Before You Say Goodbye

Chapter 13

Once she felt it was safe for him to move, Autumn helped Bowie back into bed. It was ten in the morning and they could hear the house teeming with nervous energy. The Whittles were blissfully oblivious to the tragedy that had almost unfolded below them as they slept. Cautiously, Autumn asked Bowie how he wanted her to tell them that they would not be attending the ball that evening— clearly he was far too sick — but he shook his head vehemently in defiance.

“We’re still going,” he said. She blinked at him, blindsided.

“Bowie—”

“Don’t fight with me,” he said belligerently. “We’re going.”

She skulked from the bedroom to agonise over his decision in the shower. She was angry that he could speak to her so harshly, after all they’d been through together. She had a headache and was tired. She wanted to curl up in bed beside the sweet, loving version of her boyfriend, but his pain monster had hold of him and, even though she knew that it was not his fault, she felt furious with him for ruining their carefully laid out plans. It all made her feel rotten.

She tried to avoid everyone, calling a hasty hello into the kitchen as she shut the bathroom door behind her, only to run into Marley in the hallway on her way back to their bedroom.

“Not long now.” He grinned.

“Yeah.” She nodded, forcing herself to smile.

“Thanks so much for doing this with me, Autumn.” He stooped to hug her.

“You’re welcome,” she murmured. He held her tightly for a few seconds before letting go, turning dramatically and flouncing like a prima donna in the direction of the kitchen. She knew that he was trying to make her laugh, so she forced out a half-hearted giggle. When she was sure he was gone, she leaned back against the hallway wall and sank to the floor.

“Fuck,” she whispered into thin air. She’d concluded her shower adamant she would find a way to convince Bowie he shouldn’t risk shortening his life for the sake of a ball, but she had just seen the very reason he wanted to do it with her own eyes. Marley was beside himself with excitement. Today, there was no sign of the permanently fixed frown he generally wore. Bowie wanted to see his brother back at his best, one more time. Nothing she could say would stop him from putting his life at risk to do it except potentially Bluebell declaring she was no longer comfortable, but that wasn’t going to happen, either. Autumn knew Bluebell felt like she owed Marley a big break. Autumn would never be able to convince her otherwise.

“What happened?” Maddie asked her. The sound of her voice, full of concern, startled Autumn to her feet. Maddie was standing at the bottom of the stairs just a few feet away and had, no doubt, an unhindered view of Autumn for at least the last few seconds. Perhaps she’d even been there the whole time.

“Nothing,” Autumn answered a little too quickly. “Everything’s fine.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before Maddie had hold of Autumn’s hand and was dragging her back into the bathroom.

“Autumn, tell me,” she said, slamming the door behind them and locking it. Autumn searched her mind for an alternative story to tell her but couldn’t focus on anything except how desperately Maddie’s eyes were boring holes into her own. She was tired and afraid and no longer knew what was the right thing to do. She could feel her panic rising.

“Autumn, you’re not alone in this. Tell me what’s happened and we can figure it out together.”

“I think Bowie had another heart attack last night.” She instantly felt relieved that she wasn’t the only one who knew.

“Why didn’t you come and get me?” Maddie asked, her breath catching as she spoke, her eyes filling with tears.

“He asked me not to.” Maddie looked hurt. Autumn rushed on. “Only because he was worried one of you would try to stop him from going to the ball tonight.”

Maddie’s face softened and Autumn felt the tiniest bit proud of herself. She was usually a terrible liar but it seemed she could muster up untruths when it really mattered.

“There’s no way he can go, Autumn.” Maddie shook her head.

“Try telling him that.” Autumn sighed.

“Because of Marley?” Maddie asked. Autumn nodded. They sat down together on the bathroom floor, hugging their knees to their chests. Autumn could hear Marley singing somewhere. She knew Bowie would be listening too. There was no way he’d change his mind. “It might be what kills him,” Maddie added.

“Bowie would gladly die if it helped make Marley happy,” Autumn said.

“Well, Marley is going to be devastated.” Maddie ran her hands over her face.

Maddie was absolutely right. Marley would give anything for even one single minute with the brother he loved. “What do we do?” Autumn asked their sister. She felt utterly lost. Whatever they did, someone was going to get hurt.

“There’s only one thing we can do,” Maddie said, her voice thick with trepidation. “We can’t mess around with Bowie’s life, Autumn, but he isn’t going to listen to us. We have to tell Marley.”

* * *

They pulled him outside on the pretext of sharing a cigarette. Autumn started by telling him about Bowie’s latest heart attack and they had to physically restrain him to stop him from running to his twin. They told him that Bowie knew about the medley. That he himself had engineered the whole performance to give Marley another chance. Then they asked him to talk some sense into Bowie. He didn’t react the way they thought he would.

“We have to go,” he said. Autumn and Maddie narrowed their eyes at him, and then at one another.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Autumn asked.

“Did you hear what she said?” Maddie hissed. “Bowie had a heart attack.”

“Yeah, I heard you.” Marley winced.

He told them that he was touched that his brother had gone to so much trouble to come up with a last-ditch attempt at giving him some happiness. He said he knew Bowie was still clinging on to some semblance of hope that Marley might change his mind about taking his own life after Bowie had gone. He revealed that they’d taken to talking about it between the two of them, something they’d never felt able to do before. Bowie had pleaded with Marley not to commit suicide, even resorting to begging his brother, on his knees, to reconsider. Bowie was haunted by gory imaginings: Marley jumping from a building, Marley cutting his wrists and bleeding out, Marley hanging from a deserted staircase.

“He’s torturing himself over what his death will do to me. If I perform for him and never mention suicide again, Bowie gets to believe he saved me,” Marley said. “He might die quicker, but at least he’ll die in peace.”

Autumn thought it might be the most harrowing and beautiful expression of love and hope she’d ever heard.

* * *

“Marley knows about last night, doesn’t he?” Bowie asked her later that day. “And that I arranged the tribute?”

Autumn was sitting at their dressing table, lazily swigging from a bottle of prosecco she was holding in one hand and applying foundation to her face with the other. She froze. She knew her silence would be confirmation of his suspicions.

It was all Marley’s fault. He’d come to sit with Bowie in the afternoon and she’d seen the optimism drain from his eyes at the sight of his ailing brother. This latest heart attack, if that’s what it had been, had possessed his features and lingered there still. Sleeping Bowie had looked as though he’d died. Marley had emitted a weird, choking, strangling sound, somewhere between a whimper and a sob, at the sight of him and Autumn had worried that he might faint. She’d stepped forward to catch him if he had and their gracelessness had woken Bowie up. Marley had tried in vain to talk with credibility about his fake flight to New York, but he hadn’t fooled anyone. Bowie had let him stammer and had barely said a word, but Autumn had seen his eyes dart accusingly in her direction a number of times and she’d realised, there and then, that he’d known what she’d done.

“Yes,” Autumn said now. “He knows, Bowie. I’m sorry.”

Bowie nodded and stared down at his duvet.

“That was my last chance to save him,” he said.

“It wasn’t.”

“Can you leave me alone?”

“Bowie—”

“Go away, Autumn.”

His tone was heartless and it made her feel numb. She stood up and headed for the door, the bottle and foundation brush still in her hands. She stopped before she reached it. This was the first time he’d ever been truly angry with her and she found herself rooted to the spot by the same abject fear she knew Bluebell felt whenever they argued. What if he died and this was how they’d left things?

