Her head is pounding. Thirty-five isn’t as easy when it comes to how well her body could take on the late nights, or all the alcohol late nights usually imply. Victoria spent the time of waiting in silence, closing her eyes every few minutes to try and banish away the hangover.
Six in the bloody morning, was all she’d commented to her brothers as she walked in, slow steps in cruel heels. On New Years Day. Henry might as well take the crown; she’s finally gone mad.
Margaret seems to confirm the theory when she finally does show up, all smiles and cheer. Mad indeed.
Victoria eyes her mother in a way that says, What does it look like?
“Good morning, mum,” she forces the words out like she was a teenager again, willing her voice into something softer. “The champagne helped.” Wrong. “I mean, it was lovely. It was—” Victoria looks to the faces around her — to Philip, George, and to Henry, a quirk of the brow that practically begs, Help me out, here. I’m drowning.
“It was uneventful,” Henry offered to complete his sister’s sentence. “I think in most respects, that’s a good thing, after the way things have gone.” He had managed to stave off the headache for the most part, but he was exhausted, sitting in one of the plush armchairs. He had slumped until his mother entered the room, which had made him straighten instinctively. Almost forty years old and he still had the niceties pressed into him.
Henry looked around the room, surveying the weary looks, before he returned his look to his mother. “It was a lovely party. I don’t believe I saw an unhappy face.”
Philip had not sat up straight when his mother arrived, he hadn’t even taken his feet off the three hundred year old table. His smart suit is in contrast with his Ray Ban sunglasses; the boy who never grew up. For all he’s said since he arrived, he could be using the glasses to hide the fact he fell asleep the moment he dropped into the free chair. “I think I saw a couple, maybe you couldn’t see past our mother’s arse as you kissed it, Henry.” He doesn’t even try to stay cool, his mouth widening to show a set of pearly whites, grinning from Henry to his mother, “I apologise, that was vulgar.” True, but vulgar. He had a way with words, did he not? Finally, he removed his sunglasses and his shoes from the table and stood, stretching. He didn’t want to be here, he wasn’t going to make this a nice easy morning; this was going to set up the mood for the rest of the year, the last of the decade, and he had no intention of going easy on mother.
“Quick, Georgie, say something clever and kind to distract mother from my foul mouth.”
turnnoffyourmind
prguitarman
kaledo-art
snowghoul
stormborns
tangentwithtanner
gummygunk
izzy806
