“Fucking hell!” Rebecca screams, looking at something under the table, making everyone abruptly stop talking.
“Honey?” Giles jumps into action beside his wife.
“Tristan, you have a mouse!” She shrieks, leaping up from the table pushing her chair away so that it falls to the floor.
Callie jumps on top of her chair. Mum knocks over an entire bottle of wine, spilling it across the table.
Karl jumps up from his seat and leaps back two metres, looking unexpectedly shook up for a man of 6’2. Giles is trying to console Rebecca, who is wailing like a banshee, and Tristan and Danny are under the table. Jack sits back, laughing his head off.
It’s mayhem.
“I see it!” Danny yells from under the table. “Fuck, it bit me!”
That’s enough to set Rebecca off again. Rebecca, Callie, and Mum have formed some sort of demon choir standing on their chairs wailing.
I peer under and spot the culprit.
“It’s ok!” I shout. “That’s my mouse!”
Danny comes out from under the table, holding the mouse from my taxidermy class.
“What the fuck is this?” His jaw slackens as he studies my creation, suited in its teeny tiny waistcoat. A trace of blood trickles from his finger. “That bloody sword it’s holding pricked me. And why is it wearing a hat?”
“What do you mean, your mouse?” Rebecca queries, visibly shaking. “Is it a pet?” “I taxidermied it,” I explain as everyone looks between the mouse and me, confused. Her eyes widened. “And you took it here?” She shrieks. “To a dinner party?” I whither a little.
“I forgot it was in my bag,” I mumble as they all lean in to inspect the mouse.
I grab the culprit from Danny, complete with hat and sword, and fire it back into my bag. He bits his lower lip, trying not to laugh. “He must have fallen out.”
“I’m terrified of mice.” She stares at me as if I’ve just declared genocide. “Can you put that thing outside?”
“It’s dead, Becks.” Danny laughs. “It won’t hurt you. Except if you stab yourself with that little sword.”
The men roar their heads off while Mum attempts to clean up the damage she has caused with the red wine spillage. Jack is howling with tears coming down his face.
“Sorry.” I gulp, pulling my bag close to me. “I’ll just put him outside until I leave.”
“You are so weird, Charlie.” Callie rolls her eyes. “No wonder you don’t have a boyfriend.” “All this fuss over a dead mouse,” I mutter. “Drama queens.” Rebecca gives me a death stare.
“I think it is endearing.” Tristan chuckles as I escort the mouse out of the dining room.
“It’s part of our flat charter to try anything once,” I explain as I enter the room again. When I say it out loud to two CEOs and two international human rights lawyers, I feel a tad childish.
Rebecca eyes my bag suspiciously.
“It’s a good motto.” There’s a hint of humour in Danny’s eyes. The tension in his jaw relaxes for the first time, maybe since he was born. I swear he came out of his mother’s stomach with a jaw that could cut paper.
Tristan slaps his hands together. “Crisis averted. Is everyone suitably full? Because we are ready to introduce the after dessert entertainment.”
My stomach sinks as Tristan smiles at me suggestively.
“No, Tristan,” I yell, folding my arms. “I’m not entertainment. I’m not a fucking clown”.
I know what he is hiding.
He gets up and walks out into the hallway, then pops his head around the door, his eyes twinkling at me.
“No,” I repeat firmly as he thrusts a guitar out from behind the doorway.
All of them cheer and yelp as I glare at the guitar.
“I’ve had too much wine to do this coherently.” I sigh. “And my stomach is too full to lean a guitar against.”
“Please, sis.” He wines, giving me his best pout. “It’s my birthday.”
“You were 40 three days ago,” I growl back, shooting my hand out to take the guitar. I won’t hear the end of it until I’ve played the damn song.
The men whoop in appreciation like they are at a concert, and I realise just how drunk they all are.
I pull in a breath and strum the first few cords.
It’s a soft, understated song, and I sing it in the low husky voice that it deserves.
I lower my gaze to the guitar focusing on the strings. It’s easier than way. I can get lost in the music and forget that they are here. I’m shy performing when people are so close, even if they have heard me lots of times.
I wrote the song as a thank you to Tristan for stepping in to support us when Dad left and for always protecting us. When I look up, his eyes are watering, and his mouth quivers as he tries to hold back his tears. Mum looks like she’s going to blubber as well.
Get a grip, people.
It’s partially the wine talking, but I know I’ve hit a nerve.
“Beautiful Charlie,” Rebecca gushes as I come to an end, and a round of clapping erupts throughout the table.
“I thought this was a party, not a funeral,” Callie mutters as I shoot daggers at her.
“Tristan, are you actually crying?” Jack laughs, observing a sniffly Tristan.
“He didn’t even cry when he lost the Hamilton case,” Danny smirks. “Now he’s blubbering like a baby.”
“Piss off,” he snaps, wiping his eyes a little.
Rebecca strokes his knee. “Ignore them, Tristan.”
“What a talent you have, Charlie.” She turns her attention back to me. “It’s such a unique sound.” “It’s just a hobby.” I shrug, picking at the hole in my jeans.
“Well, I’m honoured,” Tristan beams, stepping around the table so that he can gather me up in a hug.