Big Brother
“There you are.” Jackson’s voice causes me to start and almost spill my tea. I can’t believe I didn’t see or hear him approaching.
“Jackson, don’t sneak up on the poor girl,” Adele gently admonishes. “You’ll give her a heart attack.”
Before I have a chance to respond another voice calls out from the house, and I turn to see a slightly older version of Jackson appear in the doorway. The similarities are startling; at first glance, they could almost be twins, but as I observe the brothers greeting each other I see the subtle differences.
While Jackson is like a giant compared to me, he is in fact a couple of inches shorter than James. But what he lacks in height he makes up for in build. And then, of course, there is the square jaw that I love kissing; James’ face is softer, and he has his mother’s nose. Jackson’s eyes are a startling shade of blue; light in the middle and then blending from aquamarine to an inky navy circle around the edge. James, on the other hand, has hazel eyes that suit his face behind a set of black-framed glasses.
James catches me staring over Jackson’s shoulder and gives me a smile and a cheeky wink. I can only think that Jackson has filled him in on how nervous I am about today, and he is trying to set me at ease. That or he’s trying to flirt with me which is so not okay. Before I can make my mind up, a braying laugh is followed by a squeal that has me wincing and sets the dogs off barking.
“Oh. My. God. James, you never told me you were a twin.” The voice belongs to a long-legged bottle blonde whose painted-on jeans, full face of makeup and Blackfriars t-shirt scream groupie. Okay, so maybe that’s a bit harsh, but the way she exclaims how amazing it is to meet Jackson and how she always wanted to learn guitar and maybe he could spare some time to teach her, has my inner bitch starting to claw her way out and I’m ready to tell her to back off already. That one’s mine!
Before I say anything I might regret, Jackson is discreetly rolling his eyes at me while placing his hand in mine, “I don’t think you’ve met my girlfriend, Kat?”
Sascia, who takes great pains to tell me that it’s spelt with a ‘C’, deflates for the merest of seconds before looping her arm through James’ and gives him an over-bright smile.
Adele is the epitome of grace, despite Sascia’s ogling of her sons, and offers her a drink.
I fail to repress the snort that erupts from me when Sascia asks if Adele has any white wine; it’s not even eleven a.m.
“I…Let me see what I can do,” Adele replies dryly, arching an immaculate eyebrow at James. I am amazed at how much Adele conveys with just a look as two pink circles appear high on his cheekbones, and he clears his throat nervously. With that Adele disappears inside, leaving us kids alone.
“So, Katherine,” Sascia turns her attention to me, her eyes glaring daggers in my direction. “Did you, like, meet Jackson at a gig or something?”
“Um, actually it’s Kat.” I bristle at the accusatory tone and the obvious mistake with my name. “I met Jackson in my bar.” I’m determined not to rise to Sascia’s bait. My focus today is on impressing Jackson’s parents, not verbally sparring with some groupie.
Sascia snorts, and Jackson stiffens beside me. “Oh, you are a barmaid. How cute.”
Jackson shoots James a harsh glare and tension becomes palpable between the brothers. I can practically see the unasked questions floating above the table. “So, what do you do then, Sascia?” Jackson asks her.
Sascia preens under his attention. “Well, Daddy works in construction, and he doesn’t like his princess getting her hands dirty, so I see it as my job to support the arts.”
I can’t help the giggle that escapes and quickly clap my hand over my mouth as I attempt to smother it under a cough. Support the arts, that’s rich.
The tension that has risen between us is broken when Adele and Jackson’s father make their way onto the patio with a tray of homemade lemonade, a glass of Sauvignon Blanc for Sascia and some snacks to keep us going until lunch is ready.
Watching Sascia get completely sloshed before the first course is even served is mildly amusing and giving me soap-opera vibes but seeing her hit on Marcel, Jackson’s father, during dessert is horrifying. And then being present while Adele icily suggests that James take his ‘lady friend’ home is downright terrifying.
It’s only when I catch the furtive yet smug glance that James throws Jackson just before bundling said lady friend into his high-end BMW that I wonder if there is been more to this casual introduction than meets the eye. Sascia’s behaviour has made me seem positively angelic, and a sly part of me wondered who conceived the plan; Jackson or James?
The warm hugs I receive from both Adele and Marcel, along with an open invitation to return, are confirmation enough that I have at least made a good impression, and it was with a sense of genuine regret that we climb back into Jackson’s truck and wave goodbye as we head back to London.
“Well, that went…Oh. My. God” I break down with uncontrollable giggles as I relive Sascia’s antics in my mind.
Jackson begins laughing so hard that for a moment I think he may need to pull the truck over so that we don’t end up having an accident. “Jeez, that was beyond anything James has ever pulled. And I mean that both ways.”
“Was that for real?” I squeak, suddenly hoping I haven’t gone too far. After all, blood is often thicker than water.
“I think that might have been James welcoming you to the family.” When I frown, Jackson clarifies, “I spoke to James a couple of days ago and told him you were feeling nervous about meeting Mum and Dad. I asked him to go easy on you, as he does tend to grill the girls I have been out with, big brother style, you know? I never thought he would go that far, though. Mum is going to rip him a new one later…”
“So, he found the most ridiculous groupie he could, to make me look better?” I’m not entirely sure whether I should be insulted or not.
“Not to make you look better. Just to provide a distraction. You know, so that it wouldn’t be so intense meeting Mum and Dad. Make it easier for you to relax and get to know them.”
“Ah, okay.” I decide to accept Jackson’s explanation as there seems little point in getting upset. I just hope that I’ll get a chance to meet James again soon under less crazy circumstances. I know it’s weird after years of adopting my ‘fuck you’ attitude, but I really do want to make a good impression on the people who are influential in Jackson’s life. He has wormed his way into my world, and the idea of him leaving is downright scary. “Ooh, turn this up. I love this song,” I say, too tired to contemplate my inner monologue any longer and lose myself in Jackson’s 80s punk playlist.