Family Affair by Elle M Thomas
Chapter 12
Declan
When I wake up, I roll over to pull Anita’s seriously hot body against mine, but more than anything I want to inhale the glorious scent of her; pineapple, flowers and vanilla which I think is her shampoo. Whatever it is, I love it. Unfortunately, the other side of my bed is empty and cold. I allow myself a few seconds buried in the pillow she lay on and am pleased to find the faint essence of her still there before I get up. I only get as far as the kitchen to realise she has gone, and I regret not waking when she vacated my bed. I didn’t expect her to leave, not really, but then I’d told her previously that girls do not stay all night and they don’t, so maybe it’s for the best. Even I’m not convinced her not being here is for the best.
Reaching for the orange juice I notice a note on the fridge as the door silently closes.
“Oh, Cupcake,” I sigh as I read her words then grin at her use of Stud and the reference to my neighbour who seemed relieved when our shagging ended, allowing him to sleep. But this is what I wanted, for us to go to bed together and for her to leave. That is what I always want, so why do I feel like I have missed something?
Knowing Anita will be in the club today makes me happy and nervous at the same time. We still need to iron out the details of us and I also need to make sure that there won’t be any unpleasantness or cattiness when she runs into Laura and Lindy because the girls are innocent in this. Well, not innocent in the biblical sense but in so far as they have done nothing wrong in terms of Anita. Maybe when she’s back in her own kitchen things will be easier, for us both. When there is no crossover between our working and social lives.
I grab a shower and dress in jeans and a black t-shirt before throwing on boots then head for the door. With ideas of grabbing breakfast on the way, I leave and think about the busy day ahead I have. We are going to start having live bands playing on the slower nights, early, before the club fills and really gets going and today I am going to meet some prospective acts and listen to what they have to offer so I will need breakfast and honestly, I am bloody starving but strangely not tired, even after my lady kept me up for much of the night.
When I enter the club, I’m greeted with near silence. Just the sound of a radio somewhere breaks the quiet and much of the place is in darkness. I gave Nigel a set of keys and the alarm code because I do not want to be out of bed before lunchtime given the choice, especially not when I haven’t climbed into it until three or four in the morning which is quite normal for me, and I guess nightclub workers full stop. I follow the sound of some cheesy and bouncy tune all the way to the kitchen where I find Anita, alone. She has her back to the doorway where I stand and enjoy the view of her mixing something in a huge bowl that one arm seems to be wrapped around while her other hand holds a huge wooden spoon that she is using to mix the contents of the bowl. It looks like one hell of a workout she’s taking part in and as if to confirm that, she suddenly dumps the bowl down, heavily, with a loud thud and a muttered bollocks as she flexes and stretches her mixing arm.
I am about to speak when a different song starts to play on the radio, Spice Up Your Life by the Spice Girls and as she sings louder, really throwing herself into it she begins to dance, a little wildly and quite badly. Clearly her and Liv don’t share their dance moves. Walking up behind her I wait until I am almost close enough to kiss her, but I don’t. I simply pull her to me, spinning her so that she can see me. She shrieks before looking mortified, right up to the point where I join in with her terrible singing and spin her around the kitchen until the atmosphere between us changes. It intensifies as we come to a standstill, staring at one another, waiting for the other to do something. But who, and what will it be?
“You have a horrible singing voice,” I tell her, causing her to laugh as a red blush creeps up her cheeks.
“I have a beautiful voice.” She protests, making me laugh too.
“Says who? Helen Keller?”
Her expression turns into one of outrage and then confusion. “Wasn’t she blind?”
I laugh again and with a shake of my head reply, “And deaf.”
“Oh.” Anita seems genuinely surprised by that nugget of information and then smacks my chest before repeating, “I have a beautiful voice. My mum told me.”
I am about to dispute this again and maybe even suggest that her mother is biased. Instead, I lower my lips towards hers but before I cover her mouth with mine, say, “I’m sorry I missed you leaving this morning.”
The atmosphere thickens again at my words, partly because of the possible meaning behind them. The truth is that what I am really saying is that I am sorry she didn’t wake me, so that I might have encouraged her to stay a while longer if not for breakfast, although.
“Dec, it’s fine. I know we didn’t really discuss things, but you had previously made your feelings on overnight guests crystal clear,” she says, and I consider opening up a discussion now, but we are interrupted by the sound of Nigel calling from the corridor, something about needing a hand with stuff from the van.
I move back so as not to cause any kind of confusion to things and then as Nigel appears behind me, I mouth to her, we’ll talk, later and we will. I need her to know that last night wasn’t enough, will never be enough.
