Chapter Three Clara
Chapter Three CLARA
The Great-Aunts have gone at last, all agog with my oh-so-outrageous Harry lie – not to mention my announcement about moving home.
I push down the twinge of embarrassment and remind myself that I don’t care what they think.
In fact, I’ve probably done them a favour!
They’ll be buzzing their tits off, gossiping about this for weeks.
It’ll probably give them a whole new lease of life.
I collapse on the sofa in the living room, shutting my eyes and hoping Mum will notice how exhausted I am and bring me a cup of tea.
A Mia cuppa . I snigger to myself, thinking how much that riled Jemma up. She’s always been so easy to annoy. I’ve missed that.
The thing I’ve missed most of all, though, after five years in New York, was proper tea. As well as being waited on by my mum.
‘You OK, Clara?’ It’s not Mum’s voice, so I open just one eye – warily. Angela is hovering over my face, eyebrows knitted with… I dunno, fear? I wonder briefly what she must think of me – what Mum and Jemma must’ve told her – and fight an impulse to make a run for it.
‘Hiya, Angela!’ I give her my best approximation of enthusiasm.
I want her to like me. I want her to be charmed by me.
I want her to go out into the world boasting about the loveliness of her new step-daughter.
And if Mum and Jemma have been bitching about me, I want her to think less of them after bathing in my sunshine.
‘How’s it going?’ I say, opening the other eye, sitting upright and adopting my best interested face.
Angela and Mum met at a ballroom dancing class earlier this year, if you can imagine such a thing.
It beats Tinder, I guess, but I wonder if they’ll actually make it down the aisle.
There was definitely something in the way they were looking at one another earlier at the party.
A tenderness in the way they held hands in that sort of understated way.
Like they were the only two people in the room, and not, in fact, surrounded by mean, watchful Great-Aunts looking for a spot of familial gossip.
But Mum’s been engaged a couple of times before this – including to my dad a hundred years ago – and it’s never worked out. So I don’t necessarily hold out much hope for this latest romance. Though she’s prettier than many of Mum’s previous conquests; all legs and big red hair.
Angela smiles with relief, flashing small white teeth.
‘Oh yes, yes,’ she replies confusingly. ‘Sorry to disturb you, I know you must be exhausted after your long journey. Did you sleep on the plane?’ I shake my head and she tilts hers sympathetically.
‘Did you know, in 1964, a student once went eleven days and twenty-five minutes without sleeping?’
I raise my eyebrows, like this is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever heard. ‘I didn’t know that, Angela, thank you for telling me!’ I give her my most charming laugh. ‘Sounds like me and that student were on the same GCSE revision schedule!’
She doesn’t join in with my laugh and I wonder if Mum’s already told her how badly I did in my exams. It was just after Dad buggered off, so never mind a revision schedule, I didn’t turn up for half my lessons that year. Unlike Ms Smart Arse upstairs, Jemma, who never missed a second of school.
Angela is nodding again. ‘I’ll leave you to rest up. I just wondered if you needed anything?’ Shaking my head, I smile widely, giving her the full-wattage beam.
‘No, but thank you so much for offering, Angela!’ I dial the smile down, aware I’m being too much. I shouldn’t have used her name again; I sound like a Tory politician on Good Morning Britain , trying desperately to be relatable enough to justify re-election.
Angela turns to go, picking up stray plates and cups as she heads for the kitchen.
‘Actually, Ange,’ I call after her, ‘I’d kill for a cup of tea if you wouldn’t mind? No sugar, loads of milk?’ She turns back and for a moment I think she will tell me not to call her Ange. Instead she nods happily, backing away again.
Jemma replaces her in the doorway. ‘Already got them running around after you, I see,’ she says dryly, and I turn to face her, sitting up straighter.
‘Give me a break,’ I tell her, feeling drained. ‘I asked for tea! And I didn’t even make the Mia cuppa joke! I only did it because Angela’s clearly desperate to please. She wants to do stuff for me. It’s like a bonding ritual; adults doing stuff for their kids.’
Jemma looks at me askance. ‘We’re not kids,’ she says darkly. ‘And you should be nice to Angela, she’s really lovely.’
‘Oh my god, I am being nice to her!’ I cry out, feeling hard done by.
Why does Jemma always assume the worst about me?
‘You should’ve seen me, I was so nice. She will totally love me when she gets to know me.
’ I nod authoritatively. ‘You’ll see, I’ll be like the daughter she’s always wanted in no time. ’
Jemma snorts. ‘She does have a daughter.’
