CHAPTER 3
LIAM
The house fills with the smell of perfume and the sounds of girlish laughter. A pyjamaed Ella drinks milk in the kitchen, watching my every move as I walk across to the huge, white fridge and pull out a beer.
“Are you going out with Mummy?” she asks.
I wrinkle my nose at her. “No, I don’t think your mummy and Lou would want me there. I don’t wear enough perfume.”
She chuckles. “You’re funny. Men don’t wear perfume.”
“I do. I like to wear really, smelly perfume,” I whisper.
“Like Mummy’s? My mummy smells nice.”
“I’m sure your mummy smells nice, too,” I say and I have no idea why.
“Whose mummy smells nice?” asks Louise as she walks in carrying her shoes.
“Liam says Mummy smells nice.”
“What? No! We were talking about how people smell!”
Louise arches an eyebrow. “When did you start sniffing my friends, Liam?”
“I didn’t. For fu...” Louise throws me a look and I glance at Ella. “The house stinks of perfume! It’s like being in a house with teenage girls again.”
“Better than your teenage boy feet!” retorts Louise. “I see Mum put your boots outside. Nothing changes, huh?”
I glower at her and Ella watches our sibling argument attempting to hide her amusement. Yeah, nothing changes; I’m no rock star in this house.
Louise is dressed for a Christmas night out, short, tight, black dress, tinsel in her hair and flashing Christmas tree earrings. I suspect she’s going further afield than the local pub.
“Is Connor going with you?” I ask her.
“No, girls’ night, leaving the men at home.” She smirks. “It’s been a long time since me and Cerys had a girls’ night together.”
“Cardiff, two years ago,” says Cerys as she joins us in the kitchen.
“Yeah, you would move to bloody Cardiff so I never see you anymore.”
Cerys shifts her look to the floor. Her and Ella live in Cardiff now? Why the hell is she here? As Cerys isn’t looking at me, I check her out. Same as when I came home a few years ago, there’s something inappropriate about imagining my little sister’s friend naked. So I try not to. And fail. Her dress isn’t as tight or revealing as Louise’s, a dark blue and a bit floatier or however a chick would describe it. I will not look at her tits. I fail at the exact moment Cerys lifts her head and looks at me. I pull my mouth down into a ‘sorry’ face.
Cerys puts a hand to her necklace, the pendant sitting just above the top of her dress and she twists the gold chain around a finger, glaring at me. The diamonds set into the gold heart catch the light.
“I like your necklace,” I tell her.
“Sure, you were looking at my necklace, Liam…” Cerys sits on the chair next to Ella and pushes on her black heels.
“You look pretty, Mummy,” says Ella.
“Thank you, Baby.” She kisses Ella’s head and musses her hair.
“You smell good, too.”
Louise sniggers and I shoot her a warning look in case she decides to share our earlier conversation. Raising both eyebrows, she opens her mouth, still looking at me. “Liam says you...”
For f-uck’s sake, her body grew but she’s still an annoying kid sister. “Shut up, Lou!”
I grab her around the waist and try to put my hand over her mouth.
Lou turns her face away, the giggling turning into gasping laughter. “Liam says you...” I clamp my hand over her mouth and hold her tight. She wriggles, trying to pull my hand from her mouth.
Cerys shakes her head, aware of the familiarity of the situation, too; she’s known us since we were in primary school.
When Louise breaks free, she shoves me. “You ruined my hair!”
I hold up my hand, fingers covered in deep red lipstick. “Yuk!”
“Liam! Now I have to put my make-up back on! You’re such an asshole!”
“You started it!” I retort.
“Screw you, big brother!” she calls as she heads toward the stairs.
I flick the mixer tap on over the sink and grab the hand wash. “Sometimes, I forget you’re Liam Oliver, the rock star,” says Cerys quietly. “You’re no different than the guy I knew growing up.”
I look through the open kitchen curtains toward the opposite houses decked out with Christmas lights. “Yeah. Seems a million miles from everywhere being here.” Lipstick removed from my hands, I grab the tea towel and turn around.
“What’s a rock star?” asks Ella.
Interesting. How do I define that to a four year old?
“Liam plays guitars, Ella. Like the ones in his bedroom. He’s a musician.”
“So he doesn’t collect rocks?”
I laugh. “Not recently. I don’t think you’d like my music though, not as good as... whatever you watched earlier.”
Me and Cerys exchange a smile.
“Mummy says I can go and see them,” announces Ella
“Oh?” I say.
“Peppa Pig and company are playing in Cardiff next year. Lucky me, huh?” says Cerys.
“Damn, we have competition! Not sure Blue Phoenix could match... what are they called again?”
“Peppa Pig,” says Ella. “I have one. I’ll show you.” She jumps down from her chair and disappears.
I reach over for my forgotten beer and Cerys folds her arms across her chest. Without Ella to cover the gaps, I don’t know what to say. It’s not like Cerys is some groupie who’s going to rave on about the band and fill in my need to speak. Plus, I rarely get a word in when I’m with Honey, so I’m lost what to say here. I know if I do open my mouth I’ll say something inappropriate. I won’t know why or what, but I usually do around chicks.
Honey.
Is it shit of me to have blanked her to the point she doesn’t exist? And if I have, does this mean she’s not in my heart? I stare at my bare feet. Shouldn’t the woman you’re going to marry be in your heart and soul? She cheated on me. Shouldn’t I be cut up about that rather than relieved at a way out?
“What are you thinking about?” asks Cerys.
“Honey.”
Curiously, Cerys’s cheeks turn pink and she busies herself tidying up after her daughter. See, told you I’d say something inappropriate. Why do I feel it’s inappropriate? Cerys knocks over the half-full glass of milk and the contents spill across the table and drip onto the floor.
“Shit!” she says and stares at the dripping milk, tears in her eyes.
Seriously, there’s something weird about how ready her tears are. I almost, and thankfully, stop myself, make a comment about crying over spilt milk. On the verge of stepping in and showing Cerys my awesome domestic skills with a roll of kitchen towels, Mum walks in.
“Is Ella ready for bed?” She spots the milk. “Did the little monkey make a mess?”
“She did,” I say, watching for Cerys’s reaction. “Little monkey.”
Cerys snaps her head around to me and I smirk. The lost look that hovers at the edge of her eyes retreats slightly as she shakes her head at me. In the kitchen, with Mum, a childhood friend, and the annoying sister I love who reappears in the doorway, I’m happy. An inside, heart-bursting happy. I don’t have to worry about what any of them think of me, because with them, I’m the old me.
But I’m not; I left this for something different. Different but not necessarily better.