“Please don’t do this . . .” she whispered to him. Bowie pulled their duvet over his head. He ignored her. She contemplated climbing into bed beside him but was worried he might tell her to get out again. She took a long swig from her bottle and stared bitterly at his still and silent form. She wanted to scream her pain straight into his face. She wondered how he might feel if she got into a car and drove away and never came back. She wished, for the first time, that she’d never met him, never become involved in any of this. What might she be doing now if this man and his family hadn’t become her everything? Something less painful than this, she’d have been willing to bet.

“I love you,” she said despondently. She gave him time to reply but was met with further silence, so she turned on her heel and left him alone as he’d asked. She took herself to Maddie’s room, looking for the company of someone she did not have to explain herself to, but was disappointed to find Bluebell there as well. They had both, quite clearly, been crying.

“I told her about Bowie,” Maddie said sheepishly. “Sorry, Autumn.”

Autumn was annoyed, but didn’t have the strength to argue.

“Bowie knows that Marley knows too,” she said. The two sisters stared at her, their mouths agape.

“Turns out Marley isn’t quite the performer we thought he was. Not when it comes to hiding how he feels about Bowie anyway.”

“Is he mad about it?” Maddie asked. Autumn nodded.

“Seething,” she said. She took another gulp of her wine. Bluebell licked her lips and reached out to take the bottle from Autumn’s hand. Autumn fought the urge to tell her to go and get her own.

“But he still doesn’t know that the two of you know,” Autumn said. “He thinks I only told Marley, so please don’t tell him. Or anyone else.”

Autumn did not want to think about how much trouble she would be in with Bowie if he found out that his sisters knew about his not-so-secret heart attack, too.

“Give him some time,” Maddie said. “He’ll just be really disappointed, that’s all.”

Autumn felt disappointed, too. She was more upset than she cared to admit that the whole thing had been a set-up from the beginning, that Bowie was never going to be blown away by their performance in the way that she and Marley had dreamed he would be, and that she still had to sing the stupid tribute to him in public, knowing that everybody knew everything anyway. It all seemed like a massive waste of time and effort. She’d been stung by the venom she’d heard in Bowie’s voice when he’d told her to go away, and she was hurt that Maddie had told Bluebell when she’d specifically asked her not to. She was angry that Marley’s inability to hide his feelings from his twin had left her at odds with the man she loved. She was sick of them all. She was tired of the drama. She yearned for the sanctuary of her bed in New York. For some time on her own.

She sat down on the floor and they idly passed the bottle of prosecco between them until it was gone, talking through how they would handle things if Vincent approached anybody at the ball. Bluebell was adamant she would do nothing at all. She wouldn’t look at him, she wouldn’t run away, she would just continue whatever it was she was doing as though he did not exist and was not there. Autumn and Maddie agreed that was the best thing to do and promised to help her execute her plan should the situation arise. Soon, it was time to get ready. In her haste, Autumn had left her dress downstairs. Maddie offered to get it for her, but Autumn didn’t want to risk Bowie asking his sister if she knew about his heart attack, too. She would not be able to lie to him and he was angry enough with Autumn as it was.

Bowie was asleep, or at least pretending to be, so Autumn crept across the room to retrieve her gown from where it was hanging in a dress bag by the window. She sighed and watched his sleeping form, remembering the way he had kissed her yesterday and how her heart had fluttered when he’d told her he couldn’t wait to see her in it. She could never have considered that a heart attack between then and now would drive them so far apart. She hoped that he might still catch his breath when he saw her later. She stood and watched him sleeping for a while, hoping he might wake up and tell her he had forgiven her, that everything was going to be OK, that he knew that she had only betrayed him to protect him. When she rejoined his sisters upstairs, she found Bluebell pouring a massive wooden chest full of jewellery onto the bed and Maddie sorting through a mountain of shoes and bags.

“Oh my God!” She laughed when she saw them.

“We keep everything in this house,” Bluebell said. “You never know when you might need blue velvet shoes.”

She tossed a pair to Autumn. They would complete her outfit perfectly. She smiled, thanking her friend and pouring herself a glass of pinot grigio, their new drink of choice now that the prosecco had gone. She was shaking so violently that Bluebell had to hold the glass for her so that she didn’t spill it everywhere. Autumn was grateful for the help. She took a sip, standing redundantly in the middle of the room, unsure where to start with sorting herself out. Getting ready felt like a monumental task and she was on the verge of falling to pieces. She didn’t know how she was going to do it. She stared at the make-up and jewellery before her, completely overwhelmed.

Bluebell put on a nineties disco playlist and they sat Autumn in front of the mirror. She could tell that they’d been talking about how they might be able to do something to make her feel better. They were tender in their touch and gentle in their tone when they spoke to her. She was grateful for their love. Bluebell braided her hair, twisting it into a messy updo, while Maddie busied herself searching for the perfect eyeshadow to apply to Autumn’s eyelids. She focused on watching them make her over in the mirror as she sipped her wine and sang along to the songs she knew. She realised, to her delight, that, together, Bluebell and Maddie were curing her of her fear of other women. They were her friends and they showed that they loved her. They knew, without asking, how to support her. They rooted for her in all she did, and cared about her wellbeing. It felt wonderful.

“Go easy on the alcohol, my friend,” Bluebell suggested with a grin when they were done with her. They sat her on a beanbag in the corner to watch them getting ready themselves.

Autumn ruminated over her feelings and realised Bowie had made her feel like a little girl. Like a scolded child. This was the first time someone she really loved had been desperately disappointed in her. She’d hurt Bowie by ruining any opportunity he might have had to give his brother a reason to live. It didn’t get much more serious than that. True, she’d done it with the best of intentions but Bowie had asked her not to and she’d still gone against his wishes. In failing to respect his decisions, she had let him down as badly as his parents had. She felt terrible.

“I’m going to go and help Bowie get dressed, OK?” Maddie said when she was ready. She had given her yellow ballgown a stylishly edgy twist by tying a golden scarf through her hair and adding a bold gold brooch shaped like a snake. She looked phenomenal. Autumn opened her mouth to object, wanting to help him herself if she could.

“I absolutely swear to you that I will not tell him I know about what happened last night.” Maddie kissed Autumn’s forehead and left.

Autumn distracted herself from her worry by watching Bluebell getting dressed. Her friend was wearing charcoal-grey eyeshadow with barely any other make-up and was meticulously curling her glossy blonde hair until it looked as though she’d given herself a perm. Tonight, she would catch the eye of every single person in the room. It wasn’t like Bluebell to be so finicky about the way she looked. She was taking such care because this man, Vincent, would be there tonight. Autumn hoped that he would look at anything other than Bluebell, for Marley’s sake as well as her own. The way she was feeling, Autumn might kill him herself if he didn’t.

“Do you mind if I go and have a cigarette?” Autumn asked Bluebell. She wanted to sit on the porch and smoke for a bit. She’d numbed herself all afternoon with distraction and alcohol, and desperately needed some time to herself to think.

“Of course,” Bluebell said. “Leave Bowie alone though, Autumn. He’ll calm down in time. The last thing any of us need tonight is the two of you fighting.”

Autumn nodded in agreement and stood cautiously, afraid that she might wobble under the influence of too much white wine. She felt sturdy, actually. Strong.

“Thank you for getting me ready,” she said, slipping her dress on over her underwear before she left. “I feel lovely.”

“You look beautiful, Autumn.” Bluebell smiled. “Try to have a good night.”

