Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Liam

C oming home always felt good. Even that hectic first hour or two when everybody was catching up, because for some reason the family had never gotten the hang of waiting their turn to talk. They just got louder and louder as they shouted excitedly over one another. Liam heard all about Mum's saga of trying to get the antique grandfather clock repaired—"Can you believe I have to send it to Melbourne? Melbourne ? What's that going to cost me?"—and Dad's experiment with cider, and Grandad's adventures in fitting out the new guest cabins, and how Riley was in danger of failing her Year Twelve English assignment, but only because her teacher was ‘a complete dickhead' and it wasn't Riley's fault at all. Liam took that with a grain of salt about the same size as the Sydney Opera House, because not a single one of his sisters had been an easy student. He knew that because all the teachers had sighed in relief when they'd realised he wasn't like his sisters at all, and wasn't going to argue every step of the way.

Ambrose was wedged on the overstuffed couch in the sitting room, with Grandad Billy on one side, and John Phillip the dog on the other side. John Phillip was part Scottish Deerhound and part stubborn bastard, and he was staring intently at Ambrose's plate of cheese and crackers as though he thought that if he concentrated hard enough, they would be his. Liam couldn't remember who had named the dog, or why they'd called him John Phillip, but he had a vague recollection that the story involved Grandad, a bottle of wine and a fond reminiscence about a hairy guy he'd bought black market tobacco off in the pub back in the day.

Ambrose levered a piece of Camembert onto a cracker and raised it to his mouth. John Phillip sighed loudly when he ate it, and Ambrose gave him a worried look. Liam wondered if he was nervous of dogs in general, or John Phillip in particular, because John Phillip was huge. He'd made toddlers scream just by sidling up to them hoping to share their biscuits.

"Don't mind him," Grandad Billy said. "He's a big softie, aren't you, John Phillip?"

John Phillip sighed again and stared at Ambrose's cheese platter. A sliver of drool escaped his lip and hung there like a wet, slobbery spiderweb. Ambrose edged his plate further away, and Liam could see the moment Ambrose decided to play up his dickishness. "I don't really like pets," he said. "I think they're a waste of oxygen."

Oh God. Liam tried not to flinch. If he hadn't seen the way that Ambrose had cuddled with Tobermory, he might have even believed his words, because they were delivered so fucking confidently.

"You just haven't met the right dog yet," Grandad Billy said, unperturbed. "John Phillip, give Ambrose a kiss."

Ambrose looked horrified as he got a faceful of John Phillip's tongue. He jolted, and cheese and crackers went flying. John Phillip went flying after them, gangly limbs going in all directions as he scrambled to eat as many as he could before someone could drag him away.

Liam pretended not to see Bridget's narrow look. Or Orhan's. He also pretended not to see Dad's look, which was full of "What the hell is going on here, Liam?" Or Mum's, which was a mixture of concern and defensiveness. She adored John Phillip, and the feeling was mutual. He whined whenever she left the house to get groceries. Her obvious joy at Liam having a boyfriend was clearly battling with her worry about what sort of person that boyfriend was . Mum was a forgiving person, but disparaging John Phillip? There was a line.

"What time's Neve getting here?" Liam asked, in a desperate attempt to draw attention away from Ambrose.

Mum checked her watch. "They should be here in the next hour or so."

Liam couldn't help but ask the question that had been gnawing at him. "It was weird, right? Him not even being there for the engagement? That wasn't just me?"

Mum huffed. "Well," she said pointedly, "he had to work. We're not going to judge him for that. Anyway, it's Neve's life. You support your children's decisions." She cut a look at Ambrose. "Whatever they are."

Liam wondered where all that support had been when his decision had been to stay single, but he kept his mouth shut. Mum probably didn't consider that a decision. In her eyes, it was undoubtedly a tragedy. He nodded. "Have you met him yet?"

"Not yet," Dad said. "Bridge, you and Orhan have, right? Down in Sydney? "

"Yes," Bridget said, and Orhan nodded, but neither one of them expanded on that.

"What's he like?" Riley demanded.

Orhan scratched his nose "Um, he had lots to say when we were talking about buying property up here. He knows his money stuff, right?"

Bridget nodded.

"Oh, you're still thinking of buying up here?" Mum asked excitedly, Balian perched on her knee. Liam imagined she was envisioning a future where the baby was a permanent fixture.

"If we can get the right property," Orhan said. "And we still need to do a lot of research."

