Hold Me Close - Talia Hibbert Page 0,218

stop saying ‘weird’ now.”

“—but then you cut the smile off really fast. Like it’s not supposed to be there.” He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Something’s up with you. I don’t like it.”

She huffed out a breath. “Oh, piss off. You’re not my dad, you know.” But really, Evan behaved like everyone’s dad.

“I’m kind of your brother.” He folded his arms and leant against the kitchen counter.

“You are not my brother.”

“I’m your brother-in-law.”

“Oh, did I miss the wedding? Congrats.” She rolled her eyes and shoved him out of the way. Or tried to. He didn’t move, the giant fucker. “I need to get in that cupboard,” she gritted out, glaring hard enough to kill.

Oh, if only.

Evan studied her for a moment, his eyes searching. “If you were ever in trouble,” he said gently, “you’d tell me. Or Ruth. Or someone. Right?”

“Yes,” she lied. “Of course.”

He didn’t seem convinced—but he did step away from the cupboard. As she crouched down to find the Fairy Liquid, he murmured, “I’ve got my eye on you, Hannah Kabbah.”

Great. Just what she fucking needed.

Respect thy mother and thy father.

It wasn’t Hannah’s favourite commandment. She didn’t typically need motivation to respect her mother, and she absolutely refused to respect her so-called father—but then, God probably understood why.

Truthfully, Hannah only ever thought of those words when she found herself in a situation like this one: sitting on the floor with her back against the sofa, arsecheeks slowly going numb, Mum dragging at her freshly washed hair with a comb

Respect thy mother and thy father. Respect thy mother and thy father. Respect thy mother and—

Patience hit a button on her decades-old hair straighteners and a cloud of steam poured out, singeing Hannah’s ears.

“Oww!” she howled. “Mother! Please!”

“Stop moving your head,” Patience tutted. “Is not hot.”

“Why am I even letting you do this?”

“I want to see how much your hair has grown,” Patience reminded her.

“That won’t matter if you burn it all off!”

“Cha. Duya. What’s wrong with you? You’re arguing so much today.”

Oh, fuck. She was supposed to be Ordinary Hannah right now, and Ordinary Hannah let her mother do whatever she wished. Ordinary Hannah was quiet and obedient at home. But Hannah hadn’t been ordinary for a while now. She was swooping to the top of a rollercoaster with Nate, the pleasure exhilarating, the threat of an inevitable drop looming large. Oh, how she dreaded that drop.

It might break a fundamental part of her.

“Now, no fidgeting,” Patience ordered, as she made another sharp parting. The edge of the comb felt like a knife. Patience’s usual airy-fairy delicacy vanished like smoke in the wind when it came to styling her children’s hair.

Not that Ruth would let their mother near her head like this. No; clearly, Hannah was the fool of the family.

I am thirty fucking years old, sitting on the bloody floor while my mother straightens my damn hair and puts a bump in the front like it’s 2001. God has forsaken me. And if I find Him, I will be having stern words.

In the midst of that internal rant, Patience spoke again. Her voice was absent, soothing as always, but her words hit Hannah like a fist to the gut. “I know something is bothering you, angel.”

Fuck. Now her mother was noticing? Hannah gritted her teeth into a tight smile and stared at the TV screen in front of them. “It’s nothing.” Her eyes latched onto the familiar sight of Noel Edmonds’s silver bouffant.

Take my word for it. Don’t ask me any questions. Focus on Noel and his shiny hair. Tut at the contestants for taking pointless risks.

“You mustn’t lie, Hannah. It’s a sin. What is wrong?”

Clearly, psychic suggestion wasn’t working. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Is it the job? With the children?”

Hannah almost choked at the question, slapping a hand to her throat. Nice. Subtle. You really played it cool there, Kabbah.

“The father,” Patience pushed, her concern clear now. “He treats you well?”

Arguably too well. Definitely too well. “He’s nice,” Hannah managed to croak. “You know he’s Zach’s older brother, right? Evan’s friend Zach, I mean.” Any association with Evan, no matter how tenuous, was a positive mark in Patience Kabbah’s book.

But she didn’t sound mollified. “I know who Nate Davis is, Hannah. I am in a book club with his mother.”

“Ah.”

“He comes to see her often. He drives her to places. He seems like a very sweet boy.”

“Mmhm.”

“You went to school with him, didn’t you?”

I went to school with a lot of people, Mum. “Yes. He was in my class.”

“He ran