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“Um,” Ambrose managed, still trying to take in the fact that his not-boyfriend’s family lived in what was basically a mansion. Or a stately home, at the very least. He wondered if he’d be expected to leave his shoes at the door. Then he wondered if he should leave them on, and start his Annoying Ambrose routine early.
He didn’t get a chance to decide because the front door swung open, and Grandad Billy was standing there, rubbing his hands together. “Would you look at the lot of you, standing there? Do you not have the good sense to come in out of the rain?” he said, beaming at them.
“Now, Dad, let them catch a breath,” Fi said, bustling out from behind him. Then, heedless of the rain, she darted out to the car to lift Balian from Bridget’s arms. “Oh, here he is! Here’s my little darling!”
“We won’t see him again until we leave,” Bridget said, as Fi bustled back to the cover of the veranda with Balian, but she didn’t look too upset by the idea.
She grabbed the baby bag from the back seat and followed her mother inside, and Orhan and Liam took the rest of the luggage between them while Ambrose pushed down his natural urge to offer to help. Instead he wandered up onto the porch and left the bag with the baby bomb on one of the bench seats there, stuck his hands in his pockets and proclaimed, “I’m hungry.”
Grandad Billy raised his eyebrows. Ambrose shuffled his feet and fixed his gaze on the ground, channelling the surly fourteen-year-old he’d once been. So he didn’t see it coming and nearly leapt a foot in the air when a meaty hand clapped him on the back, knocking the wind out of him. “A man after my own heart!” Grandad exclaimed. “Come inside, and we’ll find you something. How do you feel about cheese?”
“Oh,” said Ambrose. “Ambivalent?”
“Oh, a challenge!” Grandad Billy exclaimed. “Come on, son, I’m going to change your mind on that!”
And he shepherded Ambrose, still dripping, into the house.
Chapter Eight
Liam
Coming home always felt good. Even that hectic first hour or two when everybody was catching up, because for some reason the family had never gotten the hang of waiting their turn to talk. They just got louder and louder as they shouted excitedly over one another. Liam heard all about Mum’s saga of trying to get the antique grandfather clock repaired—“Can you believe I have to send it to Melbourne? Melbourne? What’s that going to cost me?”—and Dad’s experiment with cider, and Grandad’s adventures in fitting out the new guest cabins, and how Riley was in danger of failing her Year Twelve English assignment, but only because her teacher was ‘a complete dickhead’ and it wasn’t Riley’s fault at all. Liam took that with a grain of salt about the same size as the Sydney Opera House, because not a single one of his sisters had been an easy student. He knew that because all the teachers had sighed in relief when they’d realised he wasn’t like his sisters at all, and wasn’t going to argue every step of the way.
Ambrose was wedged on the overstuffed couch in the sitting room, with Grandad Billy on one side, and John Phillip the dog on the other side. John Phillip was part Scottish Deerhound and part stubborn bastard, and he was staring intently at Ambrose’s plate of cheese and crackers as though he thought that if he concentrated hard enough, they would be his. Liam couldn’t remember who had named the dog, or why they’d called him John Phillip, but he had a vague recollection that the story involved Grandad, a bottle of wine and a fond reminiscence about a hairy guy he’d bought black market tobacco off in the pub back in the day.
Ambrose levered a piece of Camembert onto a cracker and raised it to his mouth. John Phillip sighed loudly when he ate it, and Ambrose gave him a worried look. Liam wondered if he was nervous of dogs in general, or John Phillip in particular, because John Phillip was huge. He’d made toddlers scream just by sidling up to them hoping to share their biscuits.
“Don’t mind him,” Grandad Billy said. “He’s a big softie, aren’t you, John Phillip?”
John Phillip sighed again and stared at Ambrose’s cheese platter. A sliver of drool escaped his lip and hung there like a wet, slobbery spiderweb. Ambrose edged his plate further away, and Liam could see the moment Ambrose decided to play up his dickishness. “I don’t really like pets,” he said. “I think they’re a waste of oxygen.”
Oh God. Liam tried not to flinch. If he hadn’t seen the way that Ambrose had cuddled with Tobermory, he might have even believed his words, because they were delivered so fucking confidently.
“You just haven’t met the right dog yet,” Grandad Billy said, unperturbed. “John Phillip, give Ambrose a kiss.”
Ambrose looked horrified as he got a faceful of John Phillip’s tongue. He jolted, and cheese and crackers went flying. John Phillip went flying after them, gangly limbs going in all directions as he scrambled to eat as many as he could before someone could drag him away.
Liam pretended not to see Bridget’s narrow look. Or Orhan’s. He also pretended not to see Dad’s look, which was full of “What the hell is going on here, Liam?” Or Mum’s, which was a mixture of concern and defensiveness. She adored John Phillip, and the feeling was mutual. He whined whenever she left the house to get groceries. Her obvious joy at Liam having a boyfriend was clearly battling with her worry about what sort of person that boyfriend was. Mum was a forgiving person, but disparaging John Phillip? There was a line.
“What time’s Neve getting here?” Liam asked, in a desperate attempt to draw attention away from Ambrose.
Mum checked her watch. “They should be here in the next hour or so.”
Liam couldn’t help but ask the question that had been gnawing at him. “It was weird, right? Him not even being there for the engagement? That wasn’t just me?”
Mum huffed. “Well,” she said pointedly, “he had to work. We’re not going to judge him for that. Anyway, it’s Neve’s life. You support your children’s decisions.” She cut a look at Ambrose. “Whatever they are.”
Liam wondered where all that support had been when his decision had been to stay single, but he kept his mouth shut. Mum probably didn’t consider that a decision. In her eyes, it was undoubtedly a tragedy. He nodded. “Have you met him yet?”
“Not yet,” Dad said. “Bridge, you and Orhan have, right? Down in Sydney?”
“Yes,” Bridget said, and Orhan nodded, but neither one of them expanded on that.
“What’s he like?” Riley demanded.
Orhan scratched his nose “Um, he had lots to say when we were talking about buying property up here. He knows his money stuff, right?”
Bridget nodded.
