Page 5 of Worth Every Penny
The stress and humiliation drove my father right to the edge. He was beyond devastated, and Nico being his godson made it worse. It makes my blood boil to even think about it, but I play it down. “He’s not that great, Mum.”
Mum cackles. “Not that great? We used to laugh about the crush you had on him. It was terribly funny how you’d blush right to the tips of your ears whenever Jack brought him to thehouse. It’s been forever since he came to stay. I don’t think he’s visited since your father died.”
Thank goodness, because if he had turned up, I’d have thrown him out. I always thought it was strange that Jack didn’t harbour the same resentment I did. He and Nico continued to see each other as if nothing had changed. Whenever I asked Jack about it, he gave some flimsy response about forgiveness. At any rate, in the intervening years Nico and I have never crossed paths, which is just as well because, as far as I was concerned, after Dad died, Nico was no longer welcome in our home.
Or my heart.
But Mum’s not wrong about that crush. As a teenager, I’d been completely obsessed with him. When he came to stay, I’d linger by the tennis court and watch him and Jack play, or I’d sit by the window in my bedroom so I could see him swimming in the pool. And then, when I was alone, I’d sketch his face. His body. I had Nico Hawkston memorised; every line of his being learnt by rote, carved into my mind like words on a tombstone.
Other girls might have cut posters of their favourite boy band members from magazines and stuck them on the walls, but I drew my brother’s best friend and kept the sketches hidden away so no one would find them.
I can’t think of it now without cringing, but eventually I drew him naked, daring to imagine what he looked like beneath his clothes. That shift marked the end of my innocence. Teenage hormones gone wild, with no outlet but pen and paper.
The first time I ever pleasured myself, it was Nico I thought of, just the way I’d drawn him. And I did it over and over again.
It was my shameful secret.
But in real life, Nico never touched me. And why would he? I was only ever Jack’s little sister, who blushed and stuttered in his presence. When I gathered the courage to make my feelings known, the results were disastrous. It was late one evening, aftermost people had gone home from one of Jack’s parties, when I found Nico alone in my parents’ hot tub. Determined to convince him I was old enough for him, I slid into the water and removed my bikini top. I was so nervous I was trembling. Nico was horrified, yelling at me to get dressed and go back to the house.
The shame still blisters beneath my skin when I think of it, but it got easier to bear once I really saw him for the ruthless bastard he is.
Mum halts, dragging me to a standstill beside her whilst she digs into her handbag and pulls out a copy of The Sunday Times Magazine with Nico’s face on the front. “Look at this.” She shakes it at me. “I defy you to say this man isn’t spectacular.” Her severe expression softens as she swoons over Nico’s picture. “We might get to see him in the flesh tonight. Jack would have invited him, I’m sure."
A rip-roaring panic tears through me. Knowing Nico is back in London is not the same as potentially spending an evening in the same room as him.
I snatch the magazine from Mum’s hand. “Why are you carrying this around?” I march towards the nearest litter bin, but Mum is quick to catch up to me, grabbing my wrist before I can toss the magazine.
“Don’t you dare throw that away,” she snaps. “I’m keeping it to show Curtis.”
I pause, still holding the magazine. “Who’s Curtis?”
Mum scowls, as if me not knowing who Curtis is proves my uselessness. “If you ever called me, you would know about him. Your brother speaks to me every Sunday.”
I blink extendedly, holding back the surge of emotion that assails me at yet another comparison to Jack. Mum’s golden child. She has always adored him, but when he started making serious money through all his side-businesses and investments, it got even worse. I never stood a chance.
At least when we were kids I had Dad in my corner, always ready to give me a hug and plant a kiss on the top of my head, telling me he loved me, which made up for the millions of times Mum dismissed me. A hollow ache sets up in my chest at the thought of Dad and I push it away as fast as I can.
“How long have you known this new man?” I ask.
Mum gapes at me. “New man? You make me sound like a hussy. It’s been six months since Jeff and I ended things, and my bedroom has been quite empty, I can assure you.”
This is why I don’t call home. Every comment I make gets twisted into something vile. “Really, Mum, I didn’t mean to imply—”
“A month,” Mum snaps. “I’ve known him a month.”
I inhale through my nose and hold my breath for a moment as I debate what to say next. Despite our awkward relationship, I want her to find happiness now that Dad is gone. “Are you happy?”
“Oh, yes. When you know, you know.” Mum grins, but her smile vanishes when she looks at me. “Although I suppose you don’t know. How’s the love life? Still as arid as the Sahara?”
Nico’s handsome face flashes in my mind before a wave of irritation pushes it aside.Why does she always have to be so cruel?I’m about to put my foot down and tell her she’s being mean when she lets out an excited squeal and jumps an inch in the air. “He’s over there. How’s my lippy?”
She puckers her bright pink lips but doesn’t wait for my reply before she grabs my hand and tugs me across the road, dodging through bumper-to-bumper black cabs and red double-decker buses, to where a man is leaning against the wall of Jack’s party venue. At first, I don’t think this can be the man Mum means, because he’s barely older than me.
He’s tall and skinny, with lank dark hair that falls almost to his jaw. His black trousers are tight, tapering into gold trainers, anda white bow tie hangs limp and unfastened under the collar of a black shirt. He looks like he’s been partying all night and is ready to go home.
“That’s Curtis?” I ask. “He’s very… young.”
Mum coos like I’ve just delivered the world’s best compliment. “He is. Only thirty-three. I haven’t been with such a youthful man since I married your father. I’m a new woman. Better than a facelift.” She winks at me like I’m one of her friends and conversations about facelifts and sex with younger men are normal between us.