And none of that is bad – not this time, not like it has been before.
He sets the lantern on the bench in front of the tower and puts both his hands in his pockets…and he doesn’t once look away from me.
He’s in my head.
He’s in my head and I can feel his voice brushing against the inside of my mind and it feels warm and welcome…and safe.
He’s in my head and he is real – and he’s waiting for me to come down from the tower.
Carrying my shoes, I walk out of the tower doorway and into the little square at the heart of the maze. The lanterns at the edges cast little golden pools of light all around us. “You heard what they were saying, didn’t you?”
“It’s none of my business what they were saying.”
“You still heard it though, right?”
He looks uncomfortable for a second. “Look, if you want to talk about it…”
“No. Maybe. No. It’ll sound crazy.” It is crazy. “Maybe later. I just needed to get out for a minute – seeing them, it brought back…stuff I’d rather not deal with right now. That’s all.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m okay. Really. You don’t have to, you know…wait with me, or whatever.” I wave an arm in the general direction of the hotel.
He doesn’t move. “The way you ran…” He stops abruptly, swallows the words that were already on his tongue, and then half-smiles. “People only run like that when they know they’re never going to get away from something. Like they know it’s tied to them. I know a bit about running away. I mean, I know what it’s like to feel like you have to, like it’s the only thing you can do, even if in the end it doesn’t make any difference,” he says, his eyes on the ground between us. “Can I tell you a secret?” He takes half a step towards me, closing the distance between us to almost nothing. I can smell the scent of him and feel the warmth of his face almost against mine as he leans closer; feel his breath move my hair as he lowers his voice and whispers into my ear, “I’m kind of afraid of the dark.”
He leans away again, scanning my face as though he’s waiting for me to laugh or to tell him he must be kidding, right…? But he wasn’t kidding. He meant it. Whatever memories of his are hiding in the darkness, they frighten him.
He’s afraid of the dark, but he followed me out into it.
He walked me all the way home through the deer park.
With one hand I pick up the lantern from the bench, and with the other I take his hand, weaving my fingers through his – and I look into the future with my eyes wide open.
“Me too. But I guess if we stick together, we’ll be okay.”
He smiles at me, closes his hand around mine.
And together we walk into the darkness of the maze.
He doesn’t pull his hand away when we come back out onto the lawns. If anything, he knits his fingers more tightly through mine. Ahead of us, light streams from the ground-floor windows of the hotel, from the library, the bar, the restaurant. The terrace shines with candles and torches. Faint voices and piano music drift from the marquee.
“Your boss knows how to throw a party.” Hal swings our hands back and forth as we walk.
“He does.”
The evening has got cooler, and quickly. And while my dress is extremely pretty and extremely half-price, it’s also extremely not warm. It doesn’t help that there are large damp patches in the middle of the back where I panic-sweated through it. Goosebumps parade up and down my bare arms…and Hal spots them.
“You’re cold?”
“No.” I try to suppress a shiver. “Hang on, wait – no…” Because he’s started to take off his suit jacket. “Don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s ridiculous. People don’t actually do that. Not real people at real parties.”
He makes a dismissive sound as he drapes his jacket – carefully, gently – over my shoulders. The lining still carries the echo of him – the warmth of his body, the shape of his shoulders…
“Want me to take it back?” He arches an eyebrow at me, and I shake my head, sliding my arms into the sleeves.
“Now you’ve gone to all that trouble…”
He laughs quietly, and reaches for my hand again.
How did this happen? How did this guy who came from nowhere hardly any time ago end up here – with me wearing his jacket and holding his hand, knowing what it’s like to be kissed by him and to kiss him back?
Does my mood match the moment?
Right now, I feel like if I’d stepped off the roof of that tower, I really would have flown. So yes, actually I think it does.
But as we skirt the side of the hotel, his arm finding its way around my shoulders, drawing me into him, something doesn’t seem right. Something, somehow, is out of place. The gentle chatter on the terrace drops away, but I can still hear voices. In fact, I can hear shouting. I speed up – but suddenly he’s ahead of me as I gather up the fabric of my skirt, taking the steps to the terrace two at a time. With every pace, Hal draws further and further ahead in front of me, focused on the voices coming from inside.
“Hal?”
He makes a “wait” movement with his hand and, with a burst of speed, he darts up the steps ahead and vanishes through the doors from the terrace into the bar.
“What’s happening?” Mira darts between two bar tables as I follow him and grabs my arm. “Where’s Hal going?”
“I don’t know.” He’s already disappeared from the bar into the lobby beyond. And now people are stopping mid-conversation, glasses still raised, turning towards the doorway, to the bottom of the main stairs, to the source of the noise.
As I step out of the bar and into the lobby, a ring of guests – spectators now – has formed around the edges of the space, all watching the bottom of the stairs where two men are…what? Talking? No. One is talking, quietly, rapidly. The other is holding the end of the banister, one foot on the bottom step, and shouting.
“No. No, I will not calm down!”
“You’re making a scene.”