‘Oh.’ That’s right, the teenager from earlier. I’d forgotten. ‘Oh yeah. Well, what’s her deal? Where is she anyway? Has she gone home?’
Jemma’s eyes slide away and she looks shifty. ‘Um, she’s… she’s upstairs.’ We fall silent, something awkward between us. Jemma swallows before continuing quickly. ‘She’s kind of intimidating actually. She’s just seventeen but she’s basically terrifying.’ She glances at me. ‘Buffy, I mean.’
I sit up straighter as Jemma moves across the room, wiping surfaces littered with crumbs. ‘ Buffy?! Jesus Christ, tell me the kid’s name isn’t really Buffy?!’ I am delighted, but she shakes her head.
‘No, I don’t think so. Not really. I think it’s a nickname. I asked her about it when we got introduced, and she gave me this aggressively withering look and said it’s her username on Snapchat because she slays.’ We regard each other with amusement and I shake my head.
‘Surely she’s too young for that reference?’ I pause. ‘Even we’re too young for that reference.’
Jemma looks tickled again. ‘I think the noughties are back. Haven’t you seen all the thin eyebrows and huge coin belts?’
‘God, don’t .’ I flop back onto the cushions again. ‘New York was full of people wearing chokers and slip dresses.’
Jemma pauses, looking sombre, before joining me on the sofa. ‘So you’re really done with New York? I thought you loved it over there. You always looked like you were having a blast.’ I stare down at my lap as she adds, ‘What’s made you decide to come back?’
I clear my throat then speak hurriedly. ‘It’s just the right time, y’know?
I miss home, and I miss all of you.’ She looks sceptical at this but I keep going.
‘I was always going to come back at some point! I couldn’t spend the rest of my life hearing people saying herb and aluminium wrong.
It’s time to move home and get my old life back together.
’ I perk up, thinking about my bedroom upstairs, still adorned with the old posters and teddy bears.
‘Y’know, I’m actually really excited to stay with Mum for a bit.
’ I pause, feeling misty-eyed. ‘I’ve lived away for so long, it’s just the thing we need to rebond.
A bit of one-on-one time together, y’know?
Plus, I can get to know Angela better, when she’s staying over – and even get friendly with her vampire slayer kid. It’s going to be great!’
Beside me on the sofa, there is a chilly vibe emanating from Jemma. I try to read the atmosphere, without looking directly at her. She doesn’t like people looking directly at her, it’s too confrontational.
We haven’t always got on that well – I always say or do the wrong thing around Jim-Jems – but we’re adults now.
I’m hoping things could be different with me being back in England.
We’ll take it slow, but maybe we could finally be…
well, probably not like normal twins; the kind of twins you see on telly who do everything together and are like mirror versions of each other – but at least, I dunno, friends ?
‘Look, Clara, there’s something you should know,’ Jemma begins earnestly, just as Mum walks in, holding my too-full cup of tea in one hand and a bowl of orange crisps in the other. Angela is right behind her, looking fearful again. I must remember not to overuse her name.
‘Did you eat anything, Clara?’ Mum asks anxiously. ‘I wasn’t sure in all the excitement if you got any of the sandwiches? I can make you something if not?’
I catch Jemma rolling her eyes indiscreetly next to me.
Ugh, she’s such hard work. Is it my fault if Mum likes to fuss around me all the time?
Whatever she thinks, it’s going to be so nice being looked after for a while.
I’m looking forward to fully reverting to child status while I’m staying here.
After everything that’s happened over there – everything that happened with him – don’t I deserve it?
‘I grabbed something at the airport on the way through,’ I tell her, taking the tea from her.
It’s hot in my hands. ‘But I’ll totally take those crisps anyway!
Cheers, Mum.’ She places them beside me on a small table that’s always sat next to this sofa.
When I was a teenager, me and my friends used it for drinking games every Friday night.
I grab a fistful of crisps and empty them into my mouth, enjoying the loud, satisfying crunch.
‘Where’s Harry gone?’ Mum asks anxiously, glancing around her.
‘He went back to ours,’ Jemma says absentmindedly. ‘Why?’
‘Oh, I was hoping to get to know him better.’ She looks wistful.
‘You do understand we’re not actually engaged?’ I sit up again, crisp crumbs sprinkling in all directions.