Bowie’s family, minus Bluebell, were milling around in the hallway. They watched her as she came down the stairs. She heard someone murmur ‘wow’ from somewhere and bit her lip shyly, telling each of them, with sincerity, that they looked amazing. She looked for Bowie. He was sitting on his own at the kitchen table in a black tuxedo. He was staring at her, but didn’t speak. She smiled meekly at him, but he turned his face away. With difficulty, Autumn swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Can I have a cigarette?” she asked Marley.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll come with you. You look lovely, by the way.”

“Thanks,” she said, her eyes darting back to Bowie. He was still glaring at the kitchen table.

“Nice tux,” she said, trying valiantly to engage him.

“Thanks,” he muttered, scratching at the wood with his fingernail. She felt the gaze of the others upon her, knew their eyes were flitting between her and Bowie, and the room fell into a brief awkward silence, but no one said anything. She understood. They were desperately ready for an evening of fun and were, no doubt, assuming that an evening of frivolity would ease whatever tension there was between Autumn and Bowie. Autumn hoped they might be right. She followed Marley outside.

“Seriously, Autumn―” he leaned against the porch fence and lit her a cigarette ― “you’re beautiful.”

She blushed, but didn’t say anything. He smiled sadly at her. She knew he was trying to make up for the compliments she’d not received from the man she loved, and was grateful for his attempts to make things better for her.

“Are you feeling OK about the song?” he asked her.

The song. She had almost forgotten all about it. She instantly felt the weight of it pressing down on her chest and resentment for Bowie flooded through her. All at once, she knew she’d been naive to think loving him would be enough to carry her through whatever they might face before he died, and she was frightened by how blatantly she couldn’t cope when he was angry with her. Just loving Bowie was not enough ― she needed him to get her through difficult times. She was upset he could abandon her like this and felt he was being unfair to her. She’d only been trying to help. She desperately wanted his forgiveness, but had no idea how to make him understand that. Now, she would have to stand on a stage in front of hundreds of people and sing for him, and he wouldn’t even look at her. She stared at his brother in the porch light. Their similarity had never been so apparent. She had to fight everything inside her not to pull him into a hug. She wanted to beg him to pretend to be Bowie — just for a minute or two — and for him to throw his arms around her so she could bury her head in his chest.

“I think I’ll be fine,” she said. He eyed her suspiciously and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of a ruckus from the house.

“Marley!” they heard Emma scream. They’d both heard her scream like that once before. Stubbing out their cigarettes, they turned and ran into the house.

* * *

Bowie sat at the kitchen table, bent over and holding his chest. He was calling for her, and for Marley. Autumn pulled Bluebell out of the way and knelt in front of him. She whispered his name, reaching out to wrap her fingers around his fists. He clutched her hand and looked up at her. The fear she’d spent hours trying to ease for him the night before was etched, once again, all over his face. He rested his forehead against hers.

Emma and Ben were talking about hospitals but Bluebell, Maddie and Pip had set themselves between them and their brother. They were holding their hands out to stop their parents approaching their son.

“We’re going to the ball,” Bowie choked out.

“No, we’re not, Bow,” Marley said. He was kneeling beside Autumn. He’d put his hands on top of hers, where they rested on Bowie’s. She felt as though the three of them were holding his chest together.

“I’m OK,” Bowie said. “It’s just chest pain.”

“We’re not going,” Marley said. “Bowie, I love you for what you’ve been trying to do for me, but no.”

“He needs to go to the hospital, Marley,” Emma said. “We need to take him to the hospital.”

Marley ignored her and set about trying to comfort his brother. He asked him if he thought it was another heart attack, but Bowie was adamant he didn’t think it was. Marley tried to stand him up to take him to bed, but Bowie sat straight back down again. They brought him a glass of water and some painkillers, then Marley pulled up a chair and sat beside him, a united front. Ben tried earnestly to break through the knot of his defiant children and Emma shouted with a shrillness that only intensified with every second that passed. Marley bore the brunt of her screams. How could he sit there and watch his brother die? Why couldn’t he let her take Bowie to the hospital for a check-up? Why would he do this to his twin, she wanted to know. Eventually, he broke and bellowed at her, springing violently to his feet.

“Stop it, Mum. Stop it both of you. Nobody is taking Bowie anywhere this time. We promised him, remember?”

He left Bowie with Autumn and stood beside his siblings, forming a human wall of hurt and love and sheer force of will. He glared at his parents until they accepted that their fight was futile this time. When he was sure they had accepted his orders, Marley wrapped his arms around them both, collapsing into hysterical sobs himself. Autumn felt a surge of pride. Beside her, she felt Bowie force himself to look up at his brother. He was smiling.

* * *

“I’m still weirdly disappointed that we didn’t get to confront Vincent,” Bluebell admitted.

It was later that same evening and they were all sitting or lying on and around Bowie in his bed. They’d managed to move him and, at Maddie’s suggestion, given him some cannabis to smoke. His pain had subsided so drastically as a result that he’d tried to convince everyone that they could leave him and go to the ball. No one wanted to, they assured him. They’d forced him into his room, protesting all the way, promising him they would stay with him instead. That’s what they all wanted, more than anything. Time with him.

“He’s going to think he’s won when we don’t turn up,” Bluebell added, resting her chin on the side of Bowie’s bed. Marley, who had only just been informed he’d narrowly avoided a run-in with his nemesis, smiled sadly at his sister.

“He’s a child abuser,” he said. “So he never gets to ‘win’.”

“He’s still loved and adored and living in his gorgeous house with his lovely wife.” Bluebell shrugged.

“And, yet, he’s still a child abuser,” Marley said again.

“Yeah, but not a convicted one.” Bluebell sighed. Marley reached out to take her hand and squeezed it.

“He hasn’t ‘won’ anything. You need to re-evaluate what it means to win.”

“I really don’t know anymore.” Maddie joined their conversation. She was sitting beside Autumn on the dressing-table stool. “I always thought it was buying a house and having kids, but I don’t think that stuff would be enough to make me feel like I’d won. Not really. It’s just what’s expected.”

“Winning is knowing who you are,” Bowie said sleepily. “And knowing it so unashamedly that it makes following everyone else and what they’re doing completely impossible. It’s living entirely for yourself and the things you love, no matter what anyone else tries to tell you is right, and finding other people who want to do that with you.”

He moved to take a lazy drag from the joint, but Marley whipped it from his fingertips.

“I think you might have had enough of this.”

The girls giggled. Emma sighed and rolled her eyes. She was still angry with them for stopping her getting to her son, but was too scared he might die to leave his side to sulk. She sat as close to him as it was possible to be, nestled into his chest with one arm beneath his torso and the other across his ailing heart, her eyes rarely deviating from his face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been a part of a posher hot-box,” Pip said facetiously. Marley was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and Bluebell had only half finished curling her hair, but everyone else looked like they’d just stepped off a red carpet.

Emma started to grumble. “You’re turning my house into a drug den.”

“It’s just a plant,” Marley said, drawing from the joint and then passing it to Autumn. She inhaled deeply, throwing Emma an apologetic smile.

“Where did it even come from?” she asked as she exhaled. Pip raised his hand proudly. Emma scowled.

“I also have a stash upstairs.” Bluebell jumped to her brother’s defence.

“So do I,” Marley said. He stared pointedly at his father through the haze he’d created. “Anything you might want to add, Dad?”

Bowie laughed heartily. Autumn couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard him do that. She smiled.

“Er, no?” Ben said. Emma glared from her son to her husband.

“No?” Marley nudged Ben with his toe.

