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I nod at her. “This is stunning. I’d not want crappy bands dossing here, it’s too nice. We might need to dumb down some rooms for some of the bands I know.”
“You think they might be a bit wild, and trash it?” She looks concerned.
“They’ll be fucking paying for it if they did. But no, just general wear and tear.” I stop talking and sip my drink. Looking over at her, gentling my voice, I ask, “How have you been, Evie? Things seemed a bit better the other night with your brothers?”
The smile she gives me is genuine. And, god, I love those smiles. I know the smile is for her brothers, but I want it to be for me. I want all her fucking smiles.
“I think we’ve got to an understanding. I’ve tried to tell them how I feel, but it’s hard without making them think they’re the pits of humanity. But I think they got it, and we’ve got there. I think they’re a bit shocked I’m not moving back, but I honestly don’t want to. I’m happy here on my own."
“Do you live here on your own? With no one else in the building?” I know concern is etched all over my face.
She nods, “Yes. Well, Tommy’s here of course, so not totally alone. The boys are here mostly, and will be until they go with you, what—at the end of May beginning of June? I’m only going to be here whilst the boys are. Once they go, I’ll probably go to Devon and concentrate on the building work there. My team here can sort most of the stuff. I only have to drop in.”
“You look really happy, really good,” I tell her. My mind is spinning, as I can see it’s the truth. She’s happy here on her own. No complications, no me. No brothers. On the outside, my practised demeanour may show a cool level of care and interest, but on the inside, I resemble that Edmund Munch painting, ‘The Scream’. I don’t want her unhappy, I want her to be like this, but enhanced. And I want that enhancement to be me.
“Thanks. I feel it. You look good as well. Are things going well in LA? Is the tour done?”
I drop my head back and sigh out, “Yep. And I’m looking forward to the breaks the festivals give us between gigs. But no doubt there’ll be media to do. And we’re working on some new stuff. We’ve a studio booked outside London to try and get some peace, as well as some work done.”
She looks thoughtful for a few moments. Watching me closely, she goes on to ask, “Will you have an entourage? Is Becky coming with Levi? I liked her, she was good fun.”
I grin in response. “Yeah, he’ll bring her. Her job was causing a few issues, so she’s packed it in. She’s going to do a bit of the social media stuff to support Mandy who does it now. Other than that, I suppose Gabe will bring his usual crew. Not sure about Xan. He picks up people as we go, normally.” I end it there to see if she asks if I’m bringing anyone. I pray she does, so I can say no. But she doesn’t. Damn those Greystone tactics.
We chat in familiar territory about James and Bucky. She tells me bits and bobs about Devon and Marshall, all superficial fluff, and around 4 p.m. she makes a move to pick up the cups.
“I’m sorry, but I need to get ready for my calls. You’re welcome to stay, but I’ll be on ‘til around 6:30. I’m sure you’ve got places to be.”
I fucking hate the polite ‘get lost,’ so I decide to ignore it. “No, I've got in early, so no one’s expecting me anywhere.”
I can see she’s surprised by that and goes on, “Oh, well, you’re welcome to stay a while and have tea, or supper, depending on the time I get off.” She rolls her eyes at me. “Feel free to ring my brothers. James and Bucky are at the house in the city, they could come over.”
My heart rate picks up, but I say coolly, “Won't it disturb you?”
“No, I’ll go downstairs. James and Buck will be happy for the distraction. Bucky is about as committed to his studies as I am to a no pudding rule, and James is not far behind him. Bucky said last week, ‘You turned me into a property owner and potential millionaire overnight. Why do I need A level Geography?’ I reminded him he needed to live to see the benefits, so they’re working.”
I grin at the threats, and I can just see Bucky pleading his case. “You get on your calls, I’ll phone them. I might go fetch them.”
She walks away, a polite smile on her face, and I scrub a hand down mine. I should leave. She doesn’t really want me here, I can tell. She’s so polite, but there’s an undercurrent I can’t put my finger on. Or should I say, I don’t want to try to. But it still doesn’t make me move.
Instead, I call my boys and her brothers and go and sit inside as the wind whips off the river, and watch the London boat traffic.
The next few hours of my life are the best and worst. The best because my sons and the three Greystone men turn up at Evie’s. Then Grace and Kenny phone to say they’re coming over. Kenny has been so blown away by the apartment, he’s told Grace. And she’s annoyed she’s not had a chance to see it yet.
We all decide to order food in. James insists we have Evie’s favourite—Katsu Curry from a restaurant in the city. They don’t deliver this far out, so Kenny and Grace offer to pick it all up on the way. By the time Evie is off her calls, it’s sevenish and Kenny and Grace are just pulling up with the food.
She looks at all the visitors in surprise, and I can see the tiredness around her eyes. I feel a pang of guilt that we are, again, taking advantage of her. So desperate are we all in whatever capacity to be with her, we disregard what she wants. What she needs. I know I’m being impatient and therefore selfish, but I’m not sure what else to do. I need to be able to spend time with her, show her that I actually do respect her. And want a relationship with her, on whatever level she will allow.
“I’m jumping in the shower and getting in my comfy clothes, so someone sort the food,” she calls out, disappearing into the apartment.
She perks up after the shower and I find myself in the weird role as co-host. I notice the t-shirt she’s wearing is mine from France. I’m not sure she realises I know she took it, and I certainly don’t think she’s sending me any messages. She’s made great pains for me to understand France is a mixed bag for her, so no souvenirs needed there.
We’re playing cards, and again, Marshall’s famous whiskey gets pulled out. It’s the real deal, the really good stuff. It goes down way too well, and I’m half-baked before ten o'clock.
Evie isn’t drinking—she’s had a glass, but that’s it. She’s patrolling the boys, who try to hit it hard, but she has them hustled off to bed around eleven. I see her yawn, and rub her eyes a bit as she’s loading the dishwasher and I unconsciously drift towards her, as if she has a magnetic pull on me. I help load by handing her pots.
“I bet you’ve never done this before,” she teases me. “This is a cup, it goes in here,” she’s exaggerating all her movements and mouthing the words very clearly.
“Very funny, Kitten.” I pull her towards me and kiss the top of her head. She freezes. I feel it just for a second, and realise what I’ve done. Fuck. That whiskey. I need to back off. I go to make it playful and tickle her sides.
