The door swung open again as I stomped away toward my car, and my father’s voice bellowed from where he stood on the threshold. “Come back here this instant and apologise to your mother, Finlay Hunter!”
I ignored him and kept on walking.
Once I reached my car, I paused in the hope that they would somehow come to their senses, but of course, they didn’t, so I opened the door and climbed in. After slamming the door perhaps a little too hard, I fumbled with the keys, struggling to get them into the ignition due to the tumult raging beneath my skin. This, unfortunately, meant my parents had the time to come out to the car, ready to hurl more crap my way. My mother was sobbing in that over-dramatic 1940’s-movie-star way she had—she really should’ve been an actress—and my father’s face was beetroot red. For a split second, I panicked that he may have another heart attack.
That is until my mother shouted at me, “You have caused your father and me so much stress, Finlay. If your father has another heart attack, it will be on your head!”
Anger that she would take such a low blow mingled with the acid in my gut and my stomach twisted. I was ready to throw up, but thankfully, the engine roared to life and I slammed it into reverse, spitting up gravel on the circular driveway. Once I had screeched the car around, I sped off toward the main gates and didn’t look back.
♫♫♫
The day that followed my non-existent nuptials was a Friday and—unlike most Fridays—it came all too quickly, and I arrived at work as if nothing had happened. I could hear the whispers from staff and colleagues alike as I walked quickly to my office with my head held high. Their pitiful gazes had me feeling nauseated all over again. Or it could’ve been the bottle of cheap red wine I’d consumed the night before. Once I was inside and the door was closed, I slumped onto the leather chair behind the desk and rested my aching head in my hands.
The intercom buzzed and I almost jumped out of my skin. “Mr Hunter?”
“Um…yes, Morag?”
My secretary was understandably hesitant with her next words. “I…I have Miss Drummond on the line for you.”
Elise? Fuck. “Oh, okay. Put her through.”
The line clicked and there was a silent pause. “Fin? I somehow thought I’d find you at work.”
I huffed out a heavy, defeated breath. “What do you want, Elise?”
Silence ensued for a few moments until she eventually spoke. “I…I wanted to apologise. I know I did a terrible thing. But, let’s face it, I only did what you wished you could do.”
Okay, so that’s true. “W-what do you mean by that?”
“Look, Fin, be honest with yourself. You didn’t want to marry me really. We’d been pretty much forced into the whole situation. And if you look deep in your heart, you may love me, but you’re not in love with me. And there’s a huge difference. I know you must be angry and hurt, but I’m guessing that’s down to the fact that I humiliated you, not that I broke your heart. Am I right?”
I let her words sink in for a moment. She was right. Of course she was. I’d known it all along, but admitting it aloud felt like some kind of betrayal of what we’d shared.
I sighed. “I guess…I guess you’re right.” Rubbing my hand over my face, I inhaled deeply. “How did we let things get this far, Liss?”
She gave a faint laugh. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. But I do know that great sex doesn’t make for a long and happy marriage. I need more. So do you, Fin. We both deserve to be loved wholeheartedly by someone who adores us. Don’t you agree?”
“I do.” My ironic choice of reply hung in the air for a long while and I listened to the sound of her breathing.
She cleared her throat. “Look, I’m going to stay with my friend Serena for a while. I’ll collect my belongings over the weekend.” She went silent again for a moment. “I really don’t want to lose you from my life, Fin. I hope you can forgive me. And maybe someday we could be friends again.” Her voice wavered and she sniffled. Suddenly I wished she was in my office so I could hug her. She was giving me a major get out, and although I felt crappy—and humiliated as she had quite rightly pointed out—I was kind of relieved to know she felt the same way I did about us.
“Hey. Hey, don’t cry, Liss. We’ll be fine. I don’t want to lose you either.” It was the truth. She’d been in my life so long that I couldn’t imagine her not being around. The thought of it both scared and saddened me. She was my best friend, after all.
“Well…take care of yourself.” She went silent again and I could tell she had more to say. I knew her well. The airwaves between us were thick with unspoken words.
