Page 2 of A Castle in the Sky: Fern & Connor
He turned onto Matilda's street. Jacob stirred awake as he parked on the kerb, mumbling something about ketchup. There was some mayo stuck to the corner of his mouth, and Connor smiled, thinking of how much joy he brought into all their lives despite his origins. "We're here, lad," Connor said, injecting fake cheer into his voice.
Jacob was halfway up the drive before Connor even got the door open. The porch light flicked on, and Matilda appeared in the doorway, clad in inappropriate lavender lingerie, a wineglass dangling from her fingers.
Even now, she looked like she'd stepped out of some fever dream he'd once had at seventeen. Her wine-red hair tumbled over bare shoulders. She had that same feline face—heart-shaped, with slanted green eyes that looked half amused, half wounded. Time had barely touched her. Cynically, he thought she had the perfect figure wrapped in lavender silk, the hem of her robe whispering against long legs. He could see the shadows of her nipples through the silk. But he knew her too well to be fooled or affected again.
Connor swallowed as bile rose in his throat. The past was supposed to have lost its grip by now, but Matilda made sure she never really lostanything.
Connor's stomach sank as he waited for what was coming. "Matty," he said slowly. "It's late. Put some clothes on, for fuck’s sake."
She leaned against the frame, eyes glassy, a smile too loose for comfort. "Come in. Have a drink."
"I can't. I've got to pick Cora up from Mum's." He frowned. Her pupils looked uneven, unfocused. "How was the interview?"
Matilda blinked. "What interview?"
The nauseating smell hit him immediately, the sour scent of cheap wine mixed with a familiar sickly-sweet underneath. "Jesus, Mat... Are you drunk?"
"Maybe a bit." She pushed off the frame and swayed toward him, fingertips tracing the front of his shirt. "There's a little left in the bottle. And a joint rolled just right. Want to join me?"
He stepped back so fast that she stumbled. "Matilda." The name came out like he was chewing on gravel. He glanced towards Jacob, who stood frozen halfway between resignation and fear, and that alone made Connor consciously relax his face. "Go inside, buddy. Brush your teeth. It will be fine."
Connor watched the boy hesitantly walk away and raked a hand through his hair. His phone was dead, charger forgotten on the kitchen counter. Perfect. And he couldn't leave Jacob here, not with her like this. There would be hell to pay when he got home.
Four houses down, the porch light flicked on, and relief flooded him. Sawyer—Matilda's twin, and his oldest friend—was outside dragging the bins.
"Sawyer!" Connor called, running down the street. "Sawyer. Can you check on Matty? She's... not great. Jacob’s upstairs and Matty… I don’t know what she is on. I've got to get Coral from Mum's. Fern is going to kill me."
Sawyer took one look at his sister swaying in the doorway and swore. "Go. I'll sort it."
"Thanks." Connor was already jogging back to the car, his pulse thudding.
He slid behind the wheel, guilt making him clumsier than usual.Fern must be going crazy right now. She'd just go quiet, bottling it up the way she always did. Her disappointed cold-shoulder cut deeper than any words. He deserved it, but right now, he just wanted to get home to his wife and his little girl. She was not comfortable with the amount of time he spent with Jacob and Matty. Little did she know that he didn’t have a choice.
He started the engine and glanced at the passenger seat, where Jacob's booster seat lay. "Hang in there, munchkin," he muttered under his breath, thinking of Coral—her wild curls, her habit of watching him like she already knew his thoughts. He was constantly disarmed by how intuitive his four-year-old was. Fern always knew what Coral wanted before she even asked, and he envied that. Sometimes he felt like such a failure for not being there for her most of the time. And sometimes, when he was at breaking point, he would wished Coral was an easy child like Jacob. But he knew that was just him projecting his own failures as a father.
The rain started up again, soft and steady, as he turned toward his mother's house, unaware that his house of cards had already collapsed.
Chapter 3
Kayla opened the door before he even had the chance to knock twice.
His mum always looked immaculate. Even so close to midnight, her hair was teased into soft curls and bullied into order by liberal hairspray; her lipstick was perfectly matched to her mauve blouse, and her antique pearls reflected the low light against her throat. The familiar scent of gardenias drifted from her.
"Darling!" she exclaimed, all smiles as she reached up to kiss his cheek. Her bracelets clinked softly against his shoulder. Then her eyes flicked over his shoulder, searching and expectant. Then her fixed smile faltered for a beat before settling back into place.
He didn't have to guess what that meant. Relief.
She was glad Fern wasn't with him.
He swallowed the familiar sting of disappointment and hugged her anyway, breathing in the scent of her perfume and furniture wax—the house always smelled the same, clean and floral as if that would cover up the emptiness.
"Hi, Mum," he murmured against her hair. "You look... like you had a good day."
"I should hope so." She laughed lightly, brushing invisible lint off his jacket. "You look exhausted, Connor. That job is working you to death."
He managed a faint smile. "Where's Coral?" He craned his neck to look past her into the spotless hallway, the gleam of marble tiles and lavender wallpaper.
Kayla frowned, one manicured hand still on his sleeve. "Oh, I left her with Matty."
