Until Harry(4)

“Where is your suitcase?”

I tensed a little at the sound of my mother’s voice, then murmured, “At the Holiday Inn.”

I heard a snarl. “You’re staying in the hotel, and not here?”

I exhaled a tired breath. “Don’t do this now, Lochlan. Please.”

He didn’t listen.

“You’re not staying in a poxy hotel—”

“Lochlan.” Layton’s stern voice cut our brother off. “We’ll discuss it later.”

Silence.

I closed my eyes when I heard the pounding footsteps of Lochlan as he stormed out of the room and down the hallway into the sitting room, slamming the door behind him. I wasn’t surprised that he walked away. Lochlan might be the temperamental brother, but Layton’s word was law. He was the only person who got through to Lochlan when he stepped over the line. I tried not to let my brother, or his outburst, bother me, so I focused completely on my uncle.

“I was waiting for your email,” I crooned to him and waited for his reply, even though I knew it would never come.

My father squeezed me. “It was sudden, sweetheart.”

I felt ill.

“How did it happen?” I asked the dreaded question that was on my mind from the minute I’d read Lochlan’s letter two days ago.

“A heart attack,” my father exhaled. “He felt no pain. It happened in his sleep.”

A heart attack, I silently repeated. That’s what took my uncle.

I gnawed on my lower lip as I glanced at his attire. I couldn’t help but grin as I took in the thick fleece jumper that I’d knitted him when I was sixteen. He’d loved it, and no matter how many times I’d told him to bin it, he’d refused. He’d said it was the best present he had ever received, which caused me to feel bad for him because it was downright disgusting-looking. I couldn’t knit to save my life.

My nanny forced the unholy task of knitting upon me during the summer I turned sixteen. I was more than awful at it, but my nanny didn’t care. She made me do it every weekend with her and her friends, who combined had three hundred plus years on me. If my nanny heard me say that, she would whack me. I inwardly giggled to myself at the silent jab and shook my head good-naturedly.

“Him and that bloody jumper,” I muttered.

Soft chuckles filled the parlour then, and it helped take some of the hurt and tension away for a few fleeting moments.

When I was ready, I took a steady breath, then turned to look at the faces I hadn’t seen in the flesh for six years. The first person I saw was my mother. She looked older than her fifty-four years, but no doubt my uncle’s passing had added to the lines on her still beautiful face. My nanny, who was next to my mother, still looked the same as she had the day I left. My second brother was different. He was muscular . . . very muscular. He’d been overweight the last time I’d seen him, but that wasn’t the case anymore.

“Jesus, Lay, did someone buy you a gym membership?” I asked, stunned.

My father burst into laughter behind me while my mother and nanny covered their mouths and tried to muffle their giggles. My brother smirked at me, but his aqua-blue eyes shone brightly.

“I couldn’t be the fat twin forever, now could I?” he asked, tongue-in-cheek.

I playfully grinned. “I guess not. You look great.”

Layton winked. “You too, sis.”

My lip quirked for a moment, then I turned and looked at my father. His handsome face was the same, just hairier and fuller. His entire body was fuller.

I blinked. “While Layton hit the gym, you hit the pub and chippy. Huh?”

My father gently clipped me around the ear. “Cheeky brat. I’ll have you know a few layers of fat never hurt anyone. It keeps me warm on these cold winter nights.”

“I’m teasing,” I chortled, and hugged him.

I liked that he was fuller; there was more of him to snuggle.

My brother, mother and nanny were in a fit of laughter at my teasing, and it took them a few moments to calm themselves. My nanny walked towards me when she was at ease and pulled me into her warm embrace.

“Hello, me darlin’,” she crooned.

I closed my eyes and gave her a tight squeeze as I got lost in her soothing voice. My nanny was from Crumlin in Dublin, Ireland. Her accent was thick as ever – even though she had lived in England the past fifty years, she never lost her Irish brogue and I loved that about her.

I smiled affectionately. “Hey, Nanny.”

When my nanny let go of me, Layton was right there, gathering me up in his thick, muscled arms. I yelped a little when he lifted me clean off the floor and held me in mid-air like I weighed nothing.

“Can’t breathe,” I playfully wheezed.

My brother set me down and snorted, “Little terror.”

I teasingly grinned, then lost it and replaced it with a bright smile for my mother when she approached me. I was expecting her to smile at me and possibly be a little teary, but I definitely didn’t expect her to burst into tears as she hugged me, which is exactly what she did.

“Welcome home, baby,” she wept. “I’ve missed you so much.”

I folded my arms around her small body and squeezed. “I’ve missed you too, Mum.”

That was the God’s honest truth. I did miss her. We didn’t agree on my living away from home, but she was still my mother, and I loved her dearly. She held onto me for a long time as she cried. She kept pulling back from our hug, looking at my face, then throwing her arms back around me and squeezing me as tightly as she possibly could. It was like she couldn’t believe I stood in front of her. That made me both happy and sad. Happy because she was happy to see me, and sad because it was my fault that she rarely got a chance to see me in the first place.