“Nope.” Ben shook his head. “Nothing at all.”

One evening the previous month, shaking with anxiety and struggling to sleep, Ben had joined Autumn and Marley in the garden in the early hours of the morning and asked to share a joint with them. Autumn hadn’t bothered asking how he’d known what they were doing, though she’d been absolutely convinced until that night that nobody knew they swapped cigarettes for weed every now and then. They’d accepted his company and his request without question. He’d admitted that he and Emma had enjoyed using recreational drugs quite regularly when they were younger, but that she had developed a raging hatred for anything of that sort when the twins became teenagers, claiming it was ‘a slippery slope’. Autumn had not been surprised to hear it. From the way Emma dressed and the way she talked, to the names she and Ben had chosen for their children, Bowie’s mum was a real hippy at heart.

Still, she had been furious when someone had produced a bud of weed for Bowie to try earlier that evening, and she’d told the others they were absolutely not to share it with him under any circumstances.

“I don’t want to do it alone,” Bowie had said. “It’s a social thing.”

“This isn’t a festival,” Emma said crossly.

“It doesn’t need to be.” He winced through a wave of pain and stared, wide-eyed, up at his mother. Relenting a little, Emma told him he could nominate one other person.

“OK.” Bowie smirked. “I nominate you.”

Emma rolled her eyes, slapped him playfully on the arm and said no more about it.

Now, they were halfway through their fourth reefer between them and she had returned to her sanctimonious stance.

“This is illegal, you do realise that?” she said.

“Well, it shouldn’t be, not when people need it.” Maddie gestured to her brother. “Look at him.”

At this time of day, Bowie was usually curled up in a ball in bed with at least one hand placed protectively over his chest. Tonight, he was sprawled on his back, one hand behind his head and the other arm around his mum. Autumn had not seen him look so relaxed in weeks. He threw her a sheepish smile. He had forgiven her. She blew him a kiss.

“I’m so fucking stoned,” Bluebell said stupidly.

Autumn nodded. “So am I.”

“Somebody go and get hummus and crisps?” Marley asked.

“No.” Emma shook her head. “You’ll get it everywhere.”

They sat in quiet contemplation for a while. Ben, who had been resisting when a joint was passed to him until now, took the one in Autumn’s hand and dragged from it with obvious prowess and pleasure. Emma watched him, saying nothing. Autumn broke the silence. Staring at Bowie and Marley, the drugs were loosening her lips.

“What’s it like being a twin?” she asked. “You two only ever go on about the good parts. Aren’t there any drawbacks?”

“No,” Bowie and Marley said together.

“There must be,” Bluebell said. “God, I’d hate it if there were two of me.”

“We would hate that, too.” Marley sighed. Bluebell hurled a pillow at him.

“What about fetishization?” Maddie asked. “Do people want to sleep with both of you?”

“It doesn’t happen that much with male twins,” Bowie said. “I mean, lots of women want threesomes, but I don’t think women have ‘sex with twin brothers’ on their fantasy list as often as men have ‘sex with twin sisters’.”

“Straight men are fucking weird.” Pip shook his head.

“That being said . . .” Marley grinned. Bowie laughed.

Emma sighed and put her head in her hands. Autumn knew why. This conversation would only get ruder. Bowie and Marley were on good form, and Autumn knew their mother hated conversations of this nature — where very personal details were discussed instead of their typical level of tomfoolery — because they made her feel uncomfortable.

Marley’s eyes darted mischievously to each of his siblings and to Autumn. “We know that there are women out there . . .”

“Dare I ask how?” Maddie asked. Bowie threw Marley a warning glance.

“Let’s just say we’re not proud of everything we did together when we were younger.” Bowie’s eyes met Autumn’s and he winked at her. She threw him a reassuring nod.

“Speak for yourself,” Marley muttered. “I had a great time.”

The twins guffawed. Their frivolity inspired the others and, eventually, everyone was laughing except for Emma.

“Who are these women who were sleeping with both of you?” Bluebell asked impudently.

“Fully grown and consenting adult women,” Marley said defensively.

“I am familiar with how threesomes work,” Bluebell quipped. Marley snorted, shaking his head. Autumn giggled at her friend’s brazenness.

“Can you please stop this now?” Emma sounded flustered. The conversation was over. Autumn was a little disappointed, but respected their mother too much to push it.

They slipped back into comfortable silence. Pip rolled another joint, took a drag from it and passed it to Autumn. She’d had enough, but took it anyway. Pip was watching her.

“Why are you called Autumn if you weren’t born in the autumn?” he asked.

“Why are you called Pip when you’re a human and not a pip?” she replied. Bowie and Marley laughed. “It’s just a name,” she added.

“Fair play,” Pip said.

Autumn moved to sit on the floor, drawing her knees up to her chest. She was too high. All she really wanted was to crawl into bed beside Bowie and drift off to sleep.

“Pip talks shit when he’s stoned . . .” Marley said. Bowie grabbed urgently for his brother’s hand. He looked as though he might be about to say something profound.

“But not as much shit as Bowie talks,” Marley finished, turning his attention to his twin.

“Marley, do you like being called Marley?” Bowie asked. Autumn laughed at the simplicity of the question he’d seemed so eager to spout. She mused over how this little plant had the whole family focused on fun for once instead of Bowie’s impending doom. Their postures were free from tension, their faces relaxed and beaming. Emma, by contrast, seemed still fraught with worry. Autumn wished that she would revoke her hatred of smoking and indulge, but knew that Emma felt as though that would be giving her children permission to smoke recreationally, something she did not, despite her own history, want any of them to do.

“Fuck, yeah, I do,” Marley answered.

Emma cautioned her son. “Mind your language.”

Marley whined. “Mum! ‘Fuck’ is the best word of all words.”

“It’s vulgar,” Emma said. “And I don’t like how flippantly you throw it around.”

“It’s so versatile,” Marley continued. He mouthed it again, soundlessly.

“Marley . . .” Emma frowned.

“You can use it for everything. It’s awesome.” He gesticulated in the air. “Whether something’s fucking shit or fucking brilliant, or someone’s getting on your fucking nerves—”

“You mean, like you’re getting on my fucking nerves,” his mother said. They cheered and she could not hide her smile. Autumn loved it when Emma joined in with their horseplay, and she knew the others did, too. Marley changed the subject.

“Nice work on our names, Mum,” Marley said. “I love having a name hardly anyone else has.”

Autumn nodded her agreement. She’d once hated her name — kids at school had made fun of her for it — but she loved it now. She regarded it as one of the few things her mum got right, albeit she’d done it accidentally. Autumn was almost certain Katherine had chosen her name not because she wanted to give her daughter a special moniker, but because she wanted credit for picking a name that was different. Autumn knew that was the case because her mother hated everything that was unique about Autumn’s personality. She’d wanted nothing more for Autumn than for her to fit in on their council estate and had regularly expressed her displeasure when her daughter had refused to conform. She hated the fact Autumn had grown into the type of woman who suited the name Autumn Rain. Emma, by contrast, adored her children’s quirky personalities and was thrilled they’d grown into their names.

Emma gave Marley a hearty thumbs-up and then returned her hand to Bowie’s chest. She was still clinging to him as though someone might drag him away from her. As the room fell again into contemplative silence, Emma touched her fingertips to Bowie’s chin, staring into his tired face. Her smile was gone. Bowie met his mother’s gaze. He squeezed her to him, swallowing hard. Marley was eyeing them with tears in his eyes. He got up from the floor beside Bowie, nudging his mum to move over so he could sit on the other side of her, sandwiching her between her twin boys. She moved to rest her head against his shoulder and wound her free hand up to stroke his hair. Autumn smiled to herself. Although Marley mocked his mother mercilessly, he always knew when he had taken it too far, and he’d leap to hold her in his arms or kiss her tenderly on her forehead. She would, of course, forgive him instantly.

