They were nearly at the cottage now. Through the trees up ahead Adam could see the slates of its roof, the brick of its chimney, the white of its painted stone walls. The Cottage, everyone called it, or Ned’s Cottage, but it was more like a farmhouse, really, on two floors, with a porch at the front, a high surrounding hedge, a walled-in flagstone forecourt. It was as they were turning in at the gate that Adam – keen to get back on the front foot in this conversation – said the thing that he knew immediately he would regret forever.
‘I mean, I don’t think what I’m asking for is unreasonable, given what I’ve done for this company.’
The atmosphere in the car changed so fast he could practically feel his ears pop.
Their tyres crunched to a halt on the gravel.
Something under the bonnet, cooling, pinged.
Ned unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the Land Rover door, climbed out, and slammed it. Then he turned, as if to check he had not forgotten someone. Then he tapped on the window and gestured for Adam to wind it down. Adam did so. Ned leaned in. Adam leaned over.
‘Is that some kind of threat, Adam?’
Already Adam was shaking his head, smiling as widely as he could, holding his hands up. He really had not meant it as such. He really had not.
Ned’s expression did not soften. His face was taut with anger.
‘What you’ve done for this company? Is that what you want to talk about?’
Adam said nothing.
‘Who you really are? Is that what you want to know?’
‘Listen, Ned, I didn’t mean—’
‘I can tell you who you really are,’ said Ned. ‘I can tell Laura who you really are, as well, if you like. If you’re sure that’s what you want. That’s definitely what you both want, is it? To find out who you really are. Do you want me to tell you? Do you want me to tell her?’
Adam did not answer. Somewhere in the distance another car was crunching along another track.
‘Tell her what?’ said Adam, flatly, although of course he knew.
‘Tell her what you’re like, of course, Adam. What you’re really like. It’s funny, isn’t it, the way we go through life, curating the version of ourselves we show to the world, editing it oh so carefully, that version of ourselves we share with our friends, with our family. Maybe even with ourselves. Maybe most of all with ourselves, actually. Do you know what I mean, Adam?’
‘Ned, you don’t—’
Ned made as if to press the call button on his phone. Adam reached to undo his seatbelt. Ned laughed. He took a step backwards. A smile spread across his face.
‘I’ll do it, Adam. You know I’ll do it. I don’t care about you leaving. Go ahead. Knock yourself out. You can go your own way. Start a shit wine bar in Melbourne. Run a poxy gastropub in Richmond. Spend the rest of your life flogging sticky toffee puddings and thinking up promotions to get people in on a Tuesday night and worrying about your Tripadvisor reviews. Do what the fuck you like. We’re both grown-ups. We’ll still be brothers. I’ll see you at Christmas. I’m sure Home will survive.’
Ned’s smile, which had already grown faint, now disappeared entirely.
‘But if you ever start dropping hints to me again about what you think you’ve done for this company, what that’s worth, how much of my money you think I owe you . . . I’ll do more than drop hints, Adam. I’ll tell her. Laura. Your wife. I’ll tell her what you’re like. I’ll tell her exactly what you’re really like. And you know what else I’ll do? I’ll fucking show her.’
Ned took a step back, turned, and walked away across the gravel. He stabbed his keycode into the door with an angry forefinger, waited for the code to register, checked the time on his watch, opened the door, then turned again in the doorway. There was a smile on his face once more.