‘I’m sorry.’
Sincerity shone from her eyes and he suspected his attempt at a neutral expression and factual tone had backfired.
‘I’m not dyslexic, so I can’t understand how that feels and I won’t pretend to understand. But I do know how it feels to believe you’re stupid, and it sucks. For a variety of reasons I missed a lot of school, and by the time my attendance became regular I was far behind everyone else. I dreaded every lesson, knew my ignorance would be exposed. In the end my grandparents paid for a private tutor and I caught up. I know it’s not the same, but I know it must have been tough for you.’
He sensed she didn’t usually share this information, and without thought he reached out and covered her hand in his. ‘It sounds like it was tough for us both.’
Her proximity, the softness of her hand under his, the slenderness of her wrist, the warmth in her eyes, the almost impossible length of her eyelashes, the curve of her lips all combined to throw him for a loop.
Focus. Under the pretext of drinking his coffee, he lifted his hand from hers.
As if that had broken the spell, she frowned. ‘How old were you when you were diagnosed? I don’t remember you being dyslexic at school. I do remember you being cool and popular.’
‘I worked at it. And I made sure I excelled at sports.’
He had been on every possible school team. Plus, over the years he’d learnt to mask his dyslexia—persuaded friends to write his essays, made out he didn’t care that he was failing, messed around in class to be cool, figured out ways to slip under the radar.
‘And then I got lucky. When I was seventeen, at college, with hardly any GCSEs to my name, my football coach figured it out—and I got diagnosed with dyslexia. Late, but not too late. Not everyone is so lucky.’
Enough of his life story.
‘So I thought I’d organise a fundraiser. My family have all pitched in to help. Alessio can’t be there, as he has an event, but he has donated his yacht as the venue. The tickets have all been purchased. There will be an auction and a four-course dinner, music and dancing, and Glossip is writing it up.’
He’d swear she’d turned a greyish shade of pale, but she gave a small determined nod.
‘I’ll do my best to play my part. Could you let me have a copy of the guest list?’
‘No problem.’
‘And could you tell me more about your family? Just some background and a quick character sketch.’
‘My mum was a nurse. She retired a couple of years ago. She always said she would have loved to be a doctor, but her family didn’t support that. She had a difficult start in life, and as a result she wasn’t in a position to get into medical school. My dad is an electrician, also retired, and has discovered a late-life interest and talent for golf. There wasn’t a lot of money when I was growing up, but there was a lot of encouragement and heaps of expectation. My sisters thrived—Julia is a human rights lawyer and Gemma is a surgeon.’
Gabby looked slightly daunted and he couldn’t blame her. As a child that was how he’d felt. Two high-achieving siblings and then there was Zander. The Failure.
‘We grew up in Bath and my parents still live here. Julia, Gemma and I all live and work in London, but we come back to visit often. Julia is divorced with two kids, and somehow manages to juggle everything because she’s scarily efficient. Gemma is the one getting married in a few weeks. She’s very career-oriented and we didn’t think she would ever want to settle down. Then Alessio swept her off her feet.’
‘He’s your best friend, right? Does that bother you? Your best mate and your sister?’
‘Nope.’
In truth, it terrified him, because he no longer believed in happy-ever-after. He knew with bone-deep certainty that people changed, that love could wither away. But it was an opinion he couldn’t share. Not without bursting the illusory bubble of his own happy-ever-after. The only consolation was that at least Claudia had never suspected his doubts, his frustration, the cold, growing realisation that he had made a mistake. He didn’t want that for his friend or his sister; hoped it wouldn’t happen to them.
‘I’m happy for them.’
Expression intent, Gabby scribbled in her notebook, her handwriting a series of loops and generous curves. ‘Tell me a bit about your sister’s children.’
‘Freddy is seven and Heidi is five, and they’re small balls of energy who never stop talking and are interested in everything. I looked after them for a weekend last month and by the end of it I was a wreck. Good for nothing but a cup of cocoa and a nine o’clock bedtime.’
He could hear the affection in his own voice, and clearly so could Gabby.
‘Sounds like you’re a great uncle. You’re lucky. Your family sounds amazing.’ The wistfulness in her voice was unmistakable.
‘They are.’ Zander hesitated and then continued. ‘What about you? Are you an only child? I don’t know the details, but at school Claudia did mention that you lived with your grandparents.’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was flat. ‘My parents died. My grandparents were wonderful and they agreed to take me on. They were brilliant. Truly brilliant. At the time Gran was seventy and Gramps was seventy-two. It would have been completely understandable if they had decided it was too much. Instead they gave me security and love. I owe them a great deal. Gramps died several years ago. I still miss him, but obviously Gran was devastated. They were married for over sixty-five years.’ Her voice was soft now, and a look of admiration touched with sorrow filled her eyes. ‘They married when Gran was nineteen and Gramps was twenty-one. How incredible is that?’