Chapter 2
2
‘How many calories are in a flat white again?’
‘Does coffee even have calories?’
That sentence earned Orla such a disparaging look from Erin it could probably have turned her to stone if she hadn’t looked away. She changed her focus to the twinkling lights making everything gleam with prestige at this uber-contemporary coffee shop where it seemed even the steam came out in elegant bursts, rather than something from Thomas the Tank Engine