You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me (31 page)

‘We aren’t,’ Neve rapped back. ‘And you can’t have jet lag from a two-hour flight from Berlin.’

‘Actually, you can.’ Celia stopped to sniff the air. ‘Hmmm, something smells good. Is it chicken? Is there enough for me?’

‘No,’ Max said from the stairs, as he lifted his head to give Celia a baleful glare. ‘It’s my special birthday tea. No presents, no admittance.’

‘Are you going to let him talk to me like that?’ Celia demanded of her sister. ‘Can you bring me down a plate when it’s ready? Lots of potatoes and … Fuck! What the fuck is that and why is it growling at me?’

Keith had been hiding behind Max, but now he’d rested his snout on Max’s shoulder to see where the noise was coming from. Because it was coming from a tall girl with sticky-up hair and ghostly white skin, it was a perfectly normal reaction to flatten your ears and growl.

‘It’s Keith, Max’s dog,’ Neve explained, rushing over to pet Keith, who even bared his teeth at her, until she held out her hand to show she didn’t have any concealed weapons. ‘He’s growling because you’re giving off a really hostile vibe. He’s more scared of you than you are of him.’

‘People always say that about dogs, right before the dog rips their arm off,’ Celia insisted, inching away from Keith who refused to stop growling. ‘I’m going back to bed now. You can text me when you’re just about to come down with my dinner.’

Neve and Max both winced as Celia slammed her door.

‘Can you manage the stairs?’ Neve asked tartly, as she stepped past Max. ‘Or I could throw down a blanket and a couple of pillows?’

‘I’ll be all right,’ Max said bravely. ‘I just need to lie down.’

It was Max’s birthday and he was perfectly entitled to spend it nursing a hangover, but Neve had planned all sorts of treats for him and blown half her weekly budget in the process, so she felt rather aggrieved that all he wanted to do was collapse face down on her sofa when he got to her flat.

‘Coffee,’ he mumbled. ‘I need coffee.’

Neve took her sweet time making coffee, especially as there was another email from William waiting for her.
You’re an angel and a lifesaver
, she read, as she waited for the kettle to boil.
I don’t know what I’d do without you and I hope I’m never in a position to find out
.

William really was a prize among men, compared to Max who’d managed the difficult task of rolling on to his back while she’d been out of the room, and now had his sneakers resting on her favourite cushion.

‘Have you got the energy to pour the coffee yourself or do you need me to do it for you?’ Neve enquired peevishly as she put the cafetière and a mug down on the coffee table.

Max sat up and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. ‘You’re not allowed to be snippy with me today, not when you haven’t even said happy birthday.’

Neve capitulated immediately. ‘I’m sorry. Happy birthday.’ She took a step closer so she could gingerly ruffle Max’s hair. ‘Would you like some paracetamol?’

‘Rather have the first of my birthday kisses,’ Max said, tugging Neve half on to his lap so he could kiss her soundly, his tongue sliding into her mouth, one hand shaping her breast, thumb rubbing against her nipple, which obediently peaked on Max’s command.

The ancient sofa creaked in protest as Max pulled Neve down so she was squashed between the cushions and his hot, hard body. ‘I need to put the potatoes in the oven,’ she said breathlessly, after what felt like hours of long, sweet kisses. Max had unbuttoned her cardigan slowly so he could mouth her breasts through her dress and now the material was clinging damply to her and her breasts felt swollen and full. ‘Do you still need those paracetamol?’

Max smiled and he looked so sleek and sexy, his face inches from hers, that Neve could hardly believe he was hers to have and to hold for the next few weeks. ‘It turns out that your kisses cure hangovers, Neevy.’

She blushed and his smile got wider, more wicked, the way it always did when he was teasing her. ‘So, that’s a no then?’ she asked, slapping away a hand that was creeping towards her breast again. ‘I’m going to put the potatoes on.’

Yet another email had come in from William and Neve felt an unfamiliar twinge of shame. There was William, the one true heir to her heart, and there was Max, who’d be the first to admit that he wasn’t steadfast or reliable or ready for anything other than a good time. They had two separate places in her life, but it seemed wrong and wholly inappropriate to still be light-headed and sore from Max’s kisses while she quickly replied to William’s message asking her if she’d listened to a Radio Four podcast on Christina Rossetti.

