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“We can sort it while you’re here, no problem. Where are you staying?” I ask him.
“Hotel,” he states with a curl of his lip.
“What's up with the Fam?” James asks.
He shudders. “Everything,” he says dramatically.
“Why don’t you stay here? We have the room,” Jonno offers him, looking at me.
I shrug outwardly. But what the hell is Jonno thinking? If we have Xan, we can hardly say ‘No’ to Marcus.
“If that’s okay, it would be amazing. I can sort the birthday stuff with you as well. Marcus is going to be so pissed off. I know you don’t want him here, Evie—he keeps going on about it—but I’m sending him a selfie in your bed.” He starts to laugh, barely getting out, “He’s going to have a heart attack,” before he falls into a full fit of hysterics.
~Tequila I think you are the devil drink. What have I done?
As it turns out, Xander never did get the selfie of death. He’d forgotten about a gig, as you do, and had to jet back to the states to do it. I can imagine, however, the diatribe of crap he spewed Marcus’s way when he saw him. And I know it must have been bad as Marcus is back to calling me everyday. Of course I’m not picking up, as I’ve told him he doesn’t need me to help sort anything with James. He resorts to photos, usually of himself in a pissed off pose, or recordings of him telling me to answer the fucking phone.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
MARCUS
My birthday is approaching rapidly, maybe too rapidly, and I need to talk to both James and Evie about the party. I want them both there, need them to join in my life. I want to include them, be at the centre of my world. But as Xander is in charge of entertainment, god knows what he’ll set up. When I asked him if it's PG, he laughed. Message received. So, I’ve compromised with a two day event. The first day for my friends, the second day for my family and any friends who survive day one.
James listens to the plan, says fair enough, and decides he’ll settle for the family event this time.
For Evie, I’ve resorted to tactics from my childhood and turned up mob handed. My mob includes all my bandmates, Tim, Anthony, his wife Orla and, unexpectedly, Isobel. She’s been begging me to sort things out. Claims in the spirit of moving forward, she wants to apologise to Evie for her behaviour that contributed to Evie leaving Yorkshire. I think she’s genuine, but I’m not certain what Evie will think.
We’re all sat in the large kitchen/diner/snug that constitutes the Greystone’s main room. It’s the first time I’ve ever really seen it properly. The first time I was here, I never got past the door. Only really saw the floor when I got punched. The second time, I was just passing through on my way home.
It’s a gorgeous homey room, full of family pictures everywhere you look—a snapshot into their lives through the ages. I’m a little jealous of what I’ve missed out on, and this room showcases that.
The walls are bare brick which makes it feel rustic, but with state of the art appliances. It has a loft feeling to it, even though it’s probably a Georgian house, open plan, and we’re all sat at the table which seats ten. Jonno and Jackson are in the kitchen area sorting drinks, and James has taken Anthony's three boys to play Xbox. The three Purcell boys are a tour de force, and James has no chance against the trio.
Jude arrives home before Evie and is taking his coat and shoes off, shouting to Jonno to put the kettle on. He must hear us talking, as he pops his head around the door, sees us all, and closes his eyes. “You feeling brave then, Kellen?” he shouts through.
I smile at his question. You bet I am.
I hear her before I see her.
The door gives an almighty bang and she’s screaming in the hall, literally screaming at the top of her lungs, then cheering. She’s obviously kicking her shoes off as we hear a bang, bang against the wall. We can’t tell what she’s shouting about, other than sheer jubilation.
Jude shouts out and comes backwards through the door with Evie attached to his front. Her legs are around his waist, her skirt rucked up around the top of her thighs, and, fuck me, she’s wearing a garter with black, lace-topped stockings.
Her hair looks like someone’s been grasping her head, the messy bun askew and shedding unruly tendrils from every angle. Her blue satin blouse is pulled out of her skirt and is gaping open as she covers Jude’s face in kisses and pulls at his hair. He falls backwards onto the settee just inside the door, Evie still on top of him, yelling in his face. We all sit there in total silence, staring at the most beautiful sight I’ve seen in the last few months.
She sits up suddenly, and throws her hands in the air, shouting, “I’m in love! Someone book the fucking church. That building is so gorgeous, Jude. Oh my god, so, so beautiful. Don’t let Jonno get a restraining order against me again, I’ll die.” She’s laughing, looking down at him.
“How much, Evie?” Jude asks her.
She hasn’t even noticed us yet. She bends down, pushing her skirt up even further, and I close my eyes so I don’t groan out loud.
She grabs his face, and says, “My own money, Brown. I don’t have to tell you.”
“How much for the factory?” He gives her a stern look and she relents, putting her index finger and thumb together.
“Cheap, so cheap.” She grins at him, obviously trying to distract him. “Okay, three point five. But a snip. It’s my heaven,” she says dreamily.