“Why, Mum?” Bluebell was slurring, too stoned to make her question clearer.

“I was young when I had you,” Emma said. “Only nineteen when the twins were born. At that time, music was everything to me. I loved Bob Dylan and Lenny Bruce too. I could have called them Bob and Lenny, I guess, but it didn’t have enough fun factor for me back then as a teenage flower-child. It just wasn’t me. Bluebell was named after my favourite flower. I may have grown up a little since then, but I’ve never regretted naming you as I did.”

She patted Bowie and Marley on each of their heads.

“Pip’s name came about for different reasons, of course,” she said, turning to elaborate for Autumn. “We were in a car accident while I was pregnant with him. Not a really serious crash but it felt serious enough with four kids and an unborn baby in the car. It was the middle of the night and a young man stopped to help us. A very young man, only around eighteen. He drove us to the hospital. When Pip was born, we named him after him.”

“That’s lovely,” Autumn said. “I didn’t know that. Does he know?”

“No.” Emma shook her head. “But that wasn’t really what it was about.”

“Imagine if he’d been called something normal,” Marley said jokingly. “Like Steve.”

Emma’s nose wrinkled at the thought.

“I’m going to name my kids weird stuff when I have them,” Bluebell said. “Like Astro. Or River.”

“We wouldn’t expect anything less,” Ben said.

“I’m giving my kids totally normal names,” Maddie said. “Weird names give bullies ammunition. You say you enjoy having an unusual name, Marley, but I think that’s partly because you’re so confident. Nobody ever bullied you, not really. If they had, and they’d been able to use your name to do it, you wouldn’t be so grateful.”

“I think we are going to need to agree on this, guys,” Pip said. “We can’t have half the family with weird names and the other half with normal ones.”

“Imagine . . .” Marley laughed. “Astro, meet your new cousin, Keith.”

Autumn tried to catch his eye, desperate to protect Bowie from flippant discussions about a hypothetical future he wouldn’t witness, but he was laughing too hard to take any notice of anyone.

“I’m going to name my kid after Dad anyway,” Marley continued. “If I ever have a son.”

“Bless you, that’s lovely, Marley,” Emma said, scratching his head affectionately.

Autumn caught Bowie watching her. He smiled sadly.

Bowie had come to the realisation that he would never be a father or an uncle one evening when they’d been in bed together. It had been immensely painful for him even to admit it to himself. She shook her head, disappointed with their group insensitivity, but they didn’t notice. Stoned or not, she couldn’t believe how unfeeling they were being. It was only a matter of time before they realised how hurtful their idle chatter was. To stop them now would make things worse. She hoped her silence might alert them to their tactlessness. It did. In time, they each fell into a sheepish and mournful silence. Bluebell and Maddie covered their mouths with their hands. Emma hid her face in Bowie’s chest.

“I can’t believe we just did that, Bowie.” Maddie shook her head gloomily. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK,” Bowie said sorrowfully. Marley took his hand. They laced their fingers together. Bowie stared up at the ceiling. Autumn knew that he was blinking back tears. “Don’t feel like you have to stop. I’m enjoying imagining it, to be honest.”

“Oh, Bowie.” Emma started sobbing. He turned to look at his mother, wiping her tears away with his fingertips.

“Please stop,” he whispered, addressing them all. He let his tears begin to fall. “It sounds like it’s going to be a lot of fun around here and that’s all I’ve ever wanted for all of you. Live every minute of it for me and stop worrying about it. Please.”

* * *

They stayed with him until he fell asleep. When they had all gone to bed, Autumn lay beside Bowie, studying his profile. She wanted to wake him and ask him if he was OK with her now, but he looked more peaceful than she had ever seen him. She listened to the sound of his breathing, then spread her fingers across his chest to feel the thudding of his heart. Eventually, restless and uncomfortable, she got up again. She knew she’d find Marley in the living room. He was sprawled across the sofa with a bottle of wine in his hand. He threw her a weak smile and made a move to sit up.

“It’s OK,” Autumn said. “I’ll sit over here.”

“Don’t be stupid.” He patted the cushion beside him. She sat herself down and he passed her the bottle of wine. She took a swig, spilling some of it clumsily across her chest and down her dress. He gestured for her to keep it when she tried to hand it back.

“Thanks,” she said, tucking her legs under her. He was watching a music channel. She hadn’t done that since she was a teenager. There was a pile of discarded beer bottles beside the sofa. “Having fun?”

“I’m having a great time,” he said. “It’s hard work sharing a room with your little brother. It’s nice to have some time to myself.”

“Want me to leave?” she asked.

“No, I didn’t mean that,” he said. “I’m just explaining why I’m out here drinking by myself.”

“I don’t think you need to explain that to me.” She sighed. He turned to face her.

“Can we try something new? Can we not talk about Bowie and everything that’s going on, please? Can we just be two friends on a sofa for once?”

She nodded and smiled. “Yeah, OK, let’s try it.”

“Good. More weed?” He produced a joint from the pocket of his pyjamas.

“In here?” she asked. Emma had been absolutely adamant that they were only to smoke it in Bowie’s room.

“Mum will never know.” He shrugged. “She might smell it, I suppose. We’ll just say sorry afterwards.”

“I think we should go out in the garden,” she said, shaking her head. Autumn only ever defied Emma when flanked by a contingent of her unruly sons and daughters.

“Spoilsport,” he said, but stood up and pulled her to her feet. He swayed a little and she suspected he’d indulged in at least one more joint on his own before she’d come in. They stood huddled together on the porch steps. It was freezing in the garden at this time of night, but going back inside for shoes and coats would be too much effort. She smoked quickly, shivering.

“Cold?” he asked her. Her teeth chattered in response. He put down his drink and started to take off his T-shirt.

“What are you doing, you crazy bastard?” She grabbed his hands to stop him. “It’s freezing out here.”

“It’s OK,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

He tried to lift his shirt over his head again, but she clutched it and pulled it back down, inadvertently brushing her hand against his groin as she did so. She saw a spark of excitement in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. He stared down at her with gentle curiosity and she wondered what had happened on her own face. She looked away.

“Let’s just smoke and go back inside,” she said. He nodded and relit the cigarette. She forced herself not to watch him. She had always enjoyed watching the way his lips moved when he exhaled. It felt more wrong tonight than ever before. He passed the cigarette to her and her insides responded reflexively to the way his fingers fluttered against hers. She raised it to her mouth and inhaled, allowing her eyes to glance up at him. He was watching her.

* * *

They finished their cigarette without saying another word and headed back to the lounge to get comfortable again on the sofa. In the early hours of the morning, Larry Ross called Marley to find out where they’d gotten to. He was worried something else had happened to Bowie.

“He’s not well,” Marley told him. “It was just too much for him.”

“That’s fair enough,” Larry said. “Well, you were missed.”

Marley scoffed. “By ‘you’ I suppose you mean Bowie. Nobody's missing me.”

“No, actually, I don’t just mean Bowie.” Larry sounded a little sheepish. “We missed you too, Marley.”

