellington with trimmings followed by an even more labour-intensive baked Alaska that Mum turned her nose up at. I could read her mind. Too fancy.
I’m so full that I have to subtly open the top button on my jeans without anyone noticing.
“Fucking hell!” Rebecca screams, looking at something under the table.
Everyone abruptly stops talking.
“Honey?” Giles jumps into action beside his wife.
“Tristan, you have a mouse!” she shrieks, leaping up from the table, pushing her chair away so that it falls to the floor.
Callie jumps on top of her chair. Mum knocks over an entire bottle of wine, spilling it across the table.
Karl jumps up from his seat and leaps back two metres, looking unexpectedly shook up for a man of 6’2. Giles tries to console Rebecca, who wails like a banshee, and Tristan and Danny are under the table. Jack sits back, laughing his head off.
It’s mayhem.
“I see it!” Danny yells from under the table. “Fuck, it bit me!”
That’s enough to set Rebecca off again. Rebecca, Callie, and Mum have formed some sort of demon choir, standing on their chairs wailing.
I peer under and spot the culprit.
“It’s OK!” I shout. “That’s my mouse.”
Danny comes out from under the table, holding the mouse from my taxidermy class.
“What the hell is this?” His jaw slackens as he studies my creation, suited in its teeny tiny waistcoat. A trace of blood trickles from his finger. “That bloody sword it’s holding pricked me. And why is it wearing a hat?”
“What do you mean, your mouse?” Rebecca queries, visibly shaking. “Is it a pet?”
“I taxidermied it,” I explain as everyone looks between the mouse and me, confused.
Her eyes widen. “And you took it here?” she shrieks. “To a dinner party?”
I whither a little.
“I forgot it was in my bag,” I mumble as they all lean in to inspect the mouse.
I grab the culprit from Danny, complete with hat and sword, and fire it back into my bag.
He bites his lower lip, trying not to laugh.
“He must have fallen out.”
“I’m terrified of mice.” Rebecca stares at me as if I’ve just declared genocide. “Can you put that thing outside?”
“It’s dead, Becks.” Danny laughs. “It won’t hurt you. Except if you stab yourself with that little sword.”
The men roar their heads off while Mum attempts to clean up the damage she has caused with the red wine spillage. Jack howls with tears coming down his face.
“Sorry,” I gulp, pulling my bag close to me. “I’ll just put him outside until I leave.” I think it’s a him. Although I don’t remember seeing a little penis.
“You are so weird.” Callie rolls her eyes. “No wonder you don’t have a boyfriend.”
“All this fuss over a dead mouse,” I mutter. “Drama queens.”
Rebecca gives me a death stare.
“I think it’s endearing.” Tristan chuckles as I escort the mouse out of the dining room.
“It’s part of our flat charter to try anything once,” I explain as I enter the room again. When I say it out loud to two CEOs and two world class lawyers, I feel a tad childish.
Rebecca eyes my bag suspiciously.
“It’s a good motto.” There’s a hint of humour in Danny’s eyes. The tension in his jaw relaxes for the first time, maybe since he was born. I swear he came out of his mother’s stomach with a jaw that could cut steel.
Tristan slaps his hands together. “Crisis averted. Is everyone suitably full? Because we’re ready to introduce the after-dessert entertainment.”
My stomach sinks as Tristan smiles at me suggestively.
“No, Tristan,” I groan, folding my arms. “I’m not entertainment. I’m not a bloody clown. Even if I do provide animals. It’s not a circus.”
I know what he’s hiding.
He gets up and walks out into the hallway, then pops his head around the door, his eyes twinkling at me.
“No,” I repeat firmly as he thrusts a guitar out from behind the doorway.
All of them cheer and yelp as I glare at the guitar.
“I’ve had too much wine to do this coherently.” I sigh. “And my stomach is too full to lean a guitar against.”
“Please, sis,” he whines, giving me his best pout. “It’s my birthday.”
“You were forty, three days ago,” I growl back, shooting my hand out to take the guitar. I won’t hear the end of it until I’ve played the damn song.
The men whoop in appreciation like they are at a concert, and I realise just how drunk they all are.
I pull in a breath and strum the first few cords.
