Disclaimer: Not mine at all

Chapter Nine

Gillian cursed quietly when she stumbled slightly on the step. She didn't need to look at her mother to sense her smirk, although to her credit, Caroline remained silent. Cal's arm was on hers instantly, steadying her without it seeming like he was supporting her. Once inside the front door, Gillian quickly said her goodnights and walked, in as straight a line as she could, to the stairs.

"Oh, don't you want to see that photo, darling? Of you with your mouth covered with icing?"

"Not really, Mom, no," Gillian told her wearily. "Goodnight."

As soon as she had disappeared from view, Caroline turned to Cal with a mischievous expression. He laughed. "Go on, then."

He followed her into the living room, and she flicked on the lights as she went in. Crossing straight to the large cabinet, she pulled out a purple photo album and carried it carefully back to the sofa, then patted the space beside her. Cal sat down, and she opened the album, a gleeful look on her face.

"Oh, look at this," she said, gazing at the first photo. She shifted the album so Cal had a better view, and he laughed at the sight of a child of about three, with tight ringlets and bright blue eyes. "She was a beautiful child," Caroline sighed, then quickly started flicking through the pages. Cal caught glimpses of young Gillian, occasionally another child who he presumed was Stephen, and a couple of shots of Caroline herself with one of the children.

Every so often Caroline would pause on a certain photo, her eyes glazing over slightly as she lightly ran her fingers over the image of her children. There weren't any photos of Gillian's father in the photos, Cal noticed, but he didn't mention it.

"Ah!" Caroline had found what she was looking for, and triumphantly thrust the photo album towards Cal.

He laughed out loud at the picture of Gillian on her birthday, hair plastered to her face with icing, chocolate around her mouth, on her nose, cheeks and chin, and all over her hands. She was looking at the camera with a wicked glint in her eye and a hint of a smile, not looking sorry about what she'd done, only slightly sorry that she'd been caught.

"Fantastic," he said, grinning at the picture. He glanced up to see Caroline gazing at him intently.

"Are you in love with my daughter?" It sounded more like a statement than a question; she could have just reversed the first two words of that sentence, Cal thought, and she would have conveyed the same meaning.

He hesitated before trying to wrap his mouth around some sort of answer. "She means a lot to me," he said at last. "We've been friends a long time."

She nodded, and for a moment didn't say anything else, which surprised him. He'd expected her to make some comment about how he was deflecting and hadn't properly answered the question. Instead she said, "You're so much better for her than Alec ever was."

Cal shook his head. "You don't know some of the crap I've put your daughter through."

"Did you ever cheat on her? Lie about where you were going so you could go somewhere and get high? Refuse to talk about how you felt when your child was taken away, leaving her to deal with it by herself? Use work as an excuse not to spend time with her or give her the support she needed?"

"No."

"There you go then."

"But I did antagonise a rapist who sent his copycat after her, almost got myself shot in front of her, nearly got myself killed again when I tried to help an old criminal friend, then yet again when I went to Afghanistan and nearly got myself blown up, jeopardised the financial future of our company by taking out a loan to buy out my ex-wife, and lost a million dollars our company desperately needed at the roulette wheel."

She laughed. "And yet, here you are. And Alec isn't. Doesn't that tell you something?"

Her eyes were shining in exactly the same way Gillian's did when she was fired up about something – whether she was angry, emotional, or just invested in a case. Cal gave her a small smile. "It's late, and it's been a long day. I think it's time I turned in."

She nodded. "Get some rest. Help yourself to anything you need in the house."

"Thanks."

After a moment's silence, he gave her a quick smile before standing up and heading out the door. Halfway up the stairs he glanced back into the living room, just able to crane his head round enough to see that Caroline was still sitting on the sofa, the photo album on her lap. He continued up the stairs, pausing briefly outside Gillian's door, before pushing open the door to his room. With Stephen's imminent arrival, Caroline and her daughter still under the same roof and a hungover Foster, Cal had a feeling he was going to need a good night's sleep before tomorrow.