Marley was visibly surprised. He opened his mouth to say something, but Larry’s expression of compassion had rendered him speechless. Autumn nudged him. The gesture snapped him out of it.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be a stranger, OK?” Larry said. Marley frowned in confusion, watching Autumn as he spoke. Her heart broke for him in advance. He wanted to believe Larry’s words more than anything — she could tell by the way he was struggling to string a sentence together — but she herself knew enough now to realise this wasn’t as it seemed, and if she could tell and she barely knew Larry, then Marley almost certainly could, too.

“I know the performance was all some elaborate suicide-prevention plan,” he told Larry. “So, you can drop the act.”

Larry sighed. Autumn willed him to correct Marley’s scepticism, but he didn’t, and Autumn just knew Bowie, somehow, had put Larry up to this. He was still trying to give Marley hope for a future Marley didn’t want unless Bowie was by his side.

“Don’t worry.” Marley answered Larry’s silence. “I won’t tell him how shit an actor you are. He can go believing you’re the hero who helped save his brother. It might give him a little bit of peace.”

Larry was silent, and Autumn was glad. There was nothing he could say. Marley lingered a moment then hung up the phone. She shuffled closer to him and they stared at the television, silent and sad. Frantic, Autumn searched her mind for something to say, but everything sounded too serious or too dispassionate. She was just reaching the conclusion she should wait for him to say something when he spoke.

“Favourite song ever?”

“‘Summer of ’69’,” she said, with no hesitation.

“Nice,” he said. “A little clichéd.”

“What’s yours?” she asked.

“Too many to choose from. ‘You’re My Best Friend’ by Queen. ‘Moon River’ by Frank Sinatra. ‘Common People’ by Pulp. Our friends used to sing that at us when we were at university. The Verve. Oasis.”

“Those are bands, not songs.”

“Yeah, well. I like bands.”

“How long were you with your band?” Autumn asked him.

“Two years.”

He paused. The mood had suddenly and irrevocably shifted. It was the first time there’d been an uncomfortable break in their conversation.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

“They’ve replaced me,” he said. “Adam called yesterday to tell me.”

“I’m sorry.” Autumn sighed in sympathy.

“They had someone filling in for me for a while, but they found somebody that was awesome and don’t want to let him go in case I don’t come back.”

“I’m sure they’ll let you play with them again when you’re ready to.” She’d worded her response with deliberate care. He gave her a knowing side-eye.

“Don’t do that, Autumn.”

“Don’t do what?” she asked.

“Do that,” he said. She turned so her back was resting against the arm of the chair and her legs were stretched straight out in his direction, drawing up her knees to her chest to avoid her toes coming into contact with his thigh. Touching tonight was not a good idea.

“Everyone else is carrying on as normal,” he said. “It’s easy to forget that sometimes.”

“Are you really going to kill yourself?” She surprised herself and wrong-footed him all at once. He peered at her from behind the bottle of rum he’d been downing shots from for the last fifteen minutes. They’d run out of mixer but they were still, between them, succeeding in polishing off the entire contents of the drinks cabinet. He nodded, almost imperceptibly.

“Tonight you talked with your family about maybe having a son one day. About calling him Ben. Why would you say that if you’re planning to end it all?” she asked.

“It was just a mistake,” he said, taking another swig. “Like I said, sometimes it’s easy to forget.”

“Do you actually have, like, a plan and everything?” She felt her lips tremble. She didn’t want to know the details, but she wanted to know how much he’d thought about this. He nodded, moving again to drink from the bottle. She held out her hand to stop him.

“Slow down a bit,” she said. His gaze was steely when it met hers.

“Don’t ask me not to do it, Autumn.”

“I’m definitely going to ask you not to do it,” she said.

“I thought we weren’t doing this tonight? I thought we were just two friends on a sofa?”

“We are. And, as your friend, I’m asking you not to kill yourself.”

“If you were my friend, you’d understand that I can’t live without my brother.” His voice cracked as he spoke.

“Yes, you can,” she said. “It’ll be hard, but you can. You won’t be alone.”

“What if I just don’t want to live without him?” he asked.

She didn’t have an answer. If he didn’t want to live life without Bowie, there wasn’t much she could say to that. He took another drink and she grabbed hold of his forearm. He watched her fingers gripping his skin.

“Please don’t do it, Marley. I won’t be able to cope with it all.”

“Yes, you will.” His eyes fixed on her fingers.

“Well, what if I don’t want to cope with it?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Don’t use your clever little word games with me.” He shrugged her off. “You don’t understand. You can’t ever understand.”

She wrapped her arms across her chest, hugging herself for comfort.

“Maybe you’ll feel sad for a couple of months, but then you’ll move on with your life,” Marley said bitterly. She knew he believed what he was saying, and that hurt. She had a close bond with Marley now. He made her laugh and took care of her, he was funny, clever and talented. She had come to care deeply for him. If he weren’t a part of her life, she would miss him terribly, and his loss would leave an awful hole in her heart. She wanted to tell him so, but was still sober enough to know that she shouldn’t.

“Is that what you would do if I died?” She spoke carefully. “Move on with your life after a couple of months?”

“There’s no point in talking like that because it isn’t going to happen that way.”

“Hypothetically, though?” Somehow, without revealing too much, she had to make him see how much he meant to her.

“Shut up, Autumn,” he said from the neck of his bottle.

“Tell me. I want to know.”

“How old are you? Fifteen?”

“If I just dropped dead, right here, right now—”

“Enough!” He gripped the bottle tightly in one hand and locked his gaze on hers, his eyes wide, his mouth set in a stern straight line. Autumn didn’t have time to feel told off, his expression softened quickly and his anger and irritation dissipated, leaving sadness and resignation in their wake. He showcased so many emotions in such a short space of time that just witnessing them splattered across his face — jumbled and confused, like a sculptors first draft — left Autumn feeling exhausted and empty. Marley, she knew, was battling a secret complication. She wished she hadn’t seen the evidence of it. She didn’t want to know. But she didn’t want to leave, either, so, for want of anything else to do, she took the bottle from him and drank from it. Marley balled his hands into fists and frowned down at his taut and whitening fingers. Autumn watched him, waiting patiently for him to calm down, and worrying about how inappropriate their conversation had become. They sat in silence for five minutes or more. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer. “Of course I would miss you if you died, Autumn. More than I can tell you.”

She didn’t know if that was because he couldn’t find the words to express himself, or because he knew that he shouldn’t. She didn’t dare say anything else, so she nudged his leg with her toes instead. He held a hand out to her, his palm raised expectantly to meet hers. She stared at his long, slender fingers and the spot where his heartbeat pumped a rhythm through the veins in his wrist. She knew that it was wrong to indulge his gesture, but she really wanted to wrap her fingers around his. She eyed him with concern, but he seemed to be looking at the television, so she complied, telling herself that this meant nothing. That he was just being affectionate.

The touch of his skin felt comforting against her own.

* * *

She must have fallen asleep, because she was suddenly aware he was talking to her again. She had no idea how much time had passed.

“You know what’s terrible?” he was asking her groggily. He was still holding her hand.

“The UK social-care crisis?” she murmured, in jest.

A gentle laugh escaped his lips. “No,” he said. He smelled of red wine and cigarettes. “Well, I mean, yes, that too, but that wasn’t what I was going to say.”

She allowed her eyes to close again, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. She hoped her gesture would encourage him to carry on talking. She liked the sound of his voice. It was soothing.

“I’ve thought a lot about what might’ve happened if I’d have met you first,” he said. Her breath caught in her chest. “Isn’t that awful?” he added.

