missed most of their marriage too, as he’d been away at college. ‘You were the one who walked out, not Harvey. None of my business, I know, but—’
‘Right. It’s none of your business.’ Michelle’s voice was harsh, but she couldn’t stop herself. Her heart rate was higher now than it had been powering up the hill. ‘I know he’s charming to Mum, and Dad thinks the sun shines out of his arse, but it’s not the same when you’re married to someone who won’t even let you—’
‘OK!’ Owen looked a bit scared. ‘OK! I get it. I didn’t come here for an argument. Am I too late for breakfast?’
Michelle took a deep breath and tried to focus on her house. Her beautiful calm home, which was all hers. Her safe haven. No one weighed her here. Or checked her emails. Or her phone.
‘No, you’re not too late,’ she said, forcing out a smile. ‘Scrambled eggs?’
‘To be honest, I’d rather have something you haven’t cooked,’ said Owen.
Owen arranged his lanky frame at Michelle’s kitchen table while she moved around, trying to assemble her leftover deli pots into some form of breakfast acceptable to an overgrown student. He’d hoovered up half her loaf of bread before she’d even plunged the coffee maker, leaving trails of marmalade and clementine peel all over the clean cloth.
‘Is this a flying visit on your way back to Dublin?’ she asked. ‘Or did you just need an excuse to get away from Mum’s? Feet off the table, please.’
Owen swung his Converse off the table. ‘I wanted to see my big sister. It’s been ages. I miss your bossy ways. And I wanted to check you hadn’t been eaten by cats, living on your own.’
‘Shut up.’ Michelle hid the glow of affection beneath a mock-outraged glare. ‘And what else did you need?’
‘Do I need an excuse?’ Owen pretended to look affronted, then dropped the act. ‘Um, Shell, actually . . . I need to ask you a favour.’
It must be bad, Michelle thought, if he’s asking me and not Mum. ‘How much this time?’
‘No, it’s not cash. Although contributions are always welcome.’ Owen looked up at her through his unfairly long black lashes. ‘I actually need somewhere to crash for a few weeks.’
Michelle flinched involuntarily as she always did at the thought of anyone staying in her house, invading her perfectly arranged space. She knew it was irrational – and she loved Owen – but she couldn’t help it. Invisible spiders crawled around her stomach.
‘What happened to the job in Dublin?’
‘Came to the end of the contract. I finished their website, and . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Well, I told Mum there was no more work out there, but, to tell the truth, it was kind of awkward.’
‘Money, or a girl?’
‘Both?’ Again, the appealing, long-lashed look.
‘You know that cuts no ice with me,’ said Michelle. She folded her arms. ‘You’re twenty-four, Owen. Girls stop thinking that sort of carry-on’s cute round about now. It just looks like you’ve got issues.’
‘I know.’ Owen prodded the omelette she’d cobbled together. ‘I just . . . hate letting them down gently. I can’t help being handsome. It’s a cross I have to bear, like you have to clean everything in sight. What is this, exactly?’
‘An omelette,’ said Michelle. ‘Why can’t you stay with Mum? There’s more work in London, surely?’
‘She’s redecorating again. And she said you’ve got loads of room, and you could do with the company.’
Michelle translated this in her head; Carole loved Owen, but not his habit of coming home at 3 a.m. without money for the cab. And the last time Owen had stayed with Ben, their oldest brother, their au pair had gone back to Latvia without warning, and Ben’s youngest son, Hugo, had come out with a whole series of awkward questions and two new swear words.
‘I had a look at your website on the way over,’ Owen went on. ‘It’s rubbish. Might you be in need of an experienced and
‘Right. It’s none of your business.’ Michelle’s voice was harsh, but she couldn’t stop herself. Her heart rate was higher now than it had been powering up the hill. ‘I know he’s charming to Mum, and Dad thinks the sun shines out of his arse, but it’s not the same when you’re married to someone who won’t even let you—’
‘OK!’ Owen looked a bit scared. ‘OK! I get it. I didn’t come here for an argument. Am I too late for breakfast?’
Michelle took a deep breath and tried to focus on her house. Her beautiful calm home, which was all hers. Her safe haven. No one weighed her here. Or checked her emails. Or her phone.
‘No, you’re not too late,’ she said, forcing out a smile. ‘Scrambled eggs?’
‘To be honest, I’d rather have something you haven’t cooked,’ said Owen.
Owen arranged his lanky frame at Michelle’s kitchen table while she moved around, trying to assemble her leftover deli pots into some form of breakfast acceptable to an overgrown student. He’d hoovered up half her loaf of bread before she’d even plunged the coffee maker, leaving trails of marmalade and clementine peel all over the clean cloth.
‘Is this a flying visit on your way back to Dublin?’ she asked. ‘Or did you just need an excuse to get away from Mum’s? Feet off the table, please.’
Owen swung his Converse off the table. ‘I wanted to see my big sister. It’s been ages. I miss your bossy ways. And I wanted to check you hadn’t been eaten by cats, living on your own.’
‘Shut up.’ Michelle hid the glow of affection beneath a mock-outraged glare. ‘And what else did you need?’
‘Do I need an excuse?’ Owen pretended to look affronted, then dropped the act. ‘Um, Shell, actually . . . I need to ask you a favour.’
It must be bad, Michelle thought, if he’s asking me and not Mum. ‘How much this time?’
‘No, it’s not cash. Although contributions are always welcome.’ Owen looked up at her through his unfairly long black lashes. ‘I actually need somewhere to crash for a few weeks.’
Michelle flinched involuntarily as she always did at the thought of anyone staying in her house, invading her perfectly arranged space. She knew it was irrational – and she loved Owen – but she couldn’t help it. Invisible spiders crawled around her stomach.
‘What happened to the job in Dublin?’
‘Came to the end of the contract. I finished their website, and . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Well, I told Mum there was no more work out there, but, to tell the truth, it was kind of awkward.’
‘Money, or a girl?’
‘Both?’ Again, the appealing, long-lashed look.
‘You know that cuts no ice with me,’ said Michelle. She folded her arms. ‘You’re twenty-four, Owen. Girls stop thinking that sort of carry-on’s cute round about now. It just looks like you’ve got issues.’
‘I know.’ Owen prodded the omelette she’d cobbled together. ‘I just . . . hate letting them down gently. I can’t help being handsome. It’s a cross I have to bear, like you have to clean everything in sight. What is this, exactly?’
‘An omelette,’ said Michelle. ‘Why can’t you stay with Mum? There’s more work in London, surely?’
‘She’s redecorating again. And she said you’ve got loads of room, and you could do with the company.’
Michelle translated this in her head; Carole loved Owen, but not his habit of coming home at 3 a.m. without money for the cab. And the last time Owen had stayed with Ben, their oldest brother, their au pair had gone back to Latvia without warning, and Ben’s youngest son, Hugo, had come out with a whole series of awkward questions and two new swear words.
‘I had a look at your website on the way over,’ Owen went on. ‘It’s rubbish. Might you be in need of an experienced and
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