###

It seemed like she had no sooner closed her eyes than she was opening them again. The sunlight was pouring in through the curtains, but while Gillian had once loved being woken up by natural light flooding her room, this morning it felt like an invasion. Lifting her head slightly, she let out a small groan when she felt the room start to spin. Recalling the two bottles of wine that had been served to them at dinner last night – and how Cal and her mother seemed to have had not much more than a glass each – she felt her face flush with embarrassment. Odd moments of the evening flashed through her mind; her mother flirting with the waiter, their petty arguments over what food they were ordering, that chocolate dessert, being told that her father had read her books…

Gillian laid her head back on the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut. She didn't know what time it was, had no idea how long she'd slept, but it didn't feel like enough. After a few moments of blissful silence she heard her mother's voice, sounding more shrill than usual. But perhaps that's just because I'm hungover, she reflected.

"Gillian!" She just wanted to hide under her pillow, but forced herself to open her mouth when her mother shouted again, knowing she'd just keep calling her name until she answered.

"Yes," she called, her voice sounding crackly, her tongue feeling as though it were made of sandpaper.

"Hurry up and get dressed, your brother's here."

###

It was forty minutes before Gillian was ready to go downstairs; she knew her mother was going to make some comment about that, but it had taken that long for her to feel human again. After a long hot shower, she'd washed and dried her hair, put on clean clothes, applied a little makeup and drunk almost a litre of water. She ran her fingers through her hair as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She didn't look too bad – at least not as bad as she had when she'd first woken up.

As she reached for the door handle, Gillian wondered briefly where Cal was. Presumably he'd been up for hours; she'd checked the clock just after her mother called her – quarter past ten. Of course, now it was nearly eleven. Gillian was embarrassed that she was up so late, but tried to push that aside as she walked down the corridor. She hadn't seen anyone else this morning, although she'd only left her room to go to the bathroom, which was right next door. She couldn't hear voices, which surprised her at first – she would have thought she'd hear the kids. But then, she thought, it was a lovely day – the kids were probably playing outside, or Stephen and Helen might have taken them to the beach. Would they really want to spend a lovely sun-drenched Saturday morning stuck in the house waiting for their aunt to make herself look presentable?

There was no one in the living room, so Gillian continued her quiet exploration as she headed into the kitchen. "Stephen?" she called.

"Hey!" His hands were on her shoulders and his voice rang loudly in her ears as she jumped nearly a foot in the air.

"You scared me!" she said accusingly as she turned around, but her brother just laughed as he pulled her to him for a brief hug, then playfully ruffled her hair.

"Such a wimp, little sister, such a wimp."

She put a hand to her temple, and his eyes gleamed. "Bit hungover today, are we?"

"No." She pulled the fridge door open, intending to have some orange juice, before deciding coffee was a better option.

"Yeah right." He laughed again. "Dinner with Mom was fun last night then?"

"It was fine," she lied, flicking the switch on the kettle. "Speaking of Mom, where is she? And where are my niece and nephew?"

He turned his head away from her quickly. "Boston."

"What?" She couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. "What about Helen?"

"Boston."

"But…"

"They're busy, Gill. Helen's working, and the kids have school on Monday. Besides, it's not like they were that close to their grandfather, you know?"

"I know, but…" She frowned slightly. Perhaps she'd been presumptuous when she thought that Helen and the kids were coming with Stephen, but they were a family, and, even if they hadn't been that close, Stephen had just lost his father. Shouldn't his wife be here to support him?

"Enough of that," he warned her.

"What?"

"Judging me. Or rather, judging Helen."

"I'm just disappointed I won't see the kids, that's all."

His expression softened. "Yeah, I know. You'll have to swing by some time. They'd love to see you again."

"How are they?"

"Growing." He grinned. "Sam's on the school football team. He's rubbish, but I cheer hard and pretend he's great."

"Stephen!" She couldn't help laughing.

"And Katie has a crush on a boy at school." He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "She's far too young for that sort of thing. She still sucks her thumb at night!"

She laughed again, even though it was making her head feel even fuzzier. "She's eight years old, she's bound to start getting curious about boys."