His voice was riddled with guilt. She let go of his hand and opened her eyes. She wasn’t sure how it had happened, but they had somehow snuggled close to one another again. She’d been resting her head on his shoulder. Their proximity felt very suddenly, entirely and obviously inappropriate.

“Yes,” she said. “It is.”

She’d meant for the words to come out more forcefully than they had. Marley’s eyes bored defiantly into hers. He knew. He already knew what she hadn’t known herself until just a few seconds before.

That she ached for him.

“I’ve thought about it too.” She heard herself confess. She knew it was terrible, and had barely dared admit it, even to herself, before now. Life as Bowie’s girlfriend had been far harder than she could have ever imagined. Every now and then, awake and alone in the depths of the night, Autumn’s thoughts would wander to Marley, and what might have happened if it had been their paths that had crossed before she and Bowie had met. They’d have slept together that night, she was almost certain, but she had also pondered whether more might have come of it. Perhaps she’d have felt that same sense of familiarity she’d felt with Bowie. Perhaps it would have developed into something more than the one-night stands they were both so used to. Maybe she’d even have become his reason to live.

All at once, they were kissing. It was an unashamedly aggressive kiss, the kind they would not have been able to conceal if someone were to walk into the room. He pushed her back into the sofa cushions and Autumn freed him from his jeans, hitching her legs up around him, and pulling him down on top of her. He tugged frantically at her knickers, his tongue insistently exploring her mouth as he held her close and thrusted deep inside her, still fully clothed. Autumn groaned, lost in him.

“Shh.” She looked up and into his terrified eyes. They were full of regret, but she knew he was beyond regaining control. She implored herself to stop him, but she couldn’t. Instead, she tensed her arms beneath his hands where they were pinning her to the sofa. He held her there and drove himself into her again, stifling her unsatiated whimpering and his own lustful moaning by kissing her.

It was all over in less than three minutes, but it was the most intense sexual experience Autumn had ever had. They had been overwhelmed with lust, and frenzied in the way they had come together.

Immediately after, Marley was rolling off her and standing up. He sat down on the armchair across the room from her and stared at the floor. Autumn broke down into the kind of tears that would usually be accompanied by uncontrollable wailing, but she was too mortified by the idea that they might be discovered to allow herself to make any sound at all.

They stayed that way for hours.

* * *

Autumn crawled back into bed beside Bowie as the sun rose. She stared bitterly at the doorway. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d been sitting right there, her devastatingly sick boyfriend nestled against her neck, telling him, lovingly, that everything was going to be OK. That felt like months ago.

She and Marley had barely spoken before they’d parted. He’d insisted he would never tell anyone and had told her that she shouldn’t either. She’d told him that they were horrible people and he’d agreed. Autumn had left the room then, leaving Marley still sitting in the chair in the corner. She’d gone to the bathroom, where she’d sat crying in the shower stall, scalding water raining down on her, for over an hour, trying to wash the smell of him off her skin. When she’d returned to the lounge, he had gone.

Despite her attempts not to disturb him, Bowie woke when he felt her creep into bed.

“Hey, you.” He pulled her in towards him. Autumn turned her face away from his kiss.

“Hello,” she said, feigning sleepiness and willing him to drift back into the slumber she’d pulled him from.

“Where’ve you been?” He yawned.

“With Marley,” she said. His name tasted bitter on her tongue.

“Is he OK?” he murmured sleepily.

“He’s fine,” she said. She knew she wasn’t answering him in the way she normally would and he would hear it, too. Her words were empty. Her voice didn’t sound like hers. She was riddled with guilt. She needed him to stop talking to her because, in her exhausted, intoxicated state, she was incapable of hiding anything from him. The temptation to tell him was incapacitating. She couldn’t focus on anything else. She could feel his eyes on her. She bit back her tears and lay perfectly still, hoping he would leave it alone. The atmosphere in the room felt suddenly heavy with suspicion. He moved to cup her face in his hand, but she winced and turned away. His hand hung redundantly in the air.

“It’s OK, Autumn,” he whispered, his words catching in his throat. “It’s OK, I promise.”

She broke down entirely then, curling into the foetal position and trembling all over. She knew that her actions were confirming his suspicions. He pulled her over to face him, dragging her in to hug him. She sobbed against his skin, marvelling at his capacity for mercy, for love. She couldn’t believe how he was reacting when she knew that she was breaking his heart. Was it really possible that he had fully comprehended what had happened between her and Marley? Perhaps he thought they’d stopped at a kiss. Or a fondle. She wanted him to scream at her.

“Bowie, I love you so much,” she said. She felt him tense. Words they’d been so happy to say to one another less than a day ago were causing him pain now, all because of what she’d done.

“I know you do,” he said.

“I’m so sorry.” He held her as she cried, soothing her until her sobbing abated. He took her head in his hands and looked lovingly at her, wiping her tears away with his thumbs.

“I don’t want to know anything about it,” he told her sadly. “I don’t want to know what happened, how it came about, how many times—”

“It was only once, Bowie, I—”

“I don’t want to know.” He rolled across the bed and sat up. She thought he might leave, but he reached into his bedside table instead, producing a joint. He smoked it in silence. Autumn sat up, hugging her legs and crying into her kneecaps.

She wanted to reach out and touch him. With a jolt, she knew she might never get to touch him again. She searched desperately for a rational reason for what she had done, but could find none. No excuse would ever be good enough. Every reason, she knew, was as ugly as the next: she missed sex, she was selfish, Marley turned her on. The time they had spent together had been like extended foreplay. It had always been leading up to her quivering beneath him. She felt rotten to the core.

“I want to pretend it never happened,” Bowie said eventually. She stopped crying and looked up at him. He was so beautiful in the light of the dawn.

“Why?” she whispered, her face swollen and red.

“Because I understand,” he said. He held out his hand and motioned for her to join him. She couldn’t move.

“How can we ever come back from this?” she asked. “If you won’t even let me explain.”

“I don’t need you to explain.” He shook his head. “I know why you did it. I know why you both did it.”

Autumn doubted that.

“I’m not blind, Autumn,” he said. She didn’t understand. She searched his eyes for answers, but he was expressionless. “I know that you’re falling in love with Marley, and that’s OK.”

She had to work hard to hold back a hysterical laugh. She knew that he had come to his conclusion to protect himself, to rationalise their behaviour, but it was so preposterous a notion that she would’ve found it comical if the circumstances were different. She wanted to tell him that it was in fact insatiable lust, not love, that had driven her to fuck his brother, but she didn’t think that would make him feel any better.

“I’m not falling in love with him, Bowie.” She shook her head.

“Perhaps you don’t know it yet, but you are,” he said. “And he’s falling in love with you.”

“You’re wrong.” Her voice sounded shrill. She was irritated, even though she knew she had no right to be. He eyed her sceptically, motioning again for her to come closer. He held her hands tenderly in his. “How can you even begin to forgive me?” she asked.

“Because I love you,” he said. “And because I understand.”

“But, Bowie, you don’t understand,” she said. He let his hands drop.

“I don’t want to fight with you about it,” he said. “I can’t stand to fight with you about it.”

He looked forlorn. Weak. Tired out. She drew him closer to her and urged him to put his arm around her. It felt uncomfortable, wrong, somehow, and she knew that she no longer felt as though she deserved him. She’d never deserve him again.

“If things were different, you’d have thrown me out.” She shuddered.

“If things were different, you wouldn’t have done it,” he said.