The quieter man is maybe in his early fifties and chilly-looking, all points and edges with short, dark hair. His face is thin – everything about him is thin and narrow, his forefinger sharp as he jabs it towards the other, older man, who must be in his seventies. They seem to know each other…there’s something in the tilt of their heads, the line of their chins and cheeks that says family. But clutching onto the banister like it’s holding him up, there’s a vagueness about the older man, something missing in the look he gives the other. He just keeps staring hopefully up the stairs.
“Where’s Barney?” No sooner have I said it than I see him, adjusting his tie and putting his manager-face back on as he moves through the clusters of guests with a whispered, “Excuse me, excuse me…”
And then I see Hal, walking straight over to the bottom of the staircase. Neither of the two men have noticed him; the older man keeps looking up the stairs, still holding onto the banister.
“I just want to go to my room.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? You don’t have a room here.” The dark-haired man’s voice has as many edges as the rest of him, all of them jagged. “We’re leaving.” He reaches his hand towards the arm of the older man…who stares at it in horror.
In turn, a hand settles on the dark-haired man’s shoulder. “Dad. Don’t.”
Dad?
Hal drops his hand as the dark-haired man turns to glare at him. But he doesn’t move away – instead, he steps between the two men.
Dad?
Mira nudges me hard in the side. I ignore her.
“Henry.”
Henry?
Of course. Hal is short for Henry.
Sharp Pointy Man is Hal’s father.
“Grandpa? Pa?” Hal has turned his back on his father and is talking to the older man gently, calmly, his hand resting on his elbow. “It’s me.”
The older man looks straight through him. “
I just want to go to my room.”
This is Pa. This is who it’s all been for. I hadn’t even thought about the fact they might be here too, but I suppose it makes sense. They’re in the hotel business. But why didn’t Hal tell me they were coming? Didn’t he want them to know about how I’ve been helping him? Or did he just not want them to know about me?
Hal’s dad snorts and, impatiently, Hal rounds on him.
“What’s your problem? He’s just confused.”
“He’s an old man. That’s my problem.”
Hal opens his mouth to say something – then blinks, thinking better of it. Which is when Barney finally makes it to the bottom of the stairs, clapping his hands once and raising his voice in a breezy, confident way. “It’s all right, everyone. Everything’s fine. Please carry on with your evening…I think we’re about to have some more music down in the marquee, so if you’d like to make your way across the terrace?” He makes vague shooing motions with his arms and pretty much everyone takes the hint.
Except us. Mira and me.
We stay. Even if we do take a step or two back so it’s a bit less obvious we haven’t left. But it means I see Barney’s smile fade just a little as he tips back on the heels of his shoes and spins to face the three men at the bottom of the stairs. Hal still has his hand on his grandfather’s arm and his body between the two of them. Barney looks them all up and down.
“Eddie.”
“Barney.”
What did Barney call Hal’s father before? “A grade-A, weaponized arse”? Right now, that looks like a pretty generous description.
“What seems to be the trouble?”
“My father.” A long, weary sigh. “As you can probably see.”
Hal interrupts. “He’s just having one of his turns. He’ll be all right in a minute.” His father swats him away like a fly. Hal leans towards his grandfather, who is still shaking his head and murmuring quietly to himself. At least he seems calmer. Outside, the piano has started playing again. “He’ll be all right.”
“Come on,” says Mira. “We should go.”
“No, you go. I’ll just…hang around here for a minute and make sure everything’s okay.” I don’t exactly know what I can do, but walking away feels like it would be wrong.
Hal’s father is still talking loudly, saying that Pa doesn’t have a room.
“Why don’t you give him yours, Dad? I mean, you’re probably just going to sit up all night in the bar anyway, right?” For one awful moment, Hal’s voice is as sharp and pointy as his father’s, the hollows of his cheeks flushing livid red. Barney, trying very hard to find somewhere else to put his attention, spots me and closes his eyes as if he’s trying to clear his head.
My heart cracks for Hal, for his grandfather. At first, I really did think his trying to track Albie down with nothing more than half a house name was insane…but seeing the two of them – the three of them – together like this, I understand.
“I wasn’t planning to stay. Neither of us were.” Each word that comes out of Hal’s father’s mouth is a shard of ice.
Barney has stepped forward again. “I’m sure we can manage something – let me speak to my staff. If you’d care to wait in the bar, Mr Waverley? Perhaps I can get you something to drink.” The question is aimed past Hal’s father, straight at his grandfather. A smile, a welcoming gesture. Barney knows what he’s doing, and cautiously, Pa nods.
“That would be very kind.” His face shifts, and so does Hal’s – with relief. Whatever happened, it’s over.
Except as Barney leads the way to the bar, with Pa just behind, Hal’s father’s hand snaps out and locks tightly around his son’s arm.
“Why haven’t you answered your phone? Or returned my calls?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Busy.”
