Page 159 of The Man Upstairs

“I admire your faith in me. I’m certain, however, that they’ve lost theirs.”

He’d told me roughly what he’d put in the letters to them, and how he really had opened his heart and offered it on a platter. If only they’d take it. If only even one of them would so much as look at the olive branch he was waving and see him for the beautiful soul he was, despite his flaws.

I watched him cooking, and he turned the conversation back to Tom, keeping it there until our dinner was ready.

“Here’s to us,” Julian said at the dining table with our risotto, holding up his juice glass in a toast. “And to your mother. To Beverly and Tom.”

He laughed out loud as our clink of glasses was met with a knock at the door, and I realised my phone was still on the coffee table. I hadn’t seen Mum’s reply. Duh.

Oh my God, here it was… Tom and Mum meeting Julian together. All four of us. It felt like a major event, not just some people hanging out together.

“They can have some risotto if they’re still hungry,” Julian said as he crossed the living room to answer, but I doubted that would be the case. I was sure they’d be stuffed from Mum’s favourite meal.

“Hey!” I called out as I heard the door open. “Sorry! I missed your messages!”

But there was no answer. Not so much as a sound. Nothing.

“Is that you, Mum?” I called out. “Julian? Is that Mum?”

Nothing. Only silence. And there was something in the air. Something tense and ominous, and enough to make my heart race. I was up from my seat, risotto forgotten as I dashed across the living room to find out what was going on, and standing there, in the open doorway was a man I’d never seen before, but clearly recognised.

How could I not?

He looked virtually identical to my boyfriend, minus the stubble.

I didn’t know what to do, so just looked between a silent Julian and his silent brother, both of them staring at each other. I was hoping for a grand reunion, tears and hugs, but Julian looked choked up, confused, and his brother looked stoic, jaw gritted. He had a letter in his hand.Theletter in his hand, no doubt.

“Are you going to let me into this shithole, then?” his brother asked him, without so much as shooting me a glance. “We’ve got a fuck of a lot to get talking about, don’t you think?”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Julian

I stoodbefore Michael as he held the letter in his hand, and my stomach rolled over. He was suited, fresh from the office, in the same style I’d been wearing myself for years, but he was a lot more muscular than I was. I was still gaunt in comparison, and I felt it. For a fleeting moment I was a shell again, fragile before his stare.Instinct.But no. I wasn’t a shell anymore. I was the total opposite.

And that was down to my princess. The girl looking between us with nervous eyes.

“I’ll, um, nip down and see Mum and Tom,” she said, and I held out a hand to her, ready to ask her to stay, but she shook her head, pre-empting me. “I’ll be back when you’re ready. Just call.”

She dashed off to grab her bag and phone, and I stood aside to let Michael in. It felt surreal to have him in this place, so at odds with every other environment we’d shared in our lives.

“I’ll see you later,” Rosie said, squeezing my hand before she went. I pulled her in to kiss her head as she passed me by, and my brother looked away.

In disgust. Pain. Shock.Maybe a combination of all three. He’d only ever seen me with Katreya, and our token, public facing gestures.

“I’ll see you later, sweetheart,” I said to Rosie, and she was off, closing the door behind her after a token wave to my brother.

Part of me wanted to grab hold of Michael and hug him tight. The emotion was already choking me, but Michael had never been an affectionate man, and neither had I. Any far off dreams I’d had of sobbing in beautiful reunion were already fading as the dawning reality kicked in. Michael was still Michael, and I was still me.

He was trying to stay composed, and I knew it. He was silent as I led the way into the living room. His jaw was still gritted as he looked around the place, scathing, no doubt still in disbelief. The decor of the apartment was most certainly a lot more grand than it had been on my arrival, but it was a droplet of extravagance in a world Michael had never known.

“Would you like a drink?” I asked him.

“A whisky, you mean? I’m sure you’ve got plenty. But no, thank you. I’m driving.”

We really had been separated a long time.

“I was thinking a coffee, actually. I have your favourite.”