* * *

They sat up talking until the sun had fully risen. Bowie only asked her one question about her transgression, and that was if his impotence had played any part in her infidelity. She lied and told him it hadn’t. He didn’t believe her, and he apologised. She begged him to stop. There was no cause at all for his apology, she said.

* * *

They were up before everyone else. Autumn hoped a cold shower might reduce the swelling in her face, but it didn’t. She’d have to come up with an excuse as to why she had quite clearly been crying.

“Tell them I was poorly all night?” Bowie suggested. He was eating cornflakes at the kitchen table and treating her as though nothing had happened, but she noticed that his eyes kept straying to the sofa. The carpet around it was still littered with the empty bottles of alcohol she and Marley had consumed between the two of them. It wasn’t hard for him to guess where their betrayal had taken place. She shook her head, telling him she felt uncomfortable blaming him for anything, in any way.

Autumn had hoped that Marley might stay in bed, out of the way, until the rest of the family was up and about, but he was the first to appear. Bowie and Autumn had discussed what he might say to his brother, but not in any great depth.

“I’d rather he never found out that I knew,” he’d said at the break of dawn. “He won’t be able to live with himself.”

“I don’t think I can be around him and pretend we have this ugly secret when we don’t.” Autumn winced.

“You do what you have to do.” He shrugged. “But you can tell him that if he comes to speak to me about it, I’m going to tell him exactly what I told you. I don’t want to talk about it. I want to pretend it never happened.”

Marley greeted Bowie with an affectionate pat on the back as he passed.

“Hey, bro,” he said casually. Autumn saw Bowie’s muscles tense.

“Bro,” he replied, in an even tone of voice.

Marley put the kettle on and grabbed a bowl from beside the sink. He sat down at the table and poured himself some cereal. He looked everywhere but at Autumn.

She’d barely been able to recall any of their encounter, but now that she was looking at him, she could remember it all: the strength of his erection in her hand, the pressure of his mouth against hers, the great sense of overwhelming release she’d felt when he’d entered her. She could see his face hovering above hers, his lips slightly parted, his eyes wide with lust and fear. She remembered the texture of his hair and the urgency with which he had complied when she had grabbed it and begged him to take her harder. How his deliciously strong frame had pounded her slight hips against the sofa cushions. She could hear the sound of ecstasy he’d made as he’d come inside her. She remembered how panicked she’d felt by the potential consequences of their desperation. Heartbreak and pregnancy. She didn’t know which was worse. She felt disgusted by the sight of him. She shut her eyes tight and focused on keeping her coffee down. Marley looked questioningly at them both, breaking the silence.

“So, what are your plans for the day?”

Marley’s question was abrupt. Harsh. Unusual. If Bowie hadn’t already known, it would certainly have alerted him to something.

“Nothing much,” Bowie said. “I’m not feeling so good. I’ll probably need to sleep.”

“Oh.” Marley nodded. His eyes crawled over his brother’s face, then in Autumn’s direction and away again just as quickly. “How about you, Autumn?” he asked.

It was a valiant attempt at normality and she was grateful to him for trying. She tried to speak, but no response came. She cleared her throat.

“Writing,” she managed to say. It was a lie. There was no way she’d be able to focus on any work today. Luckily, she didn’t have much to do. She’d spent so many hours writing her manuscript while Bowie had been sleeping away the summer months that it was almost ready for submission.

“Cool,” he said, nodding and turning back to his breakfast. Bowie abandoned his cereal and excused himself to head back to bed. Autumn tried to follow but he asked her, gently, to leave him alone. As soon as he was gone, Marley dropped his spoon into his bowl with a clatter, hissing at her across the table.

“You’re making it totally obvious,” he whispered.

“He knows,” she told him.

* * *

“What the fuck, Autumn?” He screamed at her, hitting his hand against the trunk of a tree. Autumn jumped, impulsively stepping away from him, though she knew how he was feeling. She was so angry at herself and at Marley she wanted to rip the tree from the ground with her bare hands. She’d known when he’d raised his voice in the kitchen and she’d dragged him outside to talk there instead that this was going to be a tense conversation. They’d stomped their way wordlessly through the field, straight to the spot where they’d happily rehearsed their medley together for so many hours.

“He knew,” Autumn said now. “He knew as soon as I said I’d been up with you.”

“Why didn’t you tell him he was wrong?” he said incredulously.

“I couldn’t lie to him,” she replied. He punched the bark again, then hid his face in his hands. Autumn wanted to ask him to stop hitting things. She wanted to tell him he was making her nervous. She knew no matter how angry he was he would be ashamed if she told him the physical manifestation of his anger was frightening her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Perhaps it was because she knew this was half her fault. Maybe it was because she knew how hard she was having to work to stop herself from taking out her frustration on the things around her.

“You’ve ruined everything,” Marley said from behind his fingers. Autumn felt anger bubble up.

“ I’ve ruined everything? I’m pretty sure there were two of us there.”

He shook his head and paced back and forth.

“I’ve never done anything like this in my entire life,” he said. “And then you come along with your stupid, flirty eyes and your fucking promiscuous attitude and suddenly I’m doing the worst thing I could ever possibly do to anyone.”

“Don’t you dare!” She didn’t have the energy to tell him just how outraged she felt, and she knew she didn’t have to. He already knew. He was actively trying to hurt her and she braced herself for more.

“Why?” He hunched over and put his head in his hands. “Why did we do this?”

“It was a mistake,” she said softly.

“A fucking mistake? That’s a fucking understatement, isn’t it?”

“Stop screaming at me.” She was sick of his reaction. He was being completely irrational and she wasn’t sure what he was hoping to achieve, besides making her feel even worse than she already did. Perhaps that was his point.

“I hate you,” he said. He’d have hurt her less if he’d slapped her across the face. She felt her cheeks flood with anger.

“Do you know what, Marley?” she said calmly. “I fucked you because I can’t have sex with your brother anymore. You smell good and you look good and I was drunk and wanted to fuck you. I’m selfish. Really fucking selfish. At least I can admit that. You can scream at me all you want, but nobody forced you to do what you did. You were thinking with your dick. At least have the decency to acknowledge that.”

“You kissed me,” he said accusingly.

“You held my hand,” she said.

“I hold everybody’s hand.”

“Are you honestly trying to tell me that you bear no responsibility for what happened?” she said. He kicked at the ground, glaring at her. She shook her head hopelessly and looked out across the field, hugging her arms to her chest.

“I’ll never be able to make it up to him,” he said sadly. He looked utterly devastated. Autumn felt sympathy for him. She willed herself to get a grip. He’d been nasty. Unbelievably spiteful. He didn’t deserve her pity. She stopped herself from telling him that everything would be OK.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you about it,” she told him.

“That’s what he always says when I fuck up,” he said, sighing into the palms of his hands. “I have to try to explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain. There’s no excuse for what we did and he’s reconciled it in his own mind by telling himself we’re falling in love.”

Marley chuckled obnoxiously and shook his head. Autumn ignored his vindictiveness.

“He told me specifically to tell you not to talk to him about it. If you try, he’ll refuse. I’ll let him know that you know and if he wants to talk to you, then he’ll come to you. The least we can do is leave him alone if that’s what he wants. Don’t even think about trying to blame me. There is no point. He knows you. He knows both of us. Forget about it, Marley. Move on. Or at least pretend to. You’re an actor, aren’t you? Fucking act for once. For Bowie’s sake.”

She turned abruptly on her heel and left him standing on his own in the field.