Max was slumbering on the sofa, Keith was slumbering in a patch of sun by the bay windows, so Neve could get on with chopping vegetables and polishing glasses and reliving the heated memory of every single one of Max’s kisses. Then when she started to feel guilty, she’d switch to trying to remember every word of William’s phone call to her.

After she’d texted Celia to say that she’d bring down her dinner in ten minutes, Neve went into the living room to wake up Max. She’d been planning to poke him in the ribs with her oven-gloved hand, but he looked so sweet and defenceless for once that she found herself dropping a gentle kiss on his mouth.

By the time he opened bleary eyes, she was standing in the doorway. ‘Dinner will be ready in five,’ she said, just as there was a peremptory rap on the door. ‘That’s probably Celia demanding food.’

It was Celia, and standing behind her was Douglas who held a Tesco’s carrier bag aloft. ‘Hurry up and let us in,’ Celia said, trying to barge past Neve who stood her ground. ‘I’m so hungry that my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.’

‘You all right, sis?’ Douglas grunted, giving Celia an almighty shove so Neve had no choice but to stand aside and let them in.

‘Hey, Neve, tell your sister to piss off,’ Max said as he entered the fray, and her tiny hall was suddenly full of three very tall people and one stocky dog who kept banging against everyone’s shins.

‘I’m Douglas, Neve’s older brother,’ Douglas said, completely ignoring Neve so he could step round her and give Max and Keith the once-over. ‘I guess you’re the boyfriend and that’s the devil dog.’

Max didn’t say anything at first and he would be well within his rights as both alleged boyfriend and owner of the alleged devil dog to shut Douglas right down – and the perfect birthday Sunday that Neve had diligently planned would be completely derailed.

Neve let out the breath she was holding when Max mustered up a friendly smile and held out his hand so Douglas had no choice but to shake it. ‘I’m Max, this is Keith, but I’m sure Celia’s already told you that.’

Neve didn’t think she’d ever glared so hard as she was glaring at Celia at that moment. ‘I said I’d make you up a plate and bring it down to you. What part of that didn’t you understand?’

‘Well, yeah, but Max said if I had presents then I could come for tea …’

‘That wasn’t exactly what I said!’

‘And then I bumped into Dougie, and Charlotte’s away and he’s been tormented by the smell of your chicken for the last hour,’ Celia babbled.

‘Come on, Neve, it’s been ages since we had a family dinner,’ Douglas said. ‘And I chipped in with the present.’

‘It had better be a fantastic present,’ Neve grumbled, herding her siblings into the kitchen. She caught hold of the back of Max’s jumper as he passed her. ‘I’m so sorry about this,’ she hissed in his ear. ‘I’m going to make them up two really small plates and send them packing.’

‘It’s cool. I can pump them for embarrassing stories about when you were little,’ Max said, brushing his lips against her cheek. ‘And I get more presents so it’s all good.’

It wasn’t all good, it was very, very bad, Neve thought as she tried to put the finishing touches to the dinner with everyone getting in her way. Max had to shut Keith in the lounge because he wouldn’t stop growling and Douglas had to go down to his flat for another chair, which Neve wanted to disinfect with her anti-bacterial gel because it probably had Charlotte germs all over it, but finally the three of them were sitting elbow-to-elbow, knee-to-knee round her tiny kitchen table.

Neve plonked the chicken down on the table, then stood there with arms folded. ‘Give Max his presents, then I’ll feed you,’ she commanded.

The Tesco’s bag was handed over and Max pulled out two bottles of Cava (which Neve knew were in a two for five pounds promotion), a small box of Quality Street and a pair of Homer Simpson socks.

‘My God, have you no shame?’

‘Look, it was four o’clock on a Sunday afternoon, so our present-buying options were severely limited.’ Celia held her hands up like little paws. ‘Food. Now? Please?’

