Page 137 of Pull Me Under

The light shifts as the afternoon wears on. Lengthening shadows, the golden hour stretching lazily toward evening.

I’m staring out the window when I hear the gate.

Jude’s walking up the path. His face is thunder-dark, his jaw so tight it must hurt. And he’s carrying a holdall over one shoulder.

I’m at the door before he reaches it.

‘What happened?’

He doesn’t answer immediately. Just stands there, breathing hard, the holdall slipping from his shoulder to land with a thump on the doorstep.

‘Not under my roof.’ His voice is raw. ‘Not under my roof, he said. Like I’m seventeen and sneaking out to meet a girl, not a grown man who—’ He stops. Swallows. ‘I told him I’m done hiding. Done pretending. And he said if I want to shame this family by carrying on with a Trelawney, I can do it somewhere else.’

‘Jude…’

‘So I left.’ A humourless laugh. ‘Packed a bag and walked out. Nearly thirty years old and I’ve just been kicked out of my childhood home for kissing a girl in public.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t.’ He shakes his head. ‘Don’t apologise for this. He’s the one who—’ Another hard breath. ‘Can I stay? Just for tonight. I’ll figure out other plans tomorrow, but⁠—’

‘Of course you can stay.’ I step back, pulling the door wider. ‘Get inside. I’ll make tea. Or something stronger, if you need it.’

‘Something stronger. Definitely something stronger.’

I find the bottle of whisky I’ve been saving for emergencies – this qualifies – and pour us both generous measures. We end up on the sofa, his thigh pressed against mine, the silence stretching comfortable between us.

‘He’s always been like this,’ Jude says eventually. ‘Controlling. Rigid. But I thought—’ He laughs, bitter. ‘I don’t know what I thought. That he’d come around? That he’d choose me over a stupid grudge?’

‘Maybe he still will. Give him time.’

‘You don’t know him.’ Jude takes a long drink. ‘Once he’s made up his mind, that’s it. Set in stone. He decided years ago that Trelawneys were the enemy, and nothing’s going to change that.’

‘But why?’ The question I’ve been asking since I arrived. ‘What did we actually do? It can’t just be business rivalry – not for this level of hatred.’

Jude shrugs. ‘I’ve asked. Believe me, I’ve asked. He just shuts down. Says I don’t need to know, that some things are better left buried.’

‘My grandad was the same.’ I curl my feet underneath me, leaning into his warmth. ‘Never talked about why we left. Just … packed us up one day and that was it. Twenty years of silence.’

‘Families and their bloody secrets.’

‘Cheers to that.’

We clink glasses. The whisky burns going down, settling warm in my stomach.

‘Are you hungry?’ I ask. ‘I could make something. You know I’m no culinary wizard, but⁠—’

‘I could eat.’ He glances at me sideways, and I don’t think he’s talking about food. ‘But I’m rubbish at cooking, as you are well aware.’

‘I find that hard to believe. You live alone with your dad – someone must cook.’ I’m fascinated by how these two men co-exist.

‘Fish, fish and more fish. The occasional fry-up when we’re feeling ambitious.’ His mouth twitches. ‘Mum was the cook in our family. After she left, Dad just … stopped trying. Jess taught Kit, although he’s heavy on the garlic, not that he’ll admit it’—he laughs at a memory—‘but me, well, food is fuel, I never got the whole “it’s got to taste good” thing.’

I stand, heading for the kitchen. ‘Come on then. I’ll teach you.’

‘Teach me what?’

‘We can make that sauce you cooked the night of the rescue. Sorry, I mean, you cooked while following Nina’s step-by-step instructions.’ I grin at him over my shoulder.