Until Harry

by L. A. Casey

  Was that supposed to be comforting? I angrily thought.

  I swallowed the sudden lump that formed in my throat. “You didn’t suffer like I did because of her and Anna O’Leary,” I said, fighting to keep composure. “I was self-conscious for a long time because of those two. Do you know how many times I wished I looked like anyone other than myself just so I could feel like a regular girl?”

  I was met with silence, so I balled my hands into fists as annoyance filled me.

  “Why the hell was she even here?” I snapped, feeling exasperated they would even let her into the house after the hurt she caused me.

  My nanny sighed. “She works for me, in the café.”

  Stunned speechless, I could not get past my incredulity over what I was hearing.

  “Lane,” my nanny prompted when I stared at her blankly, blinking. “Are you okay?”

  I couldn’t respond to that in a way that wouldn’t have her smacking me around the head.

  “So you’re recruiting staff from the forces of evil?” I asked, staring icily. “Nice, Nanny, real nice.”

  My nanny brooded in silence, and it gave me some much-needed time to think. I couldn’t believe I didn’t recognise Ally at first. The last time I’d seen her was when we left secondary school nearly a decade ago. I heard she’d moved to London, but she was obviously back in York and working in my nanny’s café of all places!

  I loved that café, and now it would forever feel tainted to me.

  “Do I know the brunette?” I questioned, my jaw set.

  “Yeah,” Lochlan answered me with a snarky tone. “She was in your school year, but you never hung around with her. She works in Nanny’s café too. They are our friends.”

  I couldn’t remember a Samantha Wright, so I didn’t dwell on her; instead, I focused on Ally bloody Day.

  “I just can’t believe you’re all friendly with Ally Day. Do you invite Anna O’Leary over for tea on the weekends too?” I sarcastically asked.

  My father clucked his tongue at me. “You sound like a child, Lane.”

  He was right; I was being bratty and rude. It was uncalled for and not needed, but I was hurt they could just forget what Ally had done to me. They’d seen first-hand what I’d gone through because of her; I didn’t understand how they could just get over that.

  I glowered at him. “Good thing you only have to put up with me for a few days then, isn’t it?”

  It was a low blow, throwing my departure in his face when I’d just arrived, but I couldn’t help it. It slipped out before I could stop myself.

  “What do you mean a few days?” my mother snapped, speaking for the first time since we embraced in the parlour. “When are you leaving?”

  I avoided direct eye contact with her as I softly muttered, “Sunday night.”

  “Lane!” my family bellowed in unison.

  I guess we’re over pleasantries.

  “I have to go back,” I countered, trying to defend myself. “I have to work!”

  “You’re a freelance editor,” Lochlan growled, barely able to hold his sitting position on the sofa. “Once you have Internet access, you’re solid to work wherever you are!”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say in response because he was right, so I remained quiet.

  “Lane,” my nanny said. “Kitchen. Now.”

  I watched as my nanny got up and walked out of the sitting room, her body tensing with each step she took. “Crap,” I grumbled as I got to my feet and followed her into the kitchen, my eyes cast downward. I felt like I was little again, and she was about to tell me off.

  I entered the kitchen and saw she was already seated at the kitchen table, so I walked over and sat across from her. I clasped my hands together on the surface of the table in front of me and stared down at them with intent.

  “You’re me granddaughter, and I love ye with all me heart,” my nanny started, “but sometimes I want ta just whack ye with a common-sense stick right across that beautiful head of yours.”

  Trust my nanny to keep things real.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, hoping it would dampen her burning temper.

  “Sorry isn’t good enough,” she clipped, then lowered her voice. “Me baby died, Lane. Your uncle died . . . and ye just want ta up and leave a day after we put ’im to rest? That’s not me grandbaby – she wouldn’t do that.”

  Your grandbaby died a long time ago, a cruel voice in my head taunted.

  Burning pain filled my chest. I glanced up to my nanny before quickly looking away from her aged but still graceful face. I saw my Uncle Harry when I looked at her; they shared the same aqua-blue eyes, high cheekbones and button nose. My brothers and I had inherited the very same features too.