‘OK, OK,’ Neve sighed, picking up the bread-knife, which was going to have to do time as a carving-knife too. ‘But I’m really annoyed with the pair of you.’ She wasn’t even continuing her snit for comedic effect, either – she was going to have to sacrifice her three roast potatoes for the greater good, and there was still barely enough to go round. Plus she’d spent more on the organic chicken than she usually paid for a pair of shoes, and she’d wanted to eke it out for at least a couple of lunches and an evening meal.

Neve flopped down on her chair, a sibling on either side of her and Max sitting opposite, and began to dish up the vegetables, ignoring Celia’s protests that she was allergic to broccoli and carrots.

It wasn’t the Sunday dinner Neve had planned, and she hadn’t even bothered to light the candles she’d bought and she was damned if she was opening the bottle of champagne that was chilling in the fridge. Everything had been ruined.

Neve half-heartedly speared a carrot with her fork and pretended to listen as Celia over-shared about the tattoo artist she’d hooked up with in Berlin, but mostly she tried to eavesdrop on Max and Douglas’s conversation in case Dougie started questioning Max’s intentions towards his sister. Not that Neve thought that was likely. Douglas was never that concerned about what she did and didn’t get up to.

It was astonishing even to see Douglas sitting at her kitchen table eating off her mis-matched crockery, because usually they just passed each other in the hall and he’d say, ‘You all right, sis?’ and be on his way before she could answer. When Neve really thought about it, the only serious conversation they’d ever had was when he’d got back from Vegas, after being married to Charlotte by an Elvis impersonator.

‘For fuck’s sakes, all that stuff happened years ago,’ Douglas had shouted after Neve had spent ten rambling minutes explaining how hurt she was that he’d decided to make Charlotte his bride. ‘Your problem is that you dwell on stuff too much. You wanna put down the books once in a while and get out of the house.’

But it was easy enough for Douglas to say. He’d always been popular, always been smiley and happy and so good-looking that when they’d been little, people had always stopped her mother on the street to exclaim over his angelic features. Celia’s pointy features were echoed on Douglas’s face in a killer pair of cheekbones but he had the blunter Slater nose and chin to offset them. He’d also inherited the height from their mother’s side of the family and his hair was such a dark auburn that no one could ever taunt him with ginger jokes, and even if they had, Douglas would have just laughed and joined in because he was like that, Neve thought, inwardly squirming at just how mean she was being.

On the plus side, he’d never, ever,
ever
said anything derogatory to her face about her weight, and when they were little and her dad had shouted, and she’d cried (which had happened a lot because her father had a quick temper and she’d been a real cry-baby), Douglas had always gone and stolen chocolate digestives out of the biscuit tin to cheer her up. Besides, it couldn’t be easy being married to Charlotte and being responsible for the London office of Slater & Son, General Builders. According to her dad, who’d told her mum, who’d passed it on to Celia, who couldn’t wait to tell Neve, Douglas was making a complete mess of it and they’d asked Uncle George to come down from Sheffield to keep an eye on things.

He really wasn’t so bad, Neve decided, and as if Douglas could read her mind, he stopped banging on about his predictions for Arsenal in the FA Cup, so he could catch her eye and give her the thumbs-up. ‘Fantastic grub. I suppose your bloke isn’t too bad either.’

‘Well,
I
like him,’ Neve said mildly, and Max smiled at her as if it was a private joke and only they knew the punch-line.

‘You’re very quiet,’ he said to her. ‘You OK?’

‘Oh, Neve can never get a word in edgeways with me and Dougie,’ Celia said. ‘It’s even worse when Mum’s here too – that woman does not stop talking. Dad says he needs earplugs when the three of us are together.’

‘Yeah, but Dad can go days without saying more than ten words. Do you remember the time we went to Morecambe?’ Douglas asked Celia.

She rolled her eyes. ‘God, yes! I still think we should have reported him to ChildLine.’

‘What happened when you went to Morecambe?’ Max asked and now it was Neve’s turn to roll her eyes.

‘It’s one of those stories that’s really boring unless you were there. And actually, I was there and it wasn’t
that
funny.’

‘Yeah, that’s because Dad let you stay in the car,’ Douglas reminded her, as he turned to Max. ‘So, we’re going on holiday to Morecambe, all packed into the Ford Mondeo, all really excited. Neve’s sat between me and Seels with about fifty books …’