My Favourite Part

44: just my luck

Eric hasn't said a word since we left the manor. He's barely looked in my direction since we started driving. When our song came on the radio, 'Love Really Hurts Without You', I started humming and looked over to see if he'd join in – he didn't. Something's wrong. I just wish I knew what it was. The air in the car is so tense that I'm afraid to even ask.

But I have to. Right?

"Is everything okay?"

He jolts at my voice, like he forgot there was even someone else in the car.

"Hm? Yeah," he answers without looking at me, "yeah, everything's fine."

No 'love'. No 'Evie'. No eye contact. Am I reading too much into this?

"Um, thanks for, you know, inviting me and everything." Oh my god, could I sound any lamer?

His smile is forced. "Thank you for saying yes and putting up with everyone! Wouldn't have been a birthday without you." His words are casually sincere, and I'd almost be convinced, but they're too smooth, too glib – like a thank you after a dinner party.

"I had fun," I say, just for the sake of saying something, anything. He doesn't respond, and the low sounds of the radio become the loudest sound in the car again. Did he not have fun?

I think of his face at the races and the opera and his birthday dinner – the easy-going, ever-charming host. Then, I think of his face yesterday, and the tension in his body as he sat with his father and Freddie.

"Hey, um, you know yesterday – when you were on the balcony with your dad and Freddie? What were you guys talking about? It looked sort of intense?" I laugh lightly, hoping to lighten the mood that's descended, but he doesn't. His jaw tightens when he grinds his teeth, and he speaks, his tone is curt – upset, maybe?

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Eric, come on," I reach a gentle hand out and place it over his on the wheel, "if your grip gets any tighter, your skin'll tear. Clearly it wasn't 'nothing'. What's wrong?"

"Evie, just drop it, alright?" His words are explosive, but he isn't. He just sounds, and frankly looks, exhausted. "It was family stuff. That's all."

I sit back, with my hands firmly in my lap. I let the music-infused silence pervade for a momenta before I speak.

"Was it about your sister?"

"Nelly? No, why?"

I stare down at my folded hands. "Not Nelly," I say quietly.

And finally, he looks at me. Only, when he turns his head, he forgets that we're on the M5.and lets his hands fall from the wheel.

"Oi!"
"What the hell are you doing, mate!"

The chorus of beeps and profanities snaps him out of his shock-induced trance, and the gentleman in him prompts him to stick an apologetic hand out of the window. "Sorry! Sorry!"

It'd be funnier in different circumstances.

He pulls over to the nearest hard shoulder, and when we stop, he sits silently for a minute.

"When did you find out?"

"Your birthday," I answer, doing my best to still my fidgeting hands. "I was in the cellar, and -"

"Nelly," he assumes just as fast as Pip did. I nod.

Taking the key out of the ignition, he taps it against the steering wheel. "I was going to tell you, Evie."