Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
“Boy,” she shrieks, making me flinch, before she proceeds to dash around the kitchen at a speed that defies her age. She empties the dustpan in the bin, stows it away, grabs her Flash spray, shoots it at the floor, then steps on the pedal of the mop bucket and spins the mop to rid it of excess water before slapping it on the floor and mopping ferociously.
I smile as I wander over to the stool.
“Watch your feet,” she barks, shooing me on with her mop. “I might not have got it all.” And with that, she abandons the mop and bucket and disappears into the laundry room, returning a moment later armed with the hand-held vac. I can’t help but think she’s quietly pleased under this fluster that she has something productive to do.
“Cathy—” The vac roars to life, filling the kitchen, making my squint. “I wanted to apologize,” I yell over the deafening sound. She doesn’t face me. “For the incident yesterday.” Is that what I should call Ava’s performance? An incident? A showdown? “She wasn’t herself.” I rest my arse on a stool. “And I may have been the cause for her outburst.” This is added quietly as I go to the counter on the other side of the kitchen, looking down at my phone. No returned call from Van Der Haus. No surprises there. I slide it back onto the counter, returning to the island.
“Did you say something, my boy?”
“No, nothing,” I murmur absentmindedly, drumming my fingers on the counter, lost in thought. Has he listened to my message?
“Boy?”
I blink and glance up. “What?”
“For breakfast. What would you like? And your new lady friend?”
“Eggs, please, Cathy. And salmon. Ava likes eggs and salmon.”
“Lovely.” She drizzles some oil in the pan and finds the eggs. “Oh, this mobile telephone thingy is flashing,” she says, placing a pan on the hob. I’m off my stool like a bullet, hurrying over. It’s Zoe telling me she can make ten o’clock work, take it or leave it, and only for an hour. Also, Hans is expecting me.
“I’ll take it,” I say to myself as I reply, setting my phone down and going back to my stool. I make it halfway.
“Oh, and again.” Cathy chuckles. “I don’t know how you kids cope with being available to the world every minute of the day.” She cracks some eggs into the pan and stirs them up, humming happily as I reverse my steps, swiping up my phone, my skin chilling at the sight of my sister’s name. Jesus Christ. I swipe the screen clear and go back to my stool, this time making it.
“So tell me about Ava,” Cathy says, distracting me from the impending guilt trip that always comes with a message or call from my sister.
I smile half-heartedly and settle, accepting the fresh jar of peanut butter she slides across to me. “She’s wonderful,” I say, determined to get my day back on track. “About last night.” I unscrew the lid off my vice and have a dip. Cathy turns, armed with her wooden spoon, and raises her brows.
“Well, I see you had a sleepover, so I assume you resolved your differences.”
“Yeah.” I fill my mouth with my finger and get my first dunk of the day. “She’s moved in,” I add around my mouthful, and, as expected, Cathy swings around, sending a spray of egg shooting across the kitchen off her spoon. I smile. It’s awkward.
“Well, I never,” she breathes, abandoning her spoon and coming to me, taking my cheeks between her hands and squishing them. Getting her face close to mine, I find myself leaning back a little, eyes wide. “You deserve this happiness.”
Oh no. I can’t stand a pep talk right now. “Cathy—”
“You listen to me, my boy.”
“I’m listening.” I relent, succumbing to the inevitable.
“She must truly be wonderful if you’ve fallen for her.” Her face softens. I can’t stand it. “After everything you’ve been through, I’m so happy you’ve found the right woman to share your heartache with, someone who can help you heal.”
I look away, ashamed. Ava can certainly help me heal. Can she do that without knowing why? “Problem is, Cathy,” I say, plucking up the courage to be honest, hoping perhaps that if I say it out loud, I might hear myself. “She doesn’t know everything.”
Cathy drops me and moves back, aghast. “What?”
“She knows about The Manor,” I rush to say, like that might save me from my atrocious crimes. “And that drink and I don’t really have the healthiest of relationships. And she knows I’ve had a colorful . . .” I cough. “Sex life with many partners.”
“Your ex-wife?” she asks.
“No,” I answer quietly.
“Your brother?”
“No.”
“Your uncle?”
I shake my head.
Cathy’s shock increases. “Your daughter?”
Another mild shake of my head.
“Oh, Jesse,” she breathes. “Oh, no.”
“Cathy, I—”