"Orhan wants to make cheese," Grandad Billy said, elbowing Ambrose. "How good would that be? What do they call that? Business synergy. Wine and cheese, see?"

"Sure," Ambrose said. "I'll open a cracker factory, then I can marry Liam."

Liam's heart stuttered in his chest, and he felt his cheeks redden as a silence fell across the room. "Or, um, wineglasses," he stammered out. "You know, glass blowing?"

Fuck. Why had he said that? Now it sounded like he was making future plans, instead of setting the stage for a breakup. And, worse than that, he'd given Ambrose the perfect opening to be awful. Which, he had to keep reminding himself, was what he wanted and what he'd paid for. He just hadn't known it would be this excruciating. He kept wanting to defend Ambrose for reasons he couldn't even explain, except he suspected that it had less to do with Ambrose and more to do with not wanting his family to think he was stupid enough to date someone so terrible.

That was what he told himself, anyway, but maybe there was also a part of him that wanted them to know that Ambrose wasn't a terrible person for Ambrose's sake too .

God , he thought. We really should have had a better plan coming into this.

They should have laid some ground rules or something, because while his parents might be happy that he was single after this weekend, it would be nice to come out with his pride intact too, and he couldn't see that happening. After this, his parents wouldn't trust him to tie his own shoelaces, let alone date someone. He fought the urge to groan and hoped against hope that Ambrose wouldn't take the opening Liam had just given him.

Ambrose, predictably, took the opening. He probably thought it was deliberate. After all, how was he meant to know that when Liam was nervous, all sorts of bullshit fell out of his mouth? Probably another thing they should have discussed.

Ambrose grinned widely. "Oh you know me," he said. "I'd be a natural. I'll blow anything given half a chance. Did Liam tell you all how we met?"

Liam had the impression that they weren't going with the coffee at Freddie's backstory after all, and it didn't escape his notice that Mum moved her hands to cover Balian's ears.

"We met getting coffee," Liam said, shooting Ambrose what he hoped was a look telling him to dial it back a bit.

"Yeah," Ambrose said. "At Freddie's, by the uni. I'd dropped my wallet, and Liam tapped me on the shoulder to give it back to me." His smile was warm, and Liam almost imagined that had happened. Then that smile ratcheted up a degree or two and nudged into wicked territory. "The blowing came later."

Liam winced and shut his eyes briefly as Grandad Billy roared with laughter. When he dared open them again, Ambrose was grinning like the cat that got the cream, and his perfect teeth and dimples were out in full force, and fuck. He looked good when he smiled, even with dog slobber on his shirt and a lap full of cracker crumbs.

Bridget and Orhan still weren't fans of Ambrose, and Mum looked baffled, but Dad was smiling ruefully and shaking his head. What was that about? Riley had stars in her eyes. Of course she did. Ambrose was cute, rude and clearly didn't give a fuck about anything. He was right up Riley's alley. And Grandad Billy looked like he was ready to adopt Ambrose any second now. Maybe his eccentricity had finally tipped the scale into legitimate senility. They should probably get him checked for that. And they should probably get Liam checked out at the same time too. Because the fact that he'd ever thought this was a smart idea? It had to mean he was certifiably fucking crazy.

Will Connelly did all his talking over water. Sometimes that was hosing the lawn, sometimes it was fixing a leaking sink, and sometimes, like today, it was washing up coffee mugs.

"So," he said, squirting detergent into the sink and swirling it around, "Ambrose is a bit of a wild one, is he?"

From the sitting room, Liam heard Grandad Billy roar with laughter again. Whatever Ambrose had said that had stunned the rest of the family into silence, Liam was sure he'd hear about it later.

"I mean, not as wild as all that," he hedged.

"He's not like anyone you've dated before," Dad said, and Liam fought the urge to stare at the ground and shuffle his feet. He tried to remember how Kelly had played it at Bayside—totally oblivious to all of Ambrose's faults. Dad cleared his throat. "Well, maybe that's not a bad thing."

Liam blinked. "What? "

"Well, there was Joseph, wasn't there?"

"Jonah," Liam corrected, his heart thumping wildly.

"Oh, that's right," Dad said. His brows tugged together. "Jonah. Well, Jonah wasn't right for you in the end, was he? That's why you drifted apart."

Yes. Jonah had drifted right onto some other guy's dick.

"I s'pose," Liam said. God. Dad wasn't going to say that Ambrose was right for him, was he? Had they taken a wrong turn on the way here and ended up in a different dimension?

