knows is how much she hates Ashby Hall with all its heavy, oppressive Tudor trappings.
“You’re playing your cards close to the chest this evening, Al,” Edward says softly.
“Yes, indeed,” Charles declares. “Tell us how life in academia is progressing. I’m guessing your MPhil is going swimmingly, you little swot.”
“It’s fine,” Alba says, still staring at her plate.
“Is it Dr. Skinner supervising you?” Charlotte asks. “I can’t recall.”
“I must drop in next time I’m down.” Charles takes another gulp of wine. “Skinner helped get me a first in finals. And I promised the old beaut a bottle of Bolly for it.”
Alba holds her breath. She has to say something now, or she’ll never find the courage. She’ll tell them the bare minimum, nothing more. And if she’s very, very lucky, they’ll leave it at that.
“Oh, I’ve been meaning to mention this friend of mine,” Charlotte says. “He’s written a brilliant paper you must read, especially—”
“N-no,” Alba stutters, not knowing what she’s going to say, only that she has to say it now. “No, I, well, that is, I mean . . .”
“What are you blathering about?” Charles says. “Speak in sentences.”
“Charlie,” Edward says softly, “go easy.”
“Yes, well,” Alba stumbles on. “I, um . . .”
“What is it?” Charlotte asks. “Spit it out.”
“I wasn’t doing well enough,” Alba finally blurts out. “Dr. Skinner dropped me. My studies, my PhD, I don’t . . .”
She trails off, her words drying up under the combined force of her three siblings staring at her. For one long, agonizing moment, nobody speaks. Then, suddenly, they all sober up.
“But, but you only needed a high pass,” Charles says, breaking the silence. “How could you mess that up? It’s virtually impossible.”
“I don’t understand,” Charlotte says, “I simply don’t understand. Are you a complete idiot?”
“Oh dear, Al,” Edward whispers, looking at his little sister, his eyes full of pity. “I don’t believe it.”
“What the hell happened?” Charles brandishes his knife at Alba.
“I don’t know,” Alba lies. “I just couldn’t—”
“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised, really,” Charlotte snaps, “since you’re not—”
“No, Lotte, don’t,” Edward says. “Not now.”
“Look, I’m sorry, all right?” Alba says. “I’d give anything, anything to be starting my PhD in October. I have no idea what I’m going to do.”
“You’ll have to appeal,” Edward says. “That’s all. It’s okay, not unheard of.”
“Oh God, how perfectly humiliating.” Charlotte tips the last of a bottle of wine into her glass. “I’m so glad Father didn’t have to witness this, that Mother isn’t here to see what—”
“Don’t!” Alba bites back tears. “Don’t, please.”
“Oh, calm down,” Charles sighs. “It’s clearly a mistake, a mess of some kind. I’ll call Dr. Skinner first thing, we’ll sort this out.”
“No, no.” Alba wants to scream. “You can’t. You can’t.”
“Why?” Edward gazes gently at his little sister. “Why can’t we help?”
But Alba just shakes her head. She can’t tell him. She can’t tell anyone. Suddenly Alba feels as though she’s drowning, her lungs filling faster than she can breathe. She wants to relive the last year, to undo what she’s done. Although now she’s starting to remember more clearly what that life was really like at King’s: every day running a race she could never win. Something has begun to unfold inside her, a seed that Stella has planted, so Alba is no longer quite sure she wants that life back anymore.
“What’s the point?” Alba says softly. “What is the point?”
“Sorry?” Edward asks.
“Well, what’s the point of it all?” Alba repeats loudly, looking up. “No matter what I do, if I got five PhDs, I’ll still never get your approval. Will I? You’ve always hated me, haven’t you? Always treated me like an interloper: your unwanted, unexpected little sister. So it doesn’t matter what I do, does it? You’re never going to love me, you’re never going to approve of me—”
This sudden and rare burst of truth has the unusual effect of shocking the Ashby siblings into silence. Charlotte and Charles stare at her coldly. But Edward has tears in his eyes.
“Forgive me,” Charles says, “but your question is entirely irrelevant. The point is to push you to greatness. If you got our approval before achieving anything, we’d be doing you a huge disservice.”
He glances at Charlotte, who half-nods and half-shrugs, as though she doesn’t care either way, and then at Edward, who just looks pained.
“And what about unconditional love,” Alba snaps. “Isn’t that what families are for?” She waits, but Charles is stone-faced. Charlotte slowly drains her glass. Edward just looks on, speechless, regret