All That's Left

by Emma Doherty

  My dad slowly moves the car up their winding drive, and I steel myself for this encounter with my relatives. My grandpa isn’t so bad. He doesn’t care what I do either way—to him I’m not worth a second thought, which suits me just fine—but it’s my grandmother who is the problem. She’s a complete battle-axe with enough opinions to leave your head swimming, and I know she has some very strong views on my upbringing and my mother and I just don’t want to hear it.

  My dad pulls up outside their house, which is noticeably smaller than ours but a hundred times classier. It’s an all-white building surrounded by tall trees, a large decking, and lots of land. Yes, my grandparents are rich, but it’s different to my father. They’re old-school rich where it doesn’t do to flaunt your wealth ostentatiously, whereas my dad took the money he inherited in his trust fund and turned it into an international business empire—and doesn’t he want you to know it.

  I step out of the car, and I’m actually relieved for once to see Ethan’s truck parked at the far side of the drive. He told my dad he had to fit in a gym session before coming here and I was sure he’d use it as an excuse to bail, but instead he’s actually turned up. I might not be the biggest fan of my brother, but right now he’s the lesser of all evils, and I know he was on my side yesterday with the whole passport thing. He said as much to me the second my father was out of the way.

  My dad approaches the house, ringing the doorbell as CeeCee totters behind him on her heels. I definitely think her endgame is a wedding to my dad. She’s dropped enough hints that she thinks she’ll be in my future, and she was insistent on coming today to meet my dad’s parents even though I could tell he wasn’t really feeling it.

  A young woman opens the door, in—no joke—a maid’s uniform, and she relieves my dad and CeeCee of their jackets. We’re then led through to the ‘drawing room’, and that’s when I glimpse my grandparents for the first time in over eight years.

  My grandmother is elegant; I’ll give her that. You can tell she’s been around money her whole life. She walks with a certain grace and confidence that can only belong to someone who has never had to answer to anyone else and has never had to worry about money a day in their life. She’s tall, an inch or so shorter than me, and slim, with white hair that is perfectly rolled into a chignon at the nape of her neck.

  My grandfather is tall, too, but broad. He gave in to his waistline years ago, and as he stands to greet me—not hug me, simply nodding in my direction—I can see he’s gotten even bigger. His hair is a dark grey now and he’s wearing a purple velvet jacket despite the heat, which hints at him being eccentric and interesting. He’s not; he’s just rich, old, bossy, and demanding.

  “Isabella.” My grandmother brushes past CeeCee, who in turn pretends it didn’t happen, and comes over to hug me—and by hug I mean grip my shoulders and lean in slightly whilst she kisses the air next to my face. “How nice of you to finally join us.”

  I don’t take the bait and move back as she lets go of me and appraises my body.

  “You’re looking slim.” She nods in approval, like the fact that I’m currently the skinniest I’ve ever been is a good thing. “Your hair needs a cut. I’ll have Dora set up an appointment with my hair stylist.”

  I can’t help the sigh that escapes my lips. I’m not arguing that my hair could probably do with having a few inches cut off; it’s the fact that this is the first thing she’s said to me in years—commented on my appearance and then tried to change it, to control it, just like my dad does. My father certainly is his mother’s son.

  Then she turns from me, effectively dismissing me, and greets my dad. She starts preening over him, affectionately reprimanding him for arriving ten minutes late and pretty much fawning all over him. I glance over, see Ethan sat on one of the sofas, and join him, watching as my grandparents and father talk amongst themselves for the next twenty minutes, occasionally bringing Ethan into the mix and basically ignoring CeeCee and me.

  Finally another maid appears in the doorway and announces that lunch is ready, so we all troop into the dining room and sit at the end of the grandest table I’ve ever seen. We’re immediately served asparagus with tomatoes topped with poached eggs and hollandaise sauce, and my taste buds prickle. It looks amazing.

  “Did you make sure the food’s okay for Izzy?” Ethan asks before I can.

  My grandmother nods her head. “Yes, I told the cook about her allergies.”

  Despite how uncomfortable I feel in this house, I devour the food, scraping the plate and then mopping it up with the piece of bread that has been placed on my side plate.

  I look up to find my grandmother looking at me in distaste. I steel myself as she opens her mouth to say something, but Ethan jumps in and asks her about her upcoming engagements with the social league. She turns away from me to explain to him about what’s going on.

  The plates are cleared away and the main course of roast lamb with sautéed potatoes and vegetables is served. My mouth starts watering just looking at it. More often than not, I skip meals, not because I necessarily forget, just because I have something else to do or it’s not convenient to throw something together. I wait until everyone is served before diving into my portion, concentrating on my food. I glance up briefly to see Ethan sat across from me, watching me with a small smile on his face, and I turn away. He’s made more than one comment on the fact that I don’t eat as much as he’d like, and I don’t need him preaching at me right now.

  Ceecee is blathering on about the weather and trying to strike up a conversation with my grandmother about anything she thinks she might be interested in—horses, flowers, fashion—and it’s my grandmother’s need to avoid CeeCee that makes her shift her attention back to me.

  “How are you finding school, Isabella?”

  “Grandma, she goes by Izzy. You know that.”

  I almost snort out loud. Ethan’s the one who insists on calling me Biz, so it’s kind of rich that he’s now telling our grandmother what I should be called.

  “Well, that’s not the name she was baptised with, Ethan.” She turns back to me. “How is school, Isabella?”

  I shrug, placing my fork back onto my plate. “It’s okay.”

  She raises an eyebrow. Clearly that’s not enough of a response for her.

  “Well, how are your classes going? I have a friend on the board there who tells me you’ve been put into all advanced classes.”

  My jaw drops. “You have someone telling you stuff about me?”

  “Of course. You’re my granddaughter—my only granddaughter.”

  I bite the inside of my lip. I don’t know why I’m surprised. She’s exactly the same as my dad.

  “Your transcript from the UK showed that you excelled in classes over there.”

  “Grandma—”

  “Ethan, don’t interrupt me. You’ve had your chance to talk about football and how well you’re doing. Just because you don’t excel academically like Isabella does not mean you have to jump in.”

  Ethan’s face burns bright red as his hand tightens around his water glass, and I’m surprised to find that something inside me clenches for him. She has no right to talk about his academic abilities. I doubt she knows anything about it.

  “Isabella,” my grandmother snaps as I stare at Ethan, whose shoulders have drooped, his head tilted down.

  “What?” I demand, my voice harsher than I intended it to be.

  My father sends me a warning look whilst my grandfather gets up and dismisses himself, clearly not giving a crap about anything I have to say.

  “School,” my grandmother bites out.

  “It’s fine. The classes are easy and I’ll pass everything without an issue, but it’s completely pointless as I’ve already passed everything in the UK and will be moving back there the second I turn eighteen.”

  A tense silence takes over the room. CeeCee lets out a nervous laugh, but one look from my grandmother makes her eyes widen and her mouth clamp shut.

  “W
ell,” my grandmother starts, “I suppose it’s to be expected.”

  “What?” I manage to ask. I’m so close to losing my composure, and surprisingly it’s her attitude towards Ethan that has pushed me to the edge. I can’t stand this woman.

  “Your abhorrent attitude. It would have been too much to ask for you to be raised with manners after living with that woman for so long.”

  I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach.

  “Really, Greyson,” she says, turning to my dad, “you have to take some of the blame. I will never understand why you allowed her to raise your daughter in another country.”

  I’m finding it hard to breathe. My grandmother hasn’t seen me in years, has passed judgment on me after one hour, and is now insulting my dead mother?

  “You don’t know anything about her,” I start.

  “Oh I know plenty,” she replies. “It’s no wonder you’ve turned out the way you have.”

  I take a couple of deep breaths, trying to control my breathing. This is the sort of thing that could lead to me having a complete meltdown, and I’ll be damned if I give my grandmother the satisfaction.

  “Don’t.” Ethan’s voice is cold from across the table. “Do not speak about our mother like that.”

  I bite down on the inside of my cheek, so hard I can taste blood, because I don’t know how to handle this. I can’t deal with talking about my mum—it hurts too much—but I can’t sit here and let them spew lies about her either.

  My grandmother dismisses Ethan’s words with a wave of her hand. “You always get so sensitive when I mention her. Honestly, if you knew what I know about that woman—the way she went after your father like a hunter, desperate for his money, before trapping him into marriage—”

  Ethan slams his glass down onto the table so hard it cracks, and then he stands with so much force his chair topples backwards. “DON’T YOU EVER SPEAK ABOUT MY MOTHER AGAIN.”

  My grandmother stares at him with her jaw open and her eyes wide, her expression mirrored perfectly by my father’s.

  “Now, Ethan—” he starts.

  Ethan turns to me. “Let’s go, Biz.”

  He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I swipe my bag from the back of my chair and stand up.

  “Isabella, don’t you walk out of this house.” My grandmother’s voice follows me as I exit the room and follow Ethan out to his truck, but my steps don’t falter because for the first time since I got here, Ethan and I are in complete agreement. We need to get the hell away from our grandparents.

  I’ve barely closed the car door behind me when he puts the truck in gear and hits the gas so hard I’m almost thrown back in my seat. He speeds down the winding drive before slamming to a stop just before the gates, punches in a code on the keypad, and then waits for them to open before slamming on the gas again, tires squealing as we turn out onto the road.

  I don’t say anything to him as he drives us home, his fists clenched and his jaw set the whole time. My own breathing is now under control, but I can sense the anger radiating off him. Whilst I feel the same way, I don’t really understand his reaction. Surely he knows what they’re like; that’s the sort of people they are. He’s the one who’s lived over here around them for years. How can he be so surprised by their behaviour?

  He doesn’t speak until we’re pulled up outside the main road by our house. He doesn’t turn to enter the gates. “I can’t go in there right now,” he tells me. “I’m gonna go to Finn’s.”

  I nod and undo my seatbelt, reaching for the door handle.

  “Do you want to come?”

  I pause for a second, surprised. “No, I’m okay. Thanks.”

  He lets out a long sigh and sits back in his seat, finally taking his hands off the wheel. “I just hate it when they talk about her like that. Like, she was our mother, you know?” He shakes his head. “Grandma didn’t even know her.”

  I don’t know what he expects me to say to that.

  “She was the best person in the world and they don’t even have enough respect not to bitch about her in front of us.”

  I bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from getting emotional. She was the best person in the world, but obviously that wasn’t enough to get him to stay with us, to choose us.

  “They just have no idea about her,” he carries on, raking his hands over his face.

  I look straight ahead, staring out the window.

  “They don’t have a clue what she was really like.” He pauses. “Biz? Don’t you have anything to say?”

  I shrug. “What do you expect? You know what sort of people they are.”

  He stops and turns his head to face me.

  “You know that better than I do, Ethan, and you’re the one who chose to live over here with them.”

  He blinks. “So what? Because I’ve lived in the States you expect me to just agree with what they say?”

  “I don’t know.” I’m tired, so tired of all this—the fighting, the emotions. I just want to forget, but no one is letting me.

  “You honestly think I agree with them?”

  I shrug. “You picked them. You chose to be over here with them instead of at home with Mum.” And me. He chose to be over here away from me.

  His jaw falls open. “You really think I chose to live over here because I care more about them than Mum?”

  I shrug my shoulders. I’m so tired of today and every day since I’ve been here.

  “Mum was the greatest person in the world,” he tells me almost angrily. “She was kind, she cared, she was there. She didn’t give a crap about Dad’s money and she never wanted any of it. All she wanted was for us to be happy. That was all she cared about. She was a good person.”

  “Ethan, stop,” I tell him, because I can’t think about it. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know. I already know all of this. I lived with her. She was my mum. She was mine.”

  He looks like I’ve slapped him in the face. “Yours?”

  “Yes.” Because she was. It was me and her against the world, and he can’t change history now just because she’s gone. “It’s all very well you defending her now, but what’s the point?” I ask, my voice drained of all energy. “It’s too late. She’s dead.”

  I don’t turn back as I exit the car and enter through the gates then make my way back up to the house. I don’t look back because I don’t want to deal with the look on Ethan’s face right now.

  Izzy is a bitch. It’s that simple.

  I’ve tried and tried with her and she’s not interested.

  It’s like she thinks she’s the only person in the world who has a right to be angry, like I’m not angry that I didn’t get to see my mum at the end, like that decision not to get on a plane and go straight to London doesn’t haunt me every day of my life.

  And that bullshit the other day about Mum being hers? Well that pissed me off more than anything has in a long time.

  “Bro, you look like you’re ready to kill someone.”

  I glance to the side and watch Finn drop down next to where I’m sat on one of the picnic benches outside the main entrance to school. We finished weight training early and now have around ten minutes before the first bell rings.

  He cracks his neck next to me as Matty, Logan, Deacon, and a bunch of other guys off the team lumber over to us. “Let me guess…Izzy?”

  I grunt. Isn’t it always Izzy that pisses me off? She’s a pain in my ass.

  “What’s the deal with her and Marcus Bailey?”

  I shrug. “He didn’t look happy when he found out how old she is. Hopefully he’s done with her.”

  Finn’s jaw clenches. “That’s messed up.”

  “Well he didn’t know—you could see that by the look on his face.”

  “Didn’t you ask her what was going on with him?”

  I shake my head. My dad turning up made me forget all about Marcus Bailey, and to be honest, what she said to me on Sunday at my grandmother’s is the thing that has been play
ing on a loop in my head ever since then. “You know what she’s like—she’ll have had him believing she was twenty-one.” I know that’s the truth. I know exactly how my sister works. “I haven’t even spoken to her about it. She was too busy being a complete idiot all weekend.”

  He frowns in confusion.

  “She’s such a bitch.”

  Finn scowls. “Give her a break, man. She’s going through a lot.”

  “And I’m not?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Do you know she said to me this weekend that Mum was hers? Like she belonged to her or something. Like she wasn’t my mum too. How messed up is that?”

  He blinks. “She didn’t mean it.”

  “She did.” I’m still furious about it. “My dad was here and he made us go to our grandparents’. Then when my grandma started bitching about my mum, Izzy acted like I didn’t have a right to be mad.”

  He winces. “How was it with your dad?”

  I shrug. “Same as always.” And by that I mean hard work and him making me feel like crap.

  Finn lets out a sigh. “Was it the first time Izzy’s seen him?”

  I nod. This weekend will have been the first time he’s seen her since Mum’s funeral, when he came and played the loving father and grieving ex-husband then disappeared on business calls the second they lowered her body into the ground.

  “Did it go okay?”

  I snort. “No. He insulted the way she looked, told her she needed to stop being an inconvenience to him, and then took her passports so she can’t go anywhere and interrupt his busy schedule if he actually has to do something as absurd as parent her.”

  Finn’s eyes widen. “He took her passports? That’s messed up.”

  I nod. “Yeah.” Okay so maybe Izzy has a right to be furious with him. That still doesn’t mean she can take it out on me.

  “And it was the first time she’s seen your grandparents in a while and they just insulted your mom?”