Page 23
After dinner, I stacked the dishwasher in my usual haphazard way.
“The state of this, so.” Declan pulled out the forks for inspection. “As my granny would say, Jesus, Mary, and the wee donkey. Do you mind if I redo this?” I shrugged. He started rinsing and restacking.
I watched his long, sure fingers as he fastidiously ordered all the forks, tines up.
Maybe this said something about him. He’d seemed amenable and laid-back, but maybe he was purposeful and ordered?
That meant I should be careful about trusting his facade, because maybe he’d chosen it for this case.
It meant I had to second-guess his interactions with me.
We were a team, but I could lapse into thinking we had the same objectives.
As I took the rubbish out the back, Mum scooted over to Declan. I listened and watched through the side window.
“Did I hear you question Isla about the fork compartment?” Mum asked.
It made me smile to hear Mum trusting Declan enough to banter like this. And a tiny bit envious.
“Isn’t she a shocker? Atrocious,” he said in his strongest Irish brogue. “Love the woman, but I’m picking up after her all day.”
I was stunned to hear this. A little thrill sparked through me. Then fizzled. Don’t get caught up in this. It feels good, but he’s performing. “And then there’s the snoring when she’s turned on her left.” Not true.
They bonded over stories of my messy ways, starting with the towel slung over the wet shower door.
Mum was positively gleeful. Interesting.
Declan was watching me even more carefully than I’d registered.
He was skilled at this fake dating. The “atrocious, but I love her” was more convincing than all the compliments he could pile on.
I popped back in, and they smirked at each other like they had a secret.
I should have been relieved and pleased that Declan was getting on so well with Mum and so quickly, too.
It didn’t make me angry and, frankly, wildly jealous like Snow’s close relationship with my parents had.
But still, I felt heartsore. Why couldn’t I bond with them as easily?
Endlessly fascinated by the art of housework, Mum savored his technique, prayer hands at her lips.
“Suppose you’ve stacked a lot of dishwashers in your time, Declan, what with your big family. Five kids, two girls, three boys, you the youngest. Must have been heaps of fun family moments.”
Declan lifted a plate to rinse. “To be honest, no. My parents were embassy people, always posted overseas. My brothers and sisters and I grew up in an English boarding school. I hated it—it was like Lord of the Flies , kids always challenging you.”
Mum’s face dropped. “Bullying? How bad was it?”
I could relate. I thought of those lonely afternoons I spent after Janey went missing. Pretending to be sick every morning because I couldn’t face school. Those girls hunting me down when I did turn up. Crying myself to sleep because of how horrible it had been…
Declan ducked his head. “Bad. But my brothers taught me how to see them off. That’s why I find all this home stuff so comforting, especially since my mother never cooked.”
“Oh my God.” Mum’s hands flew to him in outrage, a rare show of strong emotion. “Never?”
Declan, you bloody suck-up . But I had a grudging admiration. This was exactly how to get on Mum’s good side. Maybe I should point out his complaint was sexist? To mess with him.
“And to be fair, my dad didn’t cook either,” he added quickly. He was way ahead of me. “We never had much of a home life. I always tell Isla she’s so lucky.”
What! What? You snake.
Mum turned to me, beaming. See? Someone who understands how hard I’ve tried.
*
Later, I closed the bedroom door after Declan.
“How much of that stuff is true?” I asked.
“I don’t deviate far from the truth.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “But I can’t give you the exact details.”
Hmm. I didn’t have the same luxury. He was staying in my childhood home and knew everything about me.
He held my eyes. Under his gaze, my arms prickled with goose bumps.
“You seemed very matey with Sarge the first day,” I said, checking my phone, grateful for something to do. “You must love rugby.”
He shook his head, his hands still in his pockets.
“Not at all. I was a rower at school, and I didn’t much like that either.
I understood what you had to do to survive—play the game, keep your head down.
I try and keep an open mind about everyone I meet, but I’m wary of men like Sarge, clinging to that old-school stuff. ”
Declan had a method. He didn’t simply reflect people, like his wide-stance guffawing with Sarge. He’d made sure he dropped lower than Sarge, reverential, subservient. To Dad, he was the kind man who would look after his daughter, and to Mum, he talked domestic arts.
Ah, I loved when I’d puzzled out how someone operated. He gives people what they want. We were inside, but it felt like a breeze blew an uneasy chill across my bare shoulders. Shiver. He was acting with them .
Like he is with me.
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