Page 151 of Almost Ours
I don’t need much more than that to know something is really wrong. Carefully, I climb out of bed, tug the duvet back over Josh when he shifts in his sleep and grab my dressing gown from the chair, following Oscar out into the hallway while trying to work out what could possibly have happened overnight.
Oscar walks straight into the kitchen. There are glasses on the coffee table, a paper Christmas crown abandoned on the arm of the sofa and bits of wrapping paper Mum missed despite going around with a bin bag three separate times.
He sits at the little round table by the window, the one surrounded by four completely mismatched chairs Mum has collected over the years. One is painted white, another is dark wood, one has a woven seat and the last is this faded green thing that should look ridiculous next to the others but somehow doesn’t. Mum is really good at making things that shouldn’t go together look intentional.
I sit opposite him and pull my dressing gown tighter around myself. “Are you going to tell me what this is about?”
Oscar doesn’t answer straight away. He reaches into the pocket of his hoodie instead and puts a Christmas card on the table between us, sliding it across the wood with two fingers.
My eyes dart between his face and the envelope. “What’s that?”
His jaw tightens, and his mood doesn’t match the pj’s Emma got him. She plastered her smiling face all over them. “Dad dropped it through the door this morning.”
I reach across the table and rub my fingers along the blank envelope. He couldn’t even be bothered to write our names. “Dad came here?”
“Yeah.” Oscar grimaces. “I was about to go for a run when this came through the letterbox. I opened the door and he was walking away.”
I feel my chest go odd and tight. “Did Mum see? Does she know?”
“No.”
“Good.” I nod. “That’s good.”
Oscar gives a small nod then pushes the envelope closer to me. “It’s for us.”
I pick it up and pull the card free. It’s expensive-looking and completely generic, gold lettering across the front with some meaningless Christmas message printed inside and tucked behind it is a thick stack of notes. “He’s given us five hundred pounds?”
Oscar is not impressed. He looks repulsed. “Yeah.”
Five hundred pounds from the man who fucked my eighteen-year-old best friend in my bed, then made me carry the secret for him while everything in my life slowly fell apart. Five hundred pounds from a man who has been cut out of this family because of what he did, as though shoving money through the letterbox on Boxing Day somehow counts as parenting.
I look back down at the card. “He didn’t even write anything?”
“No.” Oscar’s jaw ticks, fingers thrumming against the wood. “Because he’s a fucking coward.”
“I mean…” I’m at a loss. “What did he think we would do with this? Is this supposed to be met with gratitude? Does he think we’ll be sat here crying because he finally remembered us after nearly three years?”
“I really don’t know.” Oscar leans back in his chair. “I nearly went after him, you know. Fuck. I’d love to knock him out. Just once.”
“Oscar,” I chide. “What would that solve?”
“I don’t know but I think it would make me feel better.”
I reach across the table and squeeze his hand, clinging on to it. “Maybe. But probably not. He wouldn’t be worth the sore knuckles.”
“I hate that he came here. This is Mum’s house. Our safe place. He should never be here or this close to you.”
“I’m okay.” I tell him quickly. “I mean, I don’t want the money at all, but it might help Mum.”
Oscar shakes his head. “She won’t want it and I’m not sure we should tell her. This is the happiest she’s been in ages. She was even singing as she did the dishes last night.”
I level him with a look. “We have to tell her.”
“I don’t think I can.” He looks down at our joined hands, brown eyes tracking my thumb as it tries to soothe him. “She’ll completely freak and get all sad.”
“Or she’ll buy herself a really fancy bag and tell herself he’s a waste of space.”
Oscar pulls his hand back. “The man nearly killed you, Ruby. No amount of money fixes that.”
