The Bookshop of Second Chances by Jackie Fraser (e books for reading txt) 📗

‘Revenge,’ he says. ‘I told you.’

‘That’s not… Is that a good reason? I mean, you’re not in a play. What’s that guy’s name? Middleton. Is it Middleton?’ One of the things I like about Edward is he always know the answer to questions about books or plays or poetry. It’s handy, because my memory’s shocking.

‘Thomas Middleton? Yes. The Revenger’s Tragedy. And God, no. No, it’s a terrible reason. That’s why he hates me though, in case you were wondering.’

‘I’d heard something. Vaguely.’

‘Yeah, it was quite a scandal.’

‘Not surprisingly.’

‘No.’

‘So did you… Was that…’

‘I did it on purpose, if that’s what you’re asking. It wasn’t one of those things you do and then go, “Oh shit.”’ He moves so he’s lying down, pushing the cushion he’s been leaning against under his head. He stares up at the blue, blue sky and takes a final drag. The smoke hangs in the air. ‘He didn’t introduce me to Carolyn until the wedding. Just in case.’

‘Oh my God.’

‘Yeah, but I still managed. Mind you’ – he sits up again, leaning to put out the joint, pushing the end against a rock and placing the butt neatly on an empty plate – ‘have to say, I don’t think she can have given that much of a toss about him. It didn’t take an awful lot of effort on my part.’

‘Jesus. So what were you getting revenge for? I’m properly shocked,’ I tell him.

‘That’s why everyone hates me,’ he says. ‘It was a bad thing to do, even though my brother’s an arsehole.’

‘I don’t think everyone hates you, do they? That’s just being melodramatic. And what on earth did he do that was bad enough for you to…?’

He sighs. I can’t tell if he’s relieved to be talking about it or if he wishes he’d never started this conversation. He continues anyway. ‘There were a number of things. I suppose it was cumulative. We’ve never got on. He’s an unpleasant man and he was an unpleasant boy.’ He puts his hands behind his head and stares upwards.

I think about Charles Maltravers, charming in his riding gear, offering me money for Uncle Andrew’s house, shaking my hand and looking me in the eye, inviting me to his house, drinking coffee in the garden at the Lodge, flirting gently, showing me the plans of my house, complimenting my frock. He’s certainly not my type, but he doesn’t seem… unpleasant. But that’s sibling relationships for you, as complex as any other kind of relationship.

‘I’m not sure we could be mates,’ I say, ‘but he’s never seemed particularly horrible, just overconfident, perhaps, and, you know, um, privileged.’

‘Hm, overconfident is a good description. He’s always been much more… I don’t know. He’s got something that I’ve never had, and for a long time that bothered me.’

‘“Something”? What do you mean?’ I stare at him.

‘Oh, you know. Charm, or whatever.’

He’s wearing his sunglasses, so I wouldn’t be able to see his eyes even if he were sitting up, but I try anyway, leaning towards him, trying to read his expression. I can’t though.

‘Overrated,’ I say. ‘But it doesn’t bother you now?’

‘Since I ruined his marriage? No.’

‘Jeez. What did he do, then? To make you hate him?’

He sighs. ‘It was a long time ago. I probably… I don’t know. I expect a normal person, or someone who had a better sense of themselves…’ He trails off.

I look at him. He sighs again. ‘Okay. When I was in my late teens – doing my Highers – Rory’s age – everything seemed very… I was having huge rows with my parents. Immense, shuddering fights with my dad, not just about, you know, lying in bed and not shaving’ – he shakes his head at the idea of his teenage self – ‘but proper stuff, about the inheritance and privilege and the title and the agony of history – yes, I was a wanker, obviously, although I don’t think I was wrong about any of that. I could have tried harder to see how it had consumed him, I suppose, but that was half the problem. Like I said earlier. I was terrified it would happen to me. School was… I don’t know. I don’t have anything to compare it with. Other people had a worse time. I kept my head down and I did learn some stuff. But I was just boiling with fury the whole time. And Charles has always been such a smug little fucker.’ He laughs. ‘He was incredibly pompous, and the worst kind of young Tory. We had a fight after the 1987 election. An actual physical fight.’

This makes me laugh. ‘Did you?’

‘Yes, so undignified.’

I snort. ‘Did you win?’

‘He was only fifteen; of course I did.’

I snort again.

‘Anyway – I was in love with this girl. She was a friend’s cousin. She used to come down sometimes, in the holidays, from Edinburgh. I’d known her since we were, I don’t know, fourteen. I got very drunk once and told Charles, and her cousin, Alex, how I felt. I didn’t mean to; I meant it to be a secret. Anyway, once I’d told him he’d tease me about it, like little brothers do. But he’s not that much of a little brother. Only a year younger. Always much better with girls than I was. He’s better-looking, isn’t he?’

I wrinkle my nose, unsure. I suppose he is more conventionally attractive, but I think Edward’s more interesting to look at. They’re both pretty good-looking, to be fair. I don’t say this though; I just listen. He sits up again and pulls his knees up, takes off his sunglasses.

‘He said I should tell her I liked her. He’d had girlfriends, but I never had. I think I was a late developer; I didn’t think about girls – not real girls – until I was in the sixth form. I mean I had crushes on pop stars, and actresses, but… Anyway, I did think probably Charles knew more about it than I did. I couldn’t think