Right Number, Wrong Girl

Of course she did. She was all about confrontation unless she was the one being confronted.

Mum swept out of the kitchen, leaving her tea behind, and left an echoing silence behind her.

She didn’t mean to do it, but her constant reminders that I was the eldest and would one day be The Duke of Devon over my brother didn’t make for the best familial environment.

It also didn’t always make for the best brotherly relationship, either.

It wasn’t my fault I was born ten months before him, just like it wasn’t Henry’s fault that he was born after me.

I just wished our mother would stop fixating on it so bloody much.

“You aren’t going to make an excuse for her?” Henry asked, glancing over his shoulder as he opened the fridge door.

“What for? Her shitty attitude again this morning?” I shrugged and pulled out a stool so I could sit down. “What good does it do? Half the time I can’t tell if it’s the bloody menopause or just her being her usual pain the arse self where this crap is concerned.”

“You usually make excuses for her bringing up the difference between us.”

“She means well, and you know that. She just wants the best for the family legacy.”

“There it is.”

“Oh, fuck off with it, Henry. You know it’s the truth.” I leaned forwards on the counter. “Do you want the damn dukedom? I’ll let you have it if it’ll give me some peace. I’m getting it from every angle right now, and I don’t need you adding to the bitchfest.”

Henry sighed and turned around. “No, I don’t want it, and you know that. It’s your birth right, not mine. I’d just like her to give it a rest once in a while.”

“You and me both,” I said firmly. “Why don’t you look over the stupid guest list with Nancy and see if there’s anyone you want to invite to give me a break?”

“Not bloody likely.” He snorted and poured orange juice into a glass. “As long as she’s hyper-fixated on you, she’s leaving me alone.”

“Stop whinging, then,” I muttered.

My brother had the innate ability to bring out my inner teenager. Sometimes I wondered if there was a part of me that hadn’t been able to grow up. We had a pretty intense sibling rivalry, and it wasn’t helped by the fact our younger sister was already very happily married with a little girl.

It made Mum wonder if we were tormenting her by still being single. I was thirty and my brother would be in six months, and neither me nor Henry had any potential serious relationships in the pipeline.

Even if we did, we wouldn’t tell her.

God only knew she’d have a wedding venue booked within a week.

“She’s going ahead with the party, then? Does Grandma know yet?”

I nodded, grateful for the slight change in subject. “I’d put money on her knowing.”

“No way. Nobody has mentioned it to her.”

“Doesn’t mean she doesn’t know.”

“Grandma isn’t God.”

“She’d take offense to that, mate.”

“She takes offense to everything that doesn’t paint her as a saviour, messiah, or deity. But there’s no way she knows about the party.”

“There’s no way she doesn’t know about it, either.”

Henry shook his head, still disagreeing with me.

“I’m telling you, she knows, and she’s not going to be happy about it,” I reiterated.