What would he have walked in on then? Would Mal and Kirsty have been upstairs in bed? Maybe they’d have heard Jory knocking, would have sprung out of bed, tried to put on a front.
Maybe they wouldn’t have. After all, what claim did Jory honestly have on Mal?
But he’d hoped—
Jory cut off that line of thought viciously. He was driving. His eyes needed to be clear, damn it.
He somehow made it back to Roscarrock House without hitting anything, then sat, for a moment, in the car. Why the hell had he even gone out tonight? So he’d been lonely, stuck in a too-large house with a brother and sister who didn’t want him. So what? He could have phoned someone. Christ, he could have gone on bloody Facebook.
It seemed like he’d barely kicked off his shoes and slumped into an armchair before there was a ring at the doorbell. Jory ignored it. He wasn’t in the mood to be polite to people.
Then it occurred to him it could, possibly, be Mal, and he scrambled into the hallway, only to see Bran beat him to the door and open it as Jory skidded to a halt.
Bran’s body, and the angle of the door, shielded the caller from Jory’s view.
“Oh, hello. Everything all right?” Bran sounded surprised but not shocked. It wasn’t Mal, then, standing just out of Jory’s sight.
“Yeah, fine, but I need to speak to Jory, okay?”
Kirsty?
“Come on in, then.” Bran gave Jory a suspicious frown as he left them in the dubious privacy of the hallway.
Jory couldn’t blame him. Kirsty’s face was flushed, and her hair wilder than usual. God alone knew what he himself looked like.
Jory’s jaw clenched as he met her gaze. Christ, what was she about to say to him? Ask for a divorce so she could be with Mal? Or was Mal just another of her flings, easily left and soon forgotten? Anger and pain were making his heart ache so badly, he couldn’t even tell how much was for him and how much for Mal.
“Is Mal here?” she asked.
“What? No. I thought he was with you. In all senses of the word,” Jory added bitterly. He caught a strong smell of alcohol on her breath, and fury flared. “Christ, did you drive here?”
“Screw you. You are not my keeper. I got a lift from Sam next door, is that all right?”
“What about Gawen?”
“He’s twelve years old. I think he can manage in his own home for half an hour. Sam’s missus is gonna look in on him if we’re not back soon.” Then the fight seemed to go out of her, and she slumped back against the wall. “I’m not sleeping with him, okay?”
“What? Sam?”
“Mal. Nothing happened. Hardly even a snog. And it wasn’t his fault. We’d both had a bit much to drink, and I thought you and him weren’t a thing.”
Jory found his voice, although it didn’t sound much like him when he spoke. “No. We’re not.”
“No? Cos that’s not how you’ve been acting. Either of you.”
“I . . .” Jory had to look away. “Mal doesn’t want a relationship. Not with me.”
“Shit.” Her tone softened. “I’m sorry. Honestly. I’d had a few drinks, and Mal’s fucking lovely, so I kissed him. That’s all.”
She made it seem so easy. So natural.
But then, it probably was, for her. If she wanted something—someone—she just went ahead and took it, or them.
“You must have had some idea, though. How I felt about him. You saw us together.” He couldn’t help the bitterness coming through. She’d always been able to read him so effortlessly.
Her turn to look away. “Christ, Jory, you of all people ought to know I make shit decisions.”
“Because I was one of them?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Does Gawen know you feel that way?”
“Fuck you, Jory Roscarrock. No, he doesn’t, and if you ever tell him one word about it, I’ll—”
“Of course I’ll never tell him! What the hell do you think of me?” Jory spun and looked away. When he spoke again, his voice sounded broken to his own ears. “What do you think of me? Do you really hate me that much?”
“I don’t hate you. Not at all. You’re a sweet bloke. You should be happy.” She was crying now. He could hear it in her voice. The alcohol, he told himself savagely, and even tried to believe it. She sniffed. “I just . . . It was never supposed to be like this, you know? My life. I was going to do so much. I was going to go everywhere. And then I had Gawen, and he was sick so much when he was tiny . . . And I love him to bits, I really do. I’d die for him, no questions, no second thoughts. But he’s not like me. He’s like you. And sometimes I look at him . . .”
“And you can’t help resenting us.”
“You.”
Jory turned then and gazed at her tear-streaked face.
She shrugged. “I can’t resent him. He’s my little boy. My baby. So it all has to go on you.”
Should he be angry with her for that? Jory didn’t quite have the heart. “And that’s why you kissed Mal?”
“That’s not . . .” She glanced up at the sky. “See, you think everyone’s like you. Like, they think before they do things. Must be nice. Some of us just . . . I didn’t look at you and think, ‘Wow, posh boy, nice shoulders, bet he’s a virgin. I’m gonna change his whole world.’ Maybe that’s why I did it, but I didn’t know it back then. Maybe it’s fucked up. But it’s how I am. It was like that tonight. I didn’t know I was being a bitch. Not then.”
Was that really how
