Page 31 of Scars of Silk

I try my best not to roll my eyes. If this guy has the nerve to ask me out on a date in front of my parents and put me in that situation I dread so much, I will punch him in the nuts.

The guy is an alcoholic. It’s obvious. He’s drunk three glasses of wine to my parents one and my zero, and on closer inspection, I noticed Dad was holding a glass of sherry as we moved into the dining room, not a whisky tumbler, so he didn’t drink the amber nectar here.

Now father has mentioned port, and the guy is almost salivating. Yes, he’s an excellent husband choice, just show me the dotted line and I’ll sign away.

“Ten years goes quick when we are all busy,” I mumble under my father’s watchful gaze. Mum is folding and refolding her napkin.

“So where is William? I was expecting to see your younger brother today, Sienna? What a scamp he was when he used to come and visit.”

A pin could drop.

I watch mum’s expression as the colour drains from her face.

“He’s...” Dad opens his mouth, his eyes bulging a little. “He’s busy.”

Busy. He’s busy?

I clatter down my glass of water and my dad shoots me a warning look.

“Oh, what a shame. Well maybe I'll see him next time I’m here. I’m hopeful, I’ll be back to see you all again soon and then we can catch up.”

“Yes.” Dad nods and sips at his wine.

I stare at Dad. My heart beating hard in my chest. Then when it’s clear he won’t clarify the situation, a wild burning rage rushes through my veins until all I can see is red.

“He won’t be here, Scott.” I push back from the table. The room is too hot, too enclosed. Echoes of former laughter bounce off the walls, almost taunting me. “He’s very busy being dead.”

“Sienna!” Dad’s voice blasts through all the chatter and noise in my head.

“It’s true, Dad. How many people are you going to tell he’s busy? He’s dead. Has been for years. At some point soon you will have to acknowledge it.”

There’s a faint sob from Mum’s end of the table. Placing my napkin on my plate, I step around to her and lean down and give her a kiss, forcing her to meet my eye. “Mum, I’m sorry. You know how sorry I am, but I can’t stay here and put up with this, not anymore.”

“Sienna,” she pleads under her breath. “Please don’t leave me, just stay, it will be okay. Don’t leave me.” Her words kill me. They slice me straight in half. But how can I live like this; with no air?

I glance up at the red face of my father. No, it won’t be okay, but I can’t stay to watch the fallout.

Can’t be here, pretending and lying. Showing everyone that everything is fine when there isn’t a single thing that is.

“I’m sorry, Mum. Call me, please, call me. Call when you need me, and I promise I’ll come and get you.”

Straightening up, I turn for the door. I don’t look at my dad or Scott Harrington, who is as thick as he is drunk. Didn’t he notice the lack of photographs? The fact no one mentioned Will's name?

“Sienna! Sit down right this instant!” Dad’s voice calls after me like I’m a child, teasing half-buried memories to the surface. That’s all this once family home now is, a museum for forgotten memories and things that used to be.

I don’t stop. I don’t turn. I need to get out of this house and away from all the ghosts and lies it holds. My feet can’t carry me fast enough to the Mercedes, which I start with shaking fingers.

If I didn’t have to, I’d never go back.

The damn tears just keep on falling. Falling, falling, without end and with no rest. On the sofa in my flat I stretch out reaching for another tissue, but I’m not quick enough and more tears drench my face until my skin is stinging and raw.

Without thinking, I pick up my phone. There’s a text from an unknown number.

Sorry about dinner. I hope I still get to see you again. I think we could be good together. Scott. x

For fuck's sake! Is he insane?

More tears.