"Listen," Dad said, and looked uncomfortable for a moment. Then he didn't say anything else.

"I'm listening."

"Yeah, I'm just wondering how to phrase this," Dad said, and Liam felt a burst of relief that Dad was about to warn him off Ambrose, followed by a flood of guilt for putting him in this position in the first place. Dad rubbed his damp hand over his forehead. "You're young, Liam. You're young and you're thinking with your dick, and I say that with nothing but love."

Liam blinked again.

"And before you ask, yes, I have given this speech to Bridget and Neve at different points," Dad said. "Apart from the dick thing. How did I phrase it? I can't remember. I probably said heart. But anyway, the point is, you're young, and you've met someone attractive. He is attractive, right?"

"I know you're straight, Dad, but you still have eyes."

"Yes, but I don't know what you're into, do I?" Dad asked. "Frankly, I like a woman with a bit of meat on her bones. A bit of heft. I like to know she won't snap in half. All these boys in their skinny jeans? I don't see the appeal at all." He narrowed his eyes. "And don't tell your mother I called her hefty."

"I'm not going to tell anyone a single thing about this entire conversation," Liam said. "I swear to God."

"Good thinking," Dad said. "Anyway, my point is that you don't have to think about the future right now, do you?" He looked suddenly worried. "You're not thinking about the future, are you?"

"Um, not exactly," Liam said, relieved Dad was giving him an out. "I mean, Ambrose is fun, and he's cute, but no, it's not serious or anything."

"Oh, thank God," Dad said, and gripped the side of the sink. He breathed in a few deep breaths and straightened up. "Good. That's good, Li. We never had this conversation."

"We never had this conversation," Liam echoed thankfully.

Dad held up a teaspoon from the sink. "There is no spoon."

"What?"

Dad sighed. "I never thought I'd say this, son, but you need to put your textbooks away sometimes and watch a damn movie." He dropped the spoon into the sink with a clatter. "Come here."

Liam stepped into his hug, and Dad held him for a moment then slapped his hands on his back a few times. Liam suspected he couldn't find a tea towel and was trying to sneakily wipe his hands. He let him get away with it, then Liam headed back into the living room to see what havoc Ambrose was wreaking now. Whatever it was, from the sounds of his laughter, Grandad Billy was a fan.

"Neve and Marcus are running late!" Mum exclaimed unhappily when Liam went back into the sitting room. "Marcus got delayed at work, and now they won't be up until tomorrow. Oh, I hope the traffic won't be too bad for them then!"

Mum thought more than two cars on the road at once meant the traffic was bad. There was a reason Dad drove whenever they went down to Sydney.

"At least the rain's eased off for a bit," Grandad Billy said. "Liam, why don't you take your young fella for a tour and show him over to your room?"

Liam was confused. "Why would he need a tour to show him to my room?"

His room was just upstairs. It wasn't like Ambrose would need a cut lunch and a water bottle. It was right there. As a bonus, his childhood bed had an old trundle bed underneath it. Nobody would ever have to know that he and Ambrose hadn't shared.

"You're not staying in your old room. Remember last time you were up, we were doing up the cabins for guests?" Grandad Billy asked. "We finally finished the honeymoon cabin!"

Liam's heart dropped into his stomach. "The honeymoon…?"

"Well, it's almost finished," Granddad Billy said. "Just needs a few little touches here and there. But it's got a lovely view of the vineyard. Why don't you take your bags over there now?"

"I…okay," Liam said.

"Sounds great!" Ambrose exclaimed, and Granddad Billy pressed an old brass key into his hand.

Did it really sound great to him, or was he just pretending? Oh God. The honeymoon cabin wasn't going to have a trundle bed, was it? No, it wasn't.

"Dinner's at seven," Mum said. "We're doing pizzas, if your dad ever gets the pizza oven started."

"I'm doing it now!" Dad said and hurried away .

Ambrose stood up, twirling the key on the end of his finger. He looked at Liam, his eyebrows raised in a question.

"Yeah," Liam said. "Let's, um, take our bags over to the cabin and check it out."

"We'll be back for pizza at seven!" Ambrose announced.

Mum waved him off, looking slightly relieved to be rid of him.

"Well," Ambrose said as he hefted his overnight bag onto his shoulder and stepped out onto the veranda with Liam, "I think it's going great."