  “I can’t stay here,” I murmured, and took another glimpse up at her. “You know why.”

  My nanny shook her head, disappointment crossing her features. “That’s not good enough, and ye bloody well know it,” she remarked. “Ye have ta act like the twenty-six-year-old woman ye are and push your issues with Kale ta the side and focus on Harry. He doesn’t deserve ta be pushed aside, Lane. You of all people know that.”

  I felt horrible as I let what my nanny said sink in. I really did deserve to be whacked around with a common-sense stick. How could I have ever thought my leaving right away would be a good idea for anybody? My family would be heartbroken, and so would I.

  I couldn’t be here and remain sane, but I couldn’t leave either without losing my mind, so close after my uncle’s death. I didn’t win either way, but the latter meant my conscience would be clear.

  “I’ll . . . you’re right,” I acknowledged. “Uncle Harry deserves more than a brush-off. I’ll stay longer. I’ll help with whatever needs helping. I promise.”

  My nanny reached over and took my hands in hers, rubbing her fingertips back and forth over my knuckles.

  “Ye can help me and your ma clear out his house after we meet with his solicitor on Monday,” she said, sighing. “We have so much ta sort through, but we have ta hear the contents of Harry’s will before we can start a clean-out.”

  I blinked, dumbly. “Uncle Harry had a will?”

  My nanny nodded. “Yeah, we all have a will, silly.”

  I don’t, I thought.

  My nanny snorted at my facial expression. “By ‘all’ I mean Harry, your parents, and me . . . because we’re old and can kick it at any given time.”

  “Nanny!” I choked. “Don’t talk like that. You aren’t going anywhere.”

  I hoped not, anyway. My heart couldn’t handle it if anyone else were to die.

  My nanny smiled lovingly at me as she reached out and brushed her fingertips over my knuckles once more. She did this to me often when I was younger to relax me, and it seemed to still have a calming effect on me. It was nice to know that hadn’t changed.

  I remained silent for a few moments, but when I looked back at my nanny, I saw she was gazing at me. “What is it?” I inquired.

  She blinked and without missing a beat she said, “I want ye home every Christmas.”

  Not a question. Not a request. A demand.

  I sat motionless. “Nanny—”

  “I don’t want an excuse,” she said sternly. “I want your word ye will come home every Christmas. I can’t go on with me granddaughter being on the other side of the world and never seein’ ’er. Me heart can’t take the pain and longin’ anymore.”

  I gasped in dismay. “Oh, God! Is your heart okay?” I asked, terrified.

  “Me heart is fine,” she assured me, “but it won’t be in the future unless ye come back home every Christmas.”

  I stared at my nanny for a moment, and then I flat out glared at her. “Are you – are you guilting me into coming home every Christmas by threatening that you could have a heart attack?”

  She tried to guilt me with her old age before, when she wanted me to come home from New York, and when that didn’t work, she stopped speaking to me. It seemed she was upping the ante. I didn’t
know whether to be furious or impressed.

  My nanny looked to her nails and shrugged. “I wouldn’t say threatenin’ ye exactly. I’m just sayin’ if ye continue to stay away from your family and I have a heart attack and die, it would be your fault.”

  She’s doing it again, I told myself. The whole convincing thing.

  “Nanny!”

  “I know it’s awful that it could happen,” she said, bobbing her head up and down in agreement.

  The twisted old bat!

  “I can’t believe you,” I crossly stated. “I don’t even know how to respond to something like that.”

  My nanny devilishly smiled. “Say ye’ll come home every Christmas.”

  I am related to a bloody con artist.

  I huffed. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m dead serious,” she countered, all traces of humour fleeing from her face.

  We had a ten-second stare-down before I threw my hands up in the air. “Fine!” I groaned in defeat. “I’ll be home for Christmas.”

  “Every year?” she questioned.

  I grunted. “Every. Year.”

  “Ye promise?” she pressed.