Anita
The sight of Dec was more welcome than I thought it might be after last night, not that it hadn’t been great. It had been, better than that but I did think that after I left, and he woke up alone that might be it for him. He was going to kiss me when my dad’s voice interrupted, kiss and goodness knows what else. I could hazard a guess as to exactly what would have followed a kiss. His words, we’ll talk, later seemed genuine and I do want to talk to him. Not a full on, what are your intentions kind of talk because I know what his intentions are. Fun, no complications or repercussions. But a talk so that I know what being with him entails.
“Anita,” my dad calls as I stand holding a box of fresh salad, daydreaming so I miss him speaking to me.
“Hmm?” I wonder why he is looking so irritated.
“Love, the door.”
I look around and see that my position is preventing him closing the van door as he looks ready to collapse beneath a huge amount of flour and dried foods.
“Sorry.” I smile and with another flick of his head I finally move and lead him back into the kitchen where we unload the food he has just delivered.
We unpack in relative silence, not an uncomfortable one either. I have worked with him for almost four years and spent multiple years before that helping him in the kitchen, him and my mum. We know how the other works and we work like this, in silence if there is nothing to be said. I am just putting the last of the cream into the fridge when he does speak.
“So, did you have a good night last night? You and Livy?”
I briefly wonder if he is really checking that I did go out with Liv or if he suspects that I was out shagging whoever again, which I kind of was, both, I suppose.
“I was going to call Livy later, maybe invite her and Mase for dinner, or just her if he’s busy,” Dad says and I wonder just how well that would go down, an invitation to dinner minus Mase.
Then I smirk at just how much my brother-in-law physically bristles when Dad calls Liv Livy. Only he calls her that apparently, but I am unsure if I have heard him call it her with any frequency, just a couple of times, tender moments. I laugh out loud, startling and confusing my father when I realise that’s what he calls her when they’re being lovey and most likely intimate. No wonder Mase bristles.
“Sorry.” He has no clue why I am laughing. “We had a good night. Me and Liv and Mase came too with Dec.” I hope I have managed to keep a flatness to my tone so as not to alert him to anything akin to me and Dec.
“What do you make of him?”
“Mase?” I query but answer before he confirms my understanding. “He’s just Mase; possessive, protective, loves Liv, friendly enough, what do you mean?” I finally ask with confusion.
“What? No, not Mase, his brother, Dec? He seems a bit flaky to me, a bit of a waster I shouldn’t wonder, and definitely a playboy. Yeah, a very poor man’s Hugh Heffner.” My dad laughs at his own words. Words that stab me, hurting me which is ridiculous considering he’s spot on.
“I wouldn’t know,” is my best retort as I refocus on the cake baking in the oven.
My dad’s words play in my head over and over until I have a headache. Not because I think he is being unfair but because he isn’t. His summing up of Dec is pretty accurate based on the warnings of my sister, my own observations, and the fact that I left him sleeping in his bed to do the walk of shame in last night’s clothes under the cover of night before enduring the knowing smirk and judgemental eyes of the cab driver who dropped me home.
I spend the next couple of hours working quietly alongside my dad who seems oblivious to the whirring of my mind as I think, overthink, and then imagine every possible outcome for me, me and Dec.
With a very specific buffet prepared for some small gallery opening, my dad is ready to load up the van again. I make several trips from the kitchen to the van and back again before finally waving him off. I hope when I return to the club that I will chance upon Dec or that he’ll come and find me.
My hopes are dashed when I return indoors. I clean the kitchen and leave it ready for its next use but by the time I am ready to leave there has been no sign of Dec. I reason that he’s busy. This is his business, and he must be working. Even if this place is a nightclub, it must require daytime working hours in order for it to run smoothly and it appears to do just that. I don’t know the details, but I do know that Mase has money invested and that he would never allow Dec to squander his money nor be lax in his business dealings whilst his money is involved.
By the time I grab my bag and keys I am resigned to not seeing or speaking to Dec, and the truth is I am confused by how that makes me feel. I’m confused, but there’s more to it than that. Maybe my confusion is because of all the other feelings, thoughts and emotions flooding through my mind and body; I am happy when I think of Dec, of me and Dec, and I am hopeful, maybe foolishly so, but I can’t stop my mind thinking of the two of us together and all the things we might be. I’m sad too though because the voice of reality is intent on dispelling all the positive things I dream of.
I really need to get a hold of this, of it all because I can’t bear to think that this is now my mind set, flitting from one extreme feeling to another and all the time having to contend with extreme mood swings too. Currently my mood is dark, and I know it is directly linked to the fact that I haven’t seen, spoken, or heard from Dec in the last couple of hours. Only I could end up in this position from something that was supposed to be so simple. Only I would inadvertently hook up with my sister’s brother-in-law, several times and despite him being a self-confessed man whore not only be pissed off by it, but imagine being the one to make him better, to make him want more.
“Shit!” Who am I kidding? Not even myself because even if Dec was looking to be rescued and improved it wouldn’t be by me, someone like me because a relationship with a man whore who wants strings free sex is all I deserve. Moreover, it might be more than I deserve.