"I didn't notice girls until I was about thirteen," he said, causing Gillian to raise her eyebrows.

"Oh yeah? Does the name Sandra Billsworth mean anything to you?" she teased.

"Er…" He grinned. "Okay. Point taken. But that was me, not my daughter. She's too young for such things."

Gillian pulled a mug out of the cupboard. "Want some coffee?"

"Sure."

"So, where is Mom? And Cal?"

"Garden."

She nodded, and continued making the coffee as they lapsed into a comfortable silence. The funny thing about siblings, Gillian thought as she pulled the carton of milk out of the fridge, was how easily your mood could change when you were with them, and how quickly you could became a different version of yourself. When they were joking around and teasing each other, the mood could be playful, their tones light, their smiles genuine. It was like reverting to your childhood, messing around with your brother. But Gillian knew how quickly an argument could start, how quickly they could become irritated and infuriated with each other. That's families for you, she thought as she passed him a mug of coffee. Throw her mother into the mix as well, and Gillian wasn't sure which way the wind was going to blow.

Just as she was about to ask Stephen how long after the funeral he was staying, he beat her to breaking the silence.

"So, how's life as a divorcee?"

"It's… okay." What kind of answer was he expecting to that? She took a sip of her coffee, wincing slightly at the pulsing in her brain that only seemed to be amplified by the sudden injection of caffeine into her system.

"Dating anyone else?"

"I've been divorced a matter of months, Stephen."

"Is that a no? Or a 'I'm not going to tell you'?"

She rolled her eyes as she sat down at the breakfast bar. He pulled a stool out too, sitting on it backwards.

"It's nice that Cal's here to support you."

She took another sip of her coffee. He's just like Mom sometimes, she thought, shaking her head slightly.

As if on cue, Gillian heard the back door open, followed by her mother calling, "Stephen! What are you doing? Come back outside… is there any sign of Gillian yet?"

She stopped when she entered the kitchen, and Gillian pulled her cup towards her quickly, thinking that if she had another swig of coffee, she could put off having to talk to her mother for a few more seconds. Which is totally ridiculous, she thought to herself. Grow up, Gillian. Her movement was too quick, however, and instead of simply drawing the cup to her lips, she sloshed hot coffee all over her lap.

"Oh Gillian!" her mother exclaimed. She sounded as if she were scolding a three year old, and Gillian instantly bristled.

"I'm sorry, okay?" she said crossly. "I'll clean it up."

"I hope you brought lots of clothes, the rate you're going through them," her mother observed.

Gillian hopped off the bar stool to get a cloth, and felt her legs wobble slightly. She gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself, suddenly feeling as though she were going to be sick.

"I'll do it." Caroline was at her side, reaching for a cloth, but Gillian snatched it from her hands.

"It's fine, I can do it."

"Gillian, darling, you look like you're going to be sick. Have you taken some aspirin? Drunk some water? What about a nice fry-up, they're a good cure for hangovers!"

"Is that why you cooked them for Dad every day?" she asked bitterly, regretting the words as she watched a cloud pass over her mother's face.

"That was unnecessary, Gillian," her mother said coldly. She snatched the cloth back. "I'll clear up this coffee. Go and change."

Gillian turned, feeling tears start to pool in her eyes. Was this what it was going to be like for the next four days? Why did she ever think it was a good idea to fly straight home when she heard the news? Why didn't she just arrive on Monday night, go to the funeral on Tuesday, and then leave?

"Nice one, sis," Stephen muttered as she walked past him, and she felt fresh anger rise up inside her.

"Taking her side then, are you?"

"Whoever said anything about sides?" he asked, at the same time that Caroline said, "Leave your brother out of this, Gillian."

She shook her head, turning back to glance briefly at her mother. As she did, she saw Cal standing in the doorway behind her. He had an unreadable expression on his face, but Gillian would have bet money (were she the betting kind) that he was less than impressed with her little outburst, and her attitude towards her mother.