  I gritted my teeth. “I promise.”

  She gleefully clapped her hands together. “I’m so happy ye decided this.”

  Yeah. Decided.

  “I feel like I’ve just been hustled,” I mumbled, and shook my head. “You’d convince the Devil that he was God.”

  When I looked back up to my nanny, her lip was quirked. “What now?” I warily asked.

  She shrugged. “Nothin’.”

  It wasn’t “nothing”; she was grinning at me, and that meant something.

  “Are you sure?” I pried.

  My nanny nodded, but said nothing.

  Bloody woman, I thought.

  We both turned our heads and glanced at the kitchen door when my father, brothers and Kale walked in, talking about ordering takeaway from the local chippy because none of them felt like cooking. I didn’t realise how hungry I was until food was mentioned. I couldn’t even remember the last time I ate anything.

  An hour and a half later and I was still sitting at the kitchen table, but now I had a belly full of chicken, chips and at least a litre bottle of Coke. I was so full I felt like I was going to burst. When we were finished, we all went into the sitting room and sat down so we could digest our food in comfort.

  “So, when are you going back to New York?” Lochlan asked me after a few minutes of mindless chatter.

  I noticed he said “New York” and not “home”.

  I didn’t look at him, Layton or Kale as I said, “I don’t know yet, but not soon. I’m going to help Mum and Nanny with Harry’s house after we hear his will on Monday.”

  I made a mental note that I needed to change my flights home and extend my stay at the Inn.

  Lochlan said nothing.

  Layton cleared his throat. “Well, that’s great.”

  Yeah. Great.

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  I felt Lochlan’s gaze back on me. “How long are you going to stay away when you go back this time? Ten years? Twenty? Or just come back when one of us dies?”

  I didn’t even flinch at his jab.

  “Loch,” Layton pressed, “don’t start with her – not tonight. She just got home, for fuck’s sake.”

  I appreciated Layton shutting down Lochlan before he had a chance to have a go at me, but I looked up to my brother’s intense gaze, and instead of remaining silent, I said, “I’ll be back for the holidays.”

  Lochlan blinked at my reply, clearly stunned speechless at my response. So were Kale and Layton, who looked at me with wide eyes and gaping mouths. They were shocked. I noticed, in Kale, it was the first real emotion I had seen him express since I arrived. The old Kale would usually tell me a story from the emotions constantly displayed on his face, but not this poker-faced Kale.

  What happened to you? I wondered.

  “Christmas?” Layton murmured after a moment, his eyes unblinking.

  I shrugged, trying to downplay how much of a big deal they thought it was. I mean, it was a big deal, but I didn’t want them to act like it was.

  “Yeah. Nanny made me promise to come home every year for Christmas.” I shook my head in annoyance. “She said missing me was pushing her in the direction of a heart attack, and if she died, it’d be my fault.”

  Things were silent for a moment, and then male laughter filled the sitting room. I focused on Kale when he laughed, and I felt dejected when his laughter didn’t reach his eyes and seemed forced.

  I pushed my observations aside and grunted. “It’s not funny; she placed the ultimate guilt trip on me. We’re burying Harry tomorrow, and she decides to throw this curve ball at me? The bloody vixen.”

  The light-hearted laughter continued, and I fought off the smile that twitched at the corner of my mouth.

  “That’s genius, you have to give it to her,” Kale said.

  I hated that he was speaking to me; things would have been so much easier if he left me alone. It would hurt, it would damn well hurt, if he ignored me, but that hurt would be nothing compared to the pain I felt right now. I didn’t get how he could chat to me like he didn’t ruin me.

  Goodbye, Laney Baby, his voice echoed in my mind.

  I forced away the memory that tried to creep its way into focus. I cleared my throat and didn’t look directly at him as I replied, “She’d agree with you. She’s pretty pleased with herself right now.”

  Kale snorted, and I hated myself for thinking the sound was cute.

  I swallowed the hurt I felt and looked down to my leg when it vibrated and continued to vibrate. I reached into the front pocket of my jeans, took out my ringing iPhone and saw “Roman” flashing across the screen.