It’s a soft, understated song, and I sing it in the low husky voice that it deserves. I lower my gaze to the guitar focusing on the strings. It’s easier that way. I can get lost in the music and forget that they are here. I’m shy performing when people are so close, even if they have heard me lots of times.
I wrote the song as a thank you to Tristan for stepping in to support us when Dad left and for always protecting us. When I look up, his eyes are watering, and his mouth quivers as he tries to hold back his tears. Mum looks like she’s going to blubber as well.
Get a grip, people.
It’s partially the wine talking, but I know I’ve hit a nerve.
“Beautiful, Charlie,” Rebecca gushes as I come to an end, and a round of clapping erupts throughout the table.
“I thought this was a party, not a funeral,” Callie mutters as I shoot daggers at her.
“Tristan, are you actually crying?” Jack laughs, observing a sniffly Tristan.
“He didn’t even cry when he lost the Hamilton case.” Danny smirks. “Now he’s blubbering like a baby.”
“Piss off,” he snaps, wiping his eyes a little.
Rebecca strokes his knee. “Ignore them, Tristan.” She turns her attention back to me. “What a talent you have. It’s such a unique sound.”
“It’s just a hobby.” I shrug, picking at the hole in my jeans.
“Well, I’m honoured.” Tristan beams, stepping around the table so that he can gather me up in a hug. “To my beautiful, talented little sister, Charlie.” He raises his glass as one arm snakes around my shoulders.
I roll my eyes. “The only guy I’ve ever written a song about is my brother. How pathetic am I.”
“He’s a very lucky guy,” Danny says, his voice thick.
I look over, and something akin to pride flickers over his face.
***
There’s an annoying buzzing sound demanding attention. I shuffle in the bed, ignoring it. It keeps going.
What the hell? I peel my eyes open, confused. Has Cat come home and started playing music?
It can’t be my alarm; it’s too dark to be morning.
I force myself up in the bed and look around for the source of the sound. My phone lights up on the bedside table.
Who is ringing in the middle of the night?
My bedside clock says ten past midnight. I must have fallen into a deep sleep as soon as I hit the pillow. A food coma from Tristan’s.
I grapple at the phone, cursing the fucker on the other end. They aren’t giving up.
Sharp green light stings my eyes, and the caller flashes across the screen. My heart goes from resting to racing in the space of seconds.
“Hello,” I whisper, bringing the phone to my ear. I’m wide awake now.
There’s a long pause.
“I need to see you.” His voice takes the breath from my lungs.
“You saw me at the party.”
“It’s not enough,” his deep voice replies. “Look, I don’t know what this is, but I know I don’t want to keep playing this game of cat and mouse with you.”
I listen.
“I came over, we went too far … but it was nice, then you flipped and kicked me out. Less than a week later, you’re out with some bloke. I don’t know where I stand with you.”
“You can talk,” I retort indignantly. “Says the guy who’s tomcatting his way around London.”
“Tomcatting? Seriously, Charlie?” He lets out a long sigh. “My reputation precedes me, don’t believe all you hear.”
“Oh, really?” I summon a deep breath. “In that case, when was the last time you slept with someone?”
“Jen. The night when you saw me in the restaurant.”
“That was a few weeks ago,” I calculate in disbelief. “You expect me to believe that? What about the girl on Wednesday?”
“The girl on Wednesday …” His voice trails off. “I’m assuming you are talking about the Brazilian lady that took a liking to me at the after club. It seems the employees do talk.”
“Yes. Her,” I mutter dryly. “And yes, you were the talk of the office.”
“Nope,” he replies in a level tone. “I get hit on a lot. It goes with the territory. It doesn’t mean I always act on it.”
We fall silent.
“Can I get a car to collect you?”
I wonder if he can hear my heartbeat through the phone.
“Charlie,” he repeats, his voice gravelly. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” I choke out.
“Yes, you heard me, or yes, I can send a car?”
“Yes to both.”
“Good girl,” he growls, triggering a rush of heat between my legs.
“Oh, and Charlie?”
“Yes?”
“The offer doesn’t extend to your little waistcoated friend this time.” He chuckles. “The car will be outside in fifteen minutes.”
The phone goes dead, and I collapse onto the bed.
