Page 153 of Oleander

Seventeen

After Nathan returned to New York, I returned home. Luke and I spent a few days fishing, as I’d promised, but the strain of being under the same roof as Beth came to a head about a week later.

It was a Sunday afternoon when Daniel turned up at the door to pick her up. She was in the garden hanging up washing, and Luke was out, so I opened the door to him, still half asleep and vaguely hungover.

Daniel was about as different from Luke as it was possible to be. He was lanky and tall with short red hair and the complexion of a bottle of milk.

“Uh, hi. You must be Jude. I’m Daniel,” he said awkwardly before shoving out his hand. I stared at it. He dropped it back to his side while I continued to stare at him in bewilderment. “Is Beth home?”

I could only blink, astonished.Thiswas who my sister was leaving Luke for? After staring at him too long, I left him standing there as I went to the back door.

“Your less good-looking bit on the side is here,” I said. “Seriously, that’s what you broke Luke’s heart over? No accounting for taste, I suppose.”

She looked mortified for a minute, then furious as she charged toward me.

“How bloody dare you.”

“How dare I? How dare you? Inviting him to the fucking house?”

“Don’t bloody swear at me, and this ismyfucking house!”

I glowered. “Actually, it’s Gideon’s house, Beth, and we live here by virtue of Luke working for Gideon, so I think it’s about time you pissed off out of here and left us in it in peace.”

I saw the rage (and hurt) trembling under her skin, and I thought for a moment she might hit me. I probably deserved it too. But she just pushed past me and went inside.

I sat outside and flicked through my phone resolutely refusing to step foot inside until she was gone. There was an email from Gideon that I hadn’t read properly when I’d seen it come in last night. There’d been no mention of Cas – I always scanned the content for this first. He was still in Italy, due home to London in a couple of weeks. Did I want to visit? The altercation with Beth had made the idea appealing suddenly. While I hated the idea of leaving Luke alone, I needed to get out of there before my sister and I came to blows. Before I said or did something that would likely result in us never speaking again.

I emailed him back and said I’d come to London before heading back to Uni, and asked him to tell me when he’d be home, and I’d book a flight. I told him in very vague terms about what was happening at home, Beth and Luke’s separation, and how hard it was at home right now. It was later that night before he replied.

He was sorry about Luke and Beth. I skipped most of the diatribe about love and heartache – I already knew what he’d say about this – and skipped to the last paragraph: his house in London was empty, and I could go whenever I wanted. I just needed to let him know, and he’d let the concierge know to have the place stocked for me.

I told him I just needed a key and an address. The key, he said, was with the concierge. The address he’d put at the bottom of the email along with a link to a map url. I clicked on it to see his house in London was a flat in the borough of Kensington and Chelsea. The street was one of those Georgian rows, all white and blonde brick façades with a large green park in the middle. I’d have that to myself for a few weeks before Gideon arrived?

I closed the email and immediately pulled up flights to London.

I did not pack light. I wasn’t planning on returning to Jersey before I went back to Oxford for the start of term. Luke was dejected when I told him I was going, and I felt guilty about that, but my mind was made up. He understood. Luke always did.

I suggested he take a break, a long weekend off if he couldn’t spare a full week, and come to London and hang out with me there. I gave him all the details and told him I’d already suggested it to Gideon, who’d said he’d love to see him, too. I even said I’d go to Kew Gardens with him. He dropped me off at the airport looking sad but smiling through it, hugged me tight, told me to have a good time, and said he’d think about coming over for a few days.

I didn’t hold out much hope.

London was a hotpot. Stifling, bubbling hot, with too many people.

I took a taxi to the address from Gideon’s email, fumbling with my money in sweaty hands, only to find the taxi accepted debit cards. The driver helped me out with my bag and suitcaseby dumping them unceremoniously on the pavement of Wilton Place and drove off.

I stood trying to find number 128 for a moment before a tall black man in a long smart coat came out of a door and down the gleaming white steps to ask if he could help.

“Um, yeah, is this 128? Wilton Place?”

“It sure is, sir.”

“I’m staying here. I mean, at a friend’s place. He lives here, but he’s not here right now. He said there’d be a key?”

His eyes twinkled with delight as his mouth stretched into a grin. “You must be Jude. Gideon told me to look after you. Come on.”

His name was Kuende, but I was to call him Ken.

The building was a long row of individual townhouses which had been split into flats. Number 124 was the concierge station, where absent owners (Russian Oligarchs and English Lords) could leave keys and have deliveries accepted, visitors granted access, and keep a general eye on the place while they were out of town.