‘Well, yes, but—’
‘Mum, they’re not together at all ,’ Jemma interjects sternly. ‘Like, not at all. Not even a little bit. They just met outside the house earlier. He’s my friend. My housemate. Remember? You met him at mine last year? They don’t know each other. At all. ’
Wow, territorial much? Maybe she fancies him. Massive nerds were always her type. But, of course, now I feel bad. That would actually be a bit out of order if I’ve spent all afternoon clinging to a guy she’s into. No wonder she’s been so red in the face about it.
My wrist beeps, making Mum jump.
‘What’s that?’ Jemma glances around anxiously and I tut.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say, raising my arm straight over my head, waving it about towards the ceiling. ‘So, gang, let’s talk about me moving home!’
‘Why is your arm in the air?’ Mum looks flummoxed.
I keep waving the arm. ‘It’s just my watch,’ I say by way of explanation, but she and Jemma still look just as baffled.
I sigh, continuing, ‘I’m supposed to stand up every hour for a minute or so.
It’s a fitness tracker, it thinks I sit down too much.
’ Jemma rolls her eyes as Mum slow-blinks at me with bafflement.
I continue, ‘Who can be bothered with that? If I wave my arm in the air like this, it tricks it into thinking I’m standing up. ’
Jemma scrunches up her face. ‘Why do you even wear it then?’
Of course she doesn’t get it. I shrug. ‘I dance sometimes?’ I offer. ‘Y’know, around the furniture at home and in bars on a Friday and Saturday. It likes me more when I do that.’
Jemma laughs. ‘You’re trying to please your fitness tracker?’
I nod. ‘Oh yeah! It’s very judgy. And it is not pleased with me very often. Honestly, I don’t know what’s more insulting – when it asks me if I’ve finished working out while I’m still exercising, or when it asks me are you exercising? when I’m just casually strolling between my bed and the fridge.’
‘Goodness!’ Across the room Angela looks just as baffled as Mum, then perks up. ‘Did you know a man in Toronto once stood on one leg for seventy-six hours and forty minutes?’
I squint at her. Did someone buy this woman a Guinness World Records book for Christmas or something?
‘Anyway,’ I say breezily, ‘now that I’m back, I might take up jogging or something.
’ I glance at Mum excitedly. ‘Ooh, do you think a Peloton would fit in my bedroom?’ Mum gulps and stares at me, not answering.
I roll my eyes at her continued confusion.
‘It’s an indoor bike? It killed Big?’ She shakes her head, clearly out of her depth, and I try not to laugh.
‘Actually, the internet would argue that technically Carrie Bradshaw killed Big, since she didn’t call an ambulance and then left him to die slowly on the floor. ’
‘What is happening ?’ Mum murmurs as Jemma stands up decisively.
‘Mum, you need to tell her.’
I feel a shot of fear. Tell me what? What does everyone know except me? Mum, Angela and Jemma all regard each other, communicating silently.
And, once again, I’m on the outside. ‘Fine,’ I laugh nervously.
‘We don’t have to get a Peloton. It’s not like I can keep my room tidy enough anyway.
I need the floor space for my clothes. You know what I’m like!
No wardrobe can contain me!’ No one reacts so I keep speaking.
‘And I can always do a bit of aerobics here in the living room if the watch bullying gets too much, can’t I, Mum? ’
She stares at me, huge-eyed and silent. OK, this is freaking me out. What’s going on? I glance at Jemma, who is still glaring at Mum. ‘Tell her!’ she says again, sounding upset and gesturing at me.
Oh god, Mum’s ill. That’s what this is, isn’t it? She does look paler than I remember.
I swallow. ‘Look, let me get my suitcases upstairs, and then we can talk. Whatever’s going on, I’m here now. I’m here for you and I can totally help look after you.’ I feel myself welling up, and get to my feet. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Wait!’ Mum says suddenly and I freeze at the urgency in her voice.
‘I’m just going to put my bags away in my bedroom, Mum.’ I try to laugh. ‘I’ll be, like, ninety seconds.’
‘You can’t,’ she says, sounding panicked.
I shake my head. ‘What? Why not?’
From across the room, Angela’s daughter Buffy appears from the kitchen. She’s smiling wickedly, eyes twinkling. She speaks and her voice is high and young. ‘Because it’s not your bedroom anymore. It’s mine.’
I feel my brow furrow as I turn to Mum. She looks at me pleadingly. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, Angela and Buffy moved in a week ago. You haven’t been home in years, I had no clue you were thinking of coming back, you didn’t… I didn’t… I’m so sorry, darling, there’s no bedroom for you here.’
Across the room, Buffy smirks, then frowns at me.
‘Er, why is your hand waving about in the air?’