I sighed. “Come on, out with it, Liss. What’s up?”
She began sobbing down the line. “Oh, God. Fin, I’m so, so sorry. I have to tell you something.”
I shook my head even though she couldn’t see me. “What? What is it?” What the hell could be so bad it got her in this state? Oh, God. Please don’t let her be pregnant. Please…
She cleared her throat and I heard a deep inhale. “I…I met someone else. I’m…I’m in love with him. Have been for a while now.”
Ah. “I see. I see. Well…um…congratulations. I mean it, Liss. I want you to be happy. Sincerely I do.” A part of me ached inside with sadness and a twinge of envy.
“Really?” The sobs came harder, even though I’d pretty much just given her my blessing. “Oh, Fin. You’re so sweet.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Yes, so I’ve been told.”
She laughed too, and the heavy weight on my shoulders began to lift.
She sniffed again. “Thanks for not hating me. I couldn’t bear it if you hated me.”
“Of course I don’t hate you. So, who is he?”
Elise went on to fill me in about Randall Fitzpatrick. The lawyer from London who she’d fallen head over heels in love with so quickly. He sounded like a complete nerd in my opinion, but apparently he was good to Elise and had asked her to move in with him. It all seemed a bit quick to me, but she was evidently besotted. We ended our chat on friendly terms, but it felt like we’d never really been together.
A strange numbness settled over me.
♫♫♫
For the next week, I concentrated solely on work. It was the one place I could escape my parents as my dad was taking things easy at home, which was very convenient for him as it meant staying out of my way. I made no contact with them at all after the verbal explosion that had occurred on the Thursday I was supposed to be married.
For some reason, I was under a tremendous amount of pressure at work. It wasn’t something that had bothered me before, but suddenly every case seemed to be filled with issues that needed extra work in order for them to come anywhere close to a conclusion. I had been going straight to work from the apartment that I had once shared with Elise—not even calling for my coffee as I guessed the pretty woman behind the counter would no doubt ask me how the wedding had gone, or she’d wonder why I wasn’t on some exotic island having loads of sex with my new bride.
At around six, my best friend—and best man as was—Tom Fielding, art gallery manager extraordinaire—walked into my office without knocking. He plonked himself down on the edge of my desk and picked up my hole punch. Turning it around, he pressed it up and down, making it look like a mouth. “Come on, Hunter. We’re going to get you shit-faced.”
“Hello, Tom. I’m good thanks. Do come into my place of work and make yourself at home, won’t you?”
He slammed the hole punch back on the desk. “Fuck off, you grumpy, sarcastic git. Just ‘cause you got dumped at the altar, there’s no need to take it out on me.”
Shocked at the callousness of his words, I looked up and found him grinning. Prick. I smiled in spite of myself. “Fuck off.”
Tom threw his head back with a hearty laugh. “Come on, mate. You’re better off without her. Think of all the Edinburgh totty just waiting for you to pick them up.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, yeah. They
’re all falling over themselves to meet me.”
“Oh, pack it in with the ‘woe is me’ crap. You’re a fucking good-looking bloke and you know it.”
I didn’t know it. Well, not really. I looked after myself and spent an hour at the gym after work every day, and was known to take advantage of the gym in the apartment block on weekends too, so sure, I had a good physique. But I had been called a pretty boy by the guys I endured at school and then by some of the tossers I encountered at uni. So ‘good-looking’ wasn’t really a phrase I generally associated with myself.
I heaved a sigh and let my shoulders sag. “Look, Tom. I can’t be arsed to go out. I’ve just got no energy for it.”
“Bullshit. It’s Friday night. You were only dumped last Thursday, and I mean, who gets married on a fucking Thursday anyway? Come on. We’re meeting the lads down at that place just off Princes Street. It should be a laugh.”
I rolled my eyes, even more determined not to go. “That ridiculous karaoke joint you’ve been going on about? What’s it called? DeBasement? The name says it all really. You must be joking. I’d rather cut my ears off with paper.”
