The Club(40)

One corner of Ned’s mouth twitched very slightly at this.

‘It’s just that, the thing is, I need to see what I’m capable of myself now, you know? What I can make, what I can do. And if I don’t do it now then I don’t think I’m ever going to do it. I guess the truth is I just need to find out who I really am.’

Ned cleared his throat at this, glanced aside to check the wing mirror, turned his face very slightly away from his brother.

And instantly, Adam wished he could take those words back. What a stupid, weak thing to say. Like he was going on his gap year. Like he was one of Laura’s fucking floundering idiot clients. What a gift to Ned, to start gushing like that, to make everything he had been secretly thinking about and planning and dreaming of for years sound so flimsy and pathetic.

Ned hadn’t had to say much, barely needed to say anything, to make it clear who he thought was really behind this, whose idea he thought it all was, what he thought about that. And because he hadn’t said anything directly there was no way to jump on it, except to insist that he, Adam, was not just parroting Laura. How could he attempt at this point to convey to Ned what it might be like to be in a relationship, a serious long-term relationship; how could he explain the need to compromise sometimes, and how that could be a sign of maturity rather than weakness?

They were nearly at the cottage now. Through the trees up ahead Adam could see the slates of its roof, the brick of its chimney, the white of its painted stone walls. The Cottage, everyone called it, or Ned’s Cottage, but it was more like a farmhouse, really, on two floors, with a porch at the front, a high surrounding hedge, a walled-in flagstone forecourt. It was as they were turning in at the gate that Adam – keen to get back on the front foot in this conversation – said the thing that he knew immediately he would regret forever.

‘I mean, I don’t think what I’m asking for is unreasonable, given what I’ve done for this company.’

The atmosphere in the car changed so fast he could practically feel his ears pop.

Their tyres crunched to a halt on the gravel.

Something under the bonnet, cooling, pinged.

Ned unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the Land Rover door, climbed out, and slammed it. Then he turned, as if to check he had not forgotten someone. Then he tapped on the window and gestured for Adam to wind it down. Adam did so. Ned leaned in. Adam leaned over.

‘Is that some kind of threat, Adam?’

Already Adam was shaking his head, smiling as widely as he could, holding his hands up. He really had not meant it as such. He really had not.

Ned’s expression did not soften. His face was taut with anger.

‘What you’ve done for this company? Is that what you want to talk about?’

Adam said nothing.

‘Who you really are? Is that what you want to know?’

‘Listen, Ned, I didn’t mean—’

‘I can tell you who you really are,’ said Ned. ‘I can tell Laura who you really are, as well, if you like. If you’re sure that’s what you want. That’s definitely what you both want, is it? To find out who you really are. Do you want me to tell you? Do you want me to tell her?’

Adam did not answer. Somewhere in the distance another car was crunching along another track.

‘Tell her what?’ said Adam, flatly, although of course he knew.

‘Tell her what you’re like, of course, Adam. What you’re really like. It’s funny, isn’t it, the way we go through life, curating the version of ourselves we show to the world, editing it oh so carefully, that version of ourselves we share with our friends, with our family. Maybe even with ourselves. Maybe most of all with ourselves, actually. Do you know what I mean, Adam?’

‘Ned, you don’t—’

Ned made as if to press the call button on his phone. Adam reached to undo his seatbelt. Ned laughed. He took a step backwards. A smile spread across his face.

‘I’ll do it, Adam. You know I’ll do it. I don’t care about you leaving. Go ahead. Knock yourself out. You can go your own way. Start a shit wine bar in Melbourne. Run a poxy gastropub in Richmond. Spend the rest of your life flogging sticky toffee puddings and thinking up promotions to get people in on a Tuesday night and worrying about your Tripadvisor reviews. Do what the fuck you like. We’re both grown-ups. We’ll still be brothers. I’ll see you at Christmas. I’m sure Home will survive.’

Ned’s smile, which had already grown faint, now disappeared entirely.

‘But if you ever start dropping hints to me again about what you think you’ve done for this company, what that’s worth, how much of my money you think I owe you . . . I’ll do more than drop hints, Adam. I’ll tell her. Laura. Your wife. I’ll tell her what you’re like. I’ll tell her exactly what you’re really like. And you know what else I’ll do? I’ll fucking show her.’

Ned took a step back, turned, and walked away across the gravel. He stabbed his keycode into the door with an angry forefinger, waited for the code to register, checked the time on his watch, opened the door, then turned again in the doorway. There was a smile on his face once more.

‘I’ll fucking show her, Adam.’





Vanity Fair


MURDER ON THE ISLAND

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 24

Within hours of the announcement, the internet was awash with rumours and counter-rumours, accusations and theories about the whereabouts of Ned Groom. That he was dead. That he was in hiding. He was on the run. He had been kidnapped. That he had faked his own kidnapping. That for some unknown reason Freddie Hunter had thrown Ned out of his helicopter and into the North Sea.