I make myself invisible, just like I do on any normal day here. But I can’t leave. Eddie Waverley’s voice is hard and cutting, and watching them from the other side of one of the huge flower arrangements, I see exactly what anyone else would. A furious man in an expensive suit and tie hissing at his son; wanting to shout but not wanting anyone to know, bringing him to heel like a badly behaved puppy. I see Hal, turning his face away, his jaw set hard and an angry flush to his cheeks, his hands pressed deep into his pockets and his shoulders locked and tense.
Then I see something else, something more. Something that happens so quickly, it takes a moment before I understand what it was.
Movement. Hal’s father first, reaching forward as if to grab Hal’s shirt, right below the neck…and Hal, moving faster than I’ve ever seen, his whole body twisting away. His hand slapping his father’s down – and then his arm outstretched, keeping him at bay. A warning finger held out and pressed so hard against his father’s tie, right over his heart, that the fabric dimples around it.
I slip into the doorway of the library, pulling it almost closed behind me, before Hal can know that I’ve seen.
What I’ve seen.
Their voices seep through the door.
“I’m not bankrolling this stupid obsession of yours a moment longer. You’re coming home. With me. You can put all this…energy into the office.”
“It’s not an obsession. And it’s not stupid! It’s for Pa…”
“‘It’s for Pa,’” his father mimics him, then makes a disgusted sound. “Pack your things.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry? What did you say to me?”
“I said no.”
Deep inside my chest, my heart aches for him. It aches and it burns and it hurts. I want to throw the door open and run to him, but I can’t. After what feels like an hour, he clears his throat. “We had a deal, remember? You agreed. Besides, the room’s paid up front for another couple of days. Non-refundable,” he adds. “If I check out now, it’s money wasted. And I know how you feel about that, Dad.” His voice is full of prickles, of sharp pleats and creases. Not like the Hal I know at all.
His father snorts. “Oh, I think we can swallow the price of a couple of nights’ bed and breakfast, don’t you?” There’s the click of shoes on the floor as he starts to walk away – and then Hal calls out after him.
“You promised. You promised me that I would get to finish this.”
“I beg your pardon?” It’s low. Dangerous. Vicious. He’s turning around, going back over to where Hal’s still standing his ground.
“When you said I couldn’t go to university, did I make a fuss? No. But you and me, we had a deal.”
“Are you out of your mind? I—”
“I get to finish this, and then you get me. No complaints. I come and work for the company, doing what you tell me. I’ll do whatever you want. That’s it. No more research, no more history. I’ll never even mention university again – not once. But I do have this. You agreed.” I hear the breath Hal takes, deep and ragged. “Isn’t that the thing you pride yourself on? Being a man of your word? So be one.”
The silence between them pulls so tight that it could cut through flesh and bone. Then:
“Fine.” The answer should be a relief, but it feels like a death sentence. “You can stay until then. Finish off whatever it is you’ve been doing. And then I want you home. It’s time you grew up and acted the way I expect my son to. And by the way, don’t think I’ll be paying for the repairs on that little toy of yours. It can stay in the garage for a while, I think. Perhaps it’s time you actually appreciated just how much I do for you.”
Another swish, and more clicking. I peer around the door just in time to see him stalking away into the bar – leaving Hal standing in the shadow of the staircase alone, absently rubbing the forefinger on his right hand.
“You heard all that, didn’t you?” he says hoarsely, his head barely turning towards the library door.
“It’s none of my business.”
“You still heard, though.”
Our conversation from earlier, turned on its head.
I open the door and step out into
the lobby, reaching for him. He pulls away.
This is why he never mentioned they’d be at the party. He wasn’t trying to hide me from them; he was trying to hide them – this – from me.
“So that was your grandfather?” I try. “Pa.”
“That’s him.”
“And your dad.”
“Yep.”
“I get it.”
“You don’t. But thanks.” He sighs. It hurts my heart. “Look, you should probably find Mira or your brother. I’ve got to go…be me.”
It feels like a whole new pane of glass has slid down between us.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I’m almost afraid to ask.
“Yeah. I guess we might as well finish that stack of papers off. Maybe I can show some to Pa before we leave. He’d like that.” He sniffs. “Goodnight, Flora.”
But the mood and the moment don’t match.
What he says is “goodnight”. What he means is “goodbye”.
And when Charlie and Felix have found me and near-bundled me, still shrouded in Hal’s jacket, into the Land Rover, and we pull around the side of the Hopwood, I crane my neck to look – and I find him. Sitting alone in the library, his shoulders hunched and his head in his hands. All I see is a flash, enough to know it’s him, and then he’s lost to the darkness.
The hotel feels like it’s still half-asleep when I walk in through the staff entrance the morning after the party. The usually rowdy kitchen is relatively quiet – instead of yelling at each other over the noise of the ovens and fans and the clatter of pans, everyone seems to be whispering. I guess most of the kitchen staff put in an appearance at the party last night too. The staff break room’s not much better – a couple of the housekeeping staff are in there, and everything has the volume turned down. Even Mira.
I perch on the arm of the chair she’s slumped in, her sunglasses pulled down over her eyes.
“Morning!”
The Pieces of Ourselves Page 20