  Fuck, I cringed. I forgot all about Roman, he was going to kill me.

  “Excuse me for a few minutes,” I said to the lads, then stood up and quickly stepped out into the hallway, closing the sitting room door behind me.

  “Hey, Ro, what’s up?” I said, keeping my voice low.

  The gasp that came through my receiver was dramatic and expected. “‘Hey, Ro, what’s up?’ Are you fucking serious right now, Lane?” Roman, my very-high-maintenance friend, bellowed at me. “That’s all I get?”

  I pushed a few strands of hair that escaped my plait out of my face. “I’m sorry, okay? The past few days have been crazy. I should have told you I was going to be gone for a few days.”

  His hiss was audible. “Don’t talk like you’re taking a quick vacay down to Cali for the weekend, Lane! You’re in England. E–n–g–l–a–n–d.”

  I couldn’t help the snort that erupted from me. “I am aware I’m in England – and how to spell it, Ro. I was born here, you know?”

  “Lane!” he growled. “I’m freaking out here. I’m out of my mind with worry for you. You up and leave the country without even texting me. No email. No note. Nothing. You could have died! I wouldn’t have known a thing if your landlord hadn’t told me where you were. I was going to call the freaking cops and report you missing!”

  I winced and then frowned when guilt flooded me. Roman Grace was pretty much my closest – no, make that my only friend. We met five and a half years ago in a café in downtown Manhattan when he spotted me reading a steamy romance, and we instantly clicked over our love for Mr Grey.

  I had been living in New York six months at that point, and I’m embarrassed to say I had hardly experienced the city. I became closed off when I moved, and I never had enough courage to explore. I liked New York, but I wouldn’t say that when I was there I was living; I merely existed in a city that never sleeps.

  I was a shade of grey on a canvas of colour.

  Roman helped brighten things up for me. He gave me somewhat of a social life through his own, but even with his vibrant self, I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t sad either. I was just . . . numb. I was content with working and reading book after book in my spare time, but afte
r I met Roman, he made sure to rectify that problem. He took me to bars, clubs and plays. He even introduced me to his book club and made me an official member. Sure, I was the only straight female when I was with Roman and his friends, but it was refreshing. He was refreshing. He brought something new to my introverted life, and I adored him for it.

  “I’m so sorry, Ro. I swear that when I got a handle on shit, I was going to ring you. I only got here a few hours ago. Getting through the airport was a nightmare.”

  Roman let out an exasperated breath. “I don’t care about the airport – I care about you. How are you, honey? Your landlord mentioned why you had to leave in such haste. I’m so sorry about your uncle. I know how close you were to him.”

  I looked down at my feet. “I’m fine,” I whispered.

  “That line may work on your family, but I know you better than that, and I call it bullshit,” Roman said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  I was glad when a chuckle left my mouth. “Okay, I’m not fine, but I’m not falling apart. Not right now anyway.”

  Roman was silent for a moment. “Have you seen him?”

  I glanced at the closed parlour door where my uncle was with my mother and nanny as they fussed over him. I heard their low murmurs as I pressed my back against the hallway wall. I adjusted my glasses when they slipped down my nose and said, “Yeah, I saw him. He looks great. Just like he’s sleeping.”

  Roman sucked in a gulp of air. “I meant Kale.”

  I froze at the mention of his name and glanced at the sitting room doorway. I relaxed when nothing happened. He was still in there with my brothers. I shook my head and mentally bitch-slapped Roman for bringing him up. He dragged Kale, and our history, out of me one very drunken night two years ago. He knows everything that happened between us.

  Every. Single. Thing.

  “Yeah, I saw Kale,” I replied, my voice low.

  Roman whistled. “How was that meeting?”

  I blew out a breath. “Surprisingly civil. He is acting like nothing ever happened. He greeted me just like an old friend he hasn’t seen in a long time.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” Roman questioned. “I mean, you don’t want it to be awkward while you’re there and have your past aired out again, do you?”