Liam looked at the low clouds rolling across the sky, then at Ambrose. "Really?"

"Sure," Ambrose said. "They're way too nice to tell me to fuck off, but I can tell they're thinking it." His mouth quirked. "Except your grandad. I think he genuinely loves me."

"Probably," Liam said. "Grandad thrives on chaos." He jerked his head. "Cabins are this way."

They stepped down from the veranda, shoes crunching on the wet gravel of the path. Weak shafts of sunlight pierced the low clouds, creating columns of soft, hazy light that illuminated the landscape. From the house, the yard sloped gently down towards the road. A clump of eucalyptus trees was painted gold. A wattle drooped under the weight of the previous burst of rain, its yellow blossoms sagging. Rows of grevilleas, their red blossoms damp and glistening, lined the path that led around to the side of the house.

"The vines are that way," Liam said, pointing out the way when the path forked. "With the sheds and everything behind them. The cabins are along here, past the pond. Mum and Dad closed the place to tourists while we did them up, because Dad reckons there's always some moron who'll go poking around a construction site and cut himself on a piece of tin or shoot himself with a nail gun, and he can't be arsed with getting an ambulance or dealing with the insurance paperwork."

They rounded the side of the house, and the vineyard itself came into view.

"Wow," Ambrose said, hushed, and Liam guessed Ambrose had never seen a vineyard before. He'd grown up with grapevines as far as the eye could see, but now he was looking with fresh eyes, he had to admit it was a pretty impressive sight, and he felt a burst of unfamiliar pride in his family property. Row upon row of trellised vines marched across the landscape, long lines of plants tied up into place, and although they were currently bare of fruit, they still made an impressive sight, the leaves that remained on the vines a flurry of autumnal oranges and reds, contrasting with the verdant winter grass and wildflowers scattered in patches beneath the ranks of wooden trellises. Liam kind of wished Ambrose could see them when they were at their best, full of fruit and bursting with life, hanging low under the weight of a crop, vibrant and green. Then he had to remind himself that no, Ambrose wouldn't be around for that.

"It's ten acres," Liam said. "It starts here on the hillside and goes all the way down into the next valley. The soil is heavy red clay, which is good for shiraz, and mourvèdre, and gamay. It's the original vineyard. We also have one a few kilometres away, where the soil is different. That's where we grow the grapes for chardonnay and sémillon and chenin blanc."

"I don't understand a thing you said," Ambrose said with a grin, "but it's very pretty here."

Liam flushed.

Ambrose elbowed him. "It's nice that you're passionate about what you do here. Oh, speaking of passion, Passion Pop? Have you ever drunk Passion Pop?"

"God, no," Liam said. "My family would disown me! "

Ambrose laughed, his eyes dancing. "I thought that's what you'd say. I'll ask your mum later if she has a bottle around the place."

They continued along the path towards the cabins, and the vineyard disappeared from view behind a screen of lilly pilly hedges. The path turned, and the cabins came into view on the other side of a small pond. Last time Liam had been here they'd been nothing more than bare trusses. Now they were a cluster of five cute little wooden houses, painted white, with their blue tin roofs gleaming with a sheen of rainwater.

Ambrose stopped dead in his tracks, and Liam walked straight into the back of him. He did his best to ignore the way his chin would slot so nicely over Ambrose's shoulder if he just leaned in a bit, and instead stepped back hastily, because Ambrose was pulling his phone from his pocket, frowning. "Mum?"

Liam took another step back in an attempt to give the illusion of privacy.

"No," Ambrose said, "I can't come over, I told you. Do you want me to call Mrs. Ahmadi for you? She can come over and sit with you." Then he said, "Of course she won't mind. She likes you. She's a fan, remember?"

Liam picked up his bag and started towards the cabin, wondering what exactly was going on with Ambrose's mum. It didn't sound good, but it also wasn't any of his business, so he walked on slowly ahead. He'd just made it to the edge of the pond when there was the scuff of feet in dirt and a hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry about that," Ambrose said. "Mum just gets a bit lonely sometimes."

Liam nodded, wondering what, if anything, Ambrose wanted him to say to that.

Apparently Ambrose didn't want to talk about it at all, because he blew out a long breath, tucked his phone in his pocket, and said, "Wow. Those cabins look great. Which one's ours? I'll race you, come on!"

He darted around the edge of the pond towards the cabins, cackling like a crazy person when he almost went arse-over in the mud, and Liam found himself hurrying to catch up.