Blood Pressure by Rhiannon D'Averc

Author:Rhiannon D'Averc [D'Averc, Rhiannon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-08-05T00:00:00+00:00

19 – Ram

“Oh, I see,” the Ambassador says, after a moment’s pause. “Much like Spain, don’t you remember, darling?”

“Oh, yes,” says Mrs Wallace, who this comment had been addressed to.

“Yes, he had a hard time of it. Mind if we drink in front of you, do you?” the Ambassador continues, as I scramble to keep up with the realisation that Spain must have referred to a person, not a country. “I know it can be, what’s the word – triggering, or whatnot.”

“I’m fine for you to drink,” I say, steeling myself inwardly. The truth is that I’m still not quite over it enough to watch others drink comfortably, but it won’t be the first time. Between trips to the pub with Alex and the general everyday interactions I have with clients, coppers, and members of the public, it’s not like I haven’t been around alcohol constantly since going sober.

“Well, then. Red wine?” the Ambassador says, raising eyebrows at both his wife and his son. Both of them nod and agree as he gets up to go to a drinks cabinet in the corner of the room.

“I’ll fetch it, sir,” Sophie says, putting my plate down in front of me before she dashes off.

There’s a delicious aroma coming off the roast duck, which appears to have been glazed in honey and sesame seeds. There’s also a bed of rice and a serving of what I’m fairly sure is kimchi on the side; a small curved dish accompanying each plate appears to hold what my nose tells me is bulgogi sauce. It seems the Wallaces haven’t quite left their time in South Korea behind them. Or perhaps they held onto these flavours for the sake of their son; I’m not sure.

“What did you call him, a moment ago?” the Ambassador says from the sideboard, where he’s pouring himself what I can’t help but notice is a whiskey. A roar of desire wells up in my stomach, so I look back at my plate and force myself to pour the sauce over the duck for something to do. A tonic water thumps down onto the table in front of me as the Ambassador sits down.

“Ram,” Will repeats, with a kind of weary and wary tone in his voice. “It’s just a nickname.”

“Ram?” Mrs Wallace says, and I feel like I’m in an echo chamber. “What a funny nickname! Why do you call him that?”

I can’t stop myself. If I’m not allowed to drink or show any affection towards Will, or swear, or wear clothes that express my personality, or literally anything else, then I have to get my kicks somewhere. And it’s almost automatic by now – the old joke that Will and I always share. “It’s my middle name.”

“Your middle name?” the Ambassador scoffs. “It’s an animal, not a name! I never heard of such a thing.”

“It’s not his middle name,” Will says, giving me a pained and panicked look. I swallow and reach for my tonic water.

“Well, what is it, then?” Mrs Wallace asks, sounding confused.

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