So am I, she thought as she wordlessly left the room and walked back up the stairs. Reaching her room, she pulled off her coffee stained jeans and tossed them into a pile on the floor, then crawled into bed in just her underwear and white blouse, pulling the covers up to her chin. Sort yourself out, Gillian, she told herself firmly, but that was far easier said than done. Yes, her mother had irritated her this morning, but did she deserve to have that comment about her husband's alcoholism thrown at her like that? No. Gillian sighed, turning over in bed and curling up into the foetal position. She hated the person she became when she was around her parents, and, she suddenly realised, what was really worrying her was that Cal would start to hate that person too.

A sudden knock on the door caused her to open her eyes. Mom, or Stephen? she thought, deciding it was probably the former.

"Yes?" she called, trying to make her voice sound as normal as possible.

"Can I come in, love?"

She smiled. "Yes," she called back, before she remembered that she was half naked under the covers.

The door opened, and Cal came in, shooting her a quick grin when he saw her curled up in bed, although she could see the concern hidden under the smile.

"Alright there, love?"

"Fantastic," she mumbled.

He ignored the jeans screwed up on the floor, and quietly closed the door before walking towards the bed and sitting on the edge of it. "You put on quite a show just now." He saw the shame on her face, and reached up to gently brush a lock of hair off her face. "Hey. Don't feel like that."

"Why not? I was horrible to my mother. Again."

"Your Mum's not exactly the easiest person in the world to deal with. And you're stressed, and emotional. It's a difficult time for you all. Only natural that things get a bit heated sometimes."

"Things were supposed to get better once Stephen arrived. I thought Mom would back off for a bit, and I could spend some time with Stephen and the kids, but they're not even here!" She sniffed.

"I know, love. But Stephen is – and you two can still find some time to catch up, can't you? A bit of brother and sister time might do you both some good."

"Are you volunteering to take my mother off our hands for a while?" she asked, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

Cal laughed. "Er… sort of walked into that one, didn't I?"

She laughed softly, then sighed. "I'll be alright. I just… I hate that you saw me like that. Being so…"

"Bitchy?" he supplied, and she raised her eyebrows. "Aggressive?" he quickly amended.

"No, you were probably closer to the mark with the first one." She leant her head against his shoulder, still wrapped up under the sheets.

"Nah, you weren't being bitchy. I don't think you could ever be bitchy." He met her eyes and smiled, and she slowly smiled back.

"I'm glad you're here," she whispered.

He wrapped an arm around her and lightly kissed her forehead. "I'm glad I'm here, too."

"Then you must be crazy," she giggled, and he laughed.

"Come on, love. What do you say we get out of here for a bit? We'll say we've got some errands to run or something. We could go for a walk, do a bit of sightseeing, or just go to the beach?"

She nodded. As much as it seemed like running away, leaving the house right now was probably the best option – perhaps after a walk along the beach she'd feel better, and when she and her mother had both calmed down, she'd actually be able to spend some time with her family without some kind of argument blowing up. Plus, the sea air was probably good for a hangover. "Okay."

"Let's go then." He stood up.

"Er… can you wait for me outside?" she asked. He raised an eyebrow in question, and she bit her lip. "I'm sort of… half undressed."

He laughed. "Right you are then, love. I'll be in my room. Just give me a knock when you're done, okay?"

She nodded. "Thanks, Cal."

He swung the door open and left, closing it gently behind him.

Gillian threw back the covers, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed and standing up. Getting up was definitely much easier than it had been an hour ago, she noted. She pulled a blue skirt from her wardrobe and tugged it on, then quickly gathered her things up in her handbag. I'll just go out for a little while, she reasoned with the voice in her head that was calling her a coward. Then when I come back, I'll feel better. I'll be nicer to Mom, I promise. I won't let her rattle me. Much. And I'll catch up with Stephen. And it'll all be fine.

Giving her reflection a brief nod, she opened the door. Whether she'd be able to keep the silent promise she'd just made herself she had no idea, but it didn't hurt to try and be optimistic, did it? She knocked on Cal's door, and a minute later they were walking down the stairs.

"We're just popping out for a bit, Caroline," he called, and Gillian shot him a look of gratitude for informing her mother of their plans.

"Right then," Cal said once they were out of the house. "Where to first, love?"