He laughed, his shoulders shuddering in the process. “You dick. It’s a play on words, you know? It’s actually in ‘da basement’ of an old building. I think it’s dead clever.”
Scrunching my brow and folding my arms like a sulking teenager, I informed him, “Yeah, well I don’t care how clever it is. And it could be on the fucking roof of Edinburgh Castle for all I care. The answer is no.”
It appeared my attempts to convince him to leave me to wallow fell on deaf ears and eventually he cajoled me into agreement. “You know you want to. Think of how hilarious it’ll be to stand there, pint in hand, and take the piss out of all the tits who think they can sing.”
It did sound like a laugh when he put it like that. Looking down at my work attire, I frowned. “I’ll have to go home and change, though.”
“Fuck that, Hunter. No one will give a shit what you’re dressed like. You’ll be fine like that.” Ah, Tom. The articulate man of many words.
Most of them expletives.
Tom fannied about on his phone, checking his social networking, whilst I finished off what I was working on and put my files away.
♫♫♫
DeBasement was buzzing when we arrived, and the other guys were already a couple of drinks ahead of us. Tom insisted on a few shots to help us catch up, and by the fourth one, I was feeling a little light-headed. The club was one I’d never been in before. It was a karaoke bar with a difference. The music available consisted of many obscure rock and indie tunes, and the majority of the people getting up to sing didn’t care that they were making fools of themselves. I think alcohol may have played its part.
I wasn’t exactly scintillating company after the week I’d had, and I would rather have been at home drinking beer and watching shit on TV. But the more drunk I got, the more the lads insisted I got up to sing. Apparently to “cheer me up”. Of course, I refused, preferring to watch everyone else strut their stuff in the limelight. I was in no frame of mind to laugh and joke.
I got increasingly pissed off as the guys badgered me. I was okay with drinking myself into a stupor and trying to stay in the background. That is until my so-called friend, Jake, asked if I’d made things up with my family. Why the fuck bring that particular topic up and ruin my already shit night?
Jake had drunk far too much, and regardless of what I said, he wouldn’t let it go. “I just don’t get it though, Fin. They’re your parents. Surely they’ll come around? Isn’t it worth at least trying to sort it out?”
I clenched my jaw and responded through gritted teeth, trying desperately not to lose my shit. “You have no fucking clue what went on, Jake. You’ve no idea how much I’ve tried with them. Can’t you just drop it, eh?”
He shrugged his shoulders and held up his hands in surrender. I disappeared into my own head after that. Anger at the whole sorry situation churned anew in my stomach, along with the alcohol, leaving me with a bitter taste in my mouth and an even more bitter taint on my heart.
♫♫♫
I’d never considered myself as having a duplicitous personality, but there I was stomping around a stage in a fucking karaoke club after telling my friends how ridiculous it was to see people up there and how there was no way in hell I’d be following suit in my suit.
I looked out over the blurry crowd as the bitterness of the lyrics seeped from my every pore. If only the man was here to listen. If only the father I had idolised and worshipped all my life could hear the way he made me feel. “Undertaker” by Pucifer was a great song choice and expressed my feelings better than I ever could using my own words.
After everything I’d done for him. After everything I’d given up so I could be the perfect son. Following in his footsteps even though I had no real passion for law. Everything I ever did was to gain his fucking approval, and it never happened. Regardless of how much of my life I handed over to him, nothing was ever good enough. And now I was being blamed for the fact that my fiancée had fallen in love with someone else on a business trip. A trip he had sent her on. It really took the fucking biscuit, that’s for sure.
Words flowed from my lips through my gritted teeth as I pictured his face on each of those staring up at me open-mouthed. Their actual faces were already hazy in the bright stage lights, making it easy for my alcohol-induced imagination to take over. I clipped the mic back in its stand and dragged it along the stage with one hand as I pointed at the multiple faces of my father in the crowd. It felt good. Cathartic somehow. He would despise the fact that his lawyer son was up there making a fool of himself.
But I didn’t give a shit.
In fact, that tiny piece of knowledge made me enjoy it all the more. I leaned forward so I could see the real faces in the crowd. Real people watching me and dancing to the song I had chosen. It freaked me out, and I snapped myself into an upright position, dragged from my bizarre fantasy of telling him what I thought.
The song ended.
The place erupted.
I almost passed out.
I was dragged from the stage by my group of friends. I was slapped on the back and congratulated with such vigour that it took me completely by surprise. Their words registered in my brain but I felt like I was having some kind of out-of-body experience.
“Fucking hell, Hunter! What was that?!”
“You’re a fucking natural up there, buddy.”
“You’ve been holding out on us.”
“Abso-fuckin-lutely amazing, mate.”
What the hell had I done?
My heart pounded in my chest so hard I felt it would tear right through the bones and skin that encased it. My mouth dried up and I stared. Just stared into the crowd of familiar faces grinning from ear to ear as they adulated me.
“You’re some kind of fucking Jekyll and Hyde character, Hunter. Fuck!”
Jekyll and Hyde? Was that a good thing?
It sounded about right, though, considering the second personality that had descended as soon as the music had begun. As I stood there and looked to my right, a beautiful, familiar-looking girl with crazy pink hair and tattoos walked by me almost in slow motion. The smoky, smudged make-up around her grey eyes made them stand out as they locked on mine. A smile slowly formed on her full lips just before she turned and carried on walking through the crowd.
Then she was gone.
Had I imagined her in my post-stage-debut haze?
Turning back to my friends, I kind of fell back to earth with a crash as a drink was thrust into my hand. “Here you go, mate. You look stunned! It’s hilarious! It’s like you were some kind of fucking clone of yourself up there.”
Finally finding the words I needed, I shook my head. “I know…I know. What the hell was I thinking?” I laughed at myself as I brushed a hand through my hair and gulped down the shot of clear liquid that burned as it made the journey to my stomach.
More co
mpliments came forth from the guys. “Hey, Hunter, you were fucking astounding, mate. You should be in a band or something.”
“Yeah, eat your heart out Britain’s Got Talent. Edinburgh’s got Fin Hunter!”
They all laughed and the back slapping began again.
Star
You know that song, “It’s My Party And I’ll Cry If I Want To”? Yeah, well that was suddenly my anthem. Everything had changed in a matter of days and I had plenty to be depressed about. My twenty-fifth birthday came around without much of a fanfare, and that was all my own doing. You see, in light of the week’s events, I was feeling homesick for the first time. For starters, my stupid-ass boyfriend, Mick, had given me the whole, ‘It’s not you it’s me’ speech—feel free to insert dorky voice—saying he needed his space, to be alone for a while and that we were moving too fast. Fucking asshole. The shit-head dumped me two days before my birthday, but then I saw him out with some brunette from the bar where he worked. They were kissing in a shop doorway when I was on my way home from work. And from what I saw, there wasn’t much ‘space’ between him and her double-Ds.
Then add to this that Mr McYummy was now married.
Married.
He would’ve been married a whole week by now and was probably off sunning himself on some tropical beach with his new, perfectly mani-pedied bride. I couldn’t help myself, though. I still looked for him every morning, but of course, he didn’t come by for his coffee. And—regardless of how stupid it was—I worried I would never see him again. Let’s face it, just because he’d married the love of his life, didn’t mean he’d stop needing his morning caffeine fix now, did it? Unless Mrs McYummy was in charge of that area of his life after the wedding.
Ugh! I hated her.
I hated a woman I had never met but who was good enough to capture the heart of that shy, handsome Scotsman. I hated the crazy sinking feeling in my gut when I thought of him with her. I hated the fact that he’d found someone and that no doubt she would be prim, well-spoken, and perfect. Of course, I didn’t know any of this for sure. All I knew for definite was that not seeing him sucked ass and my mornings had gotten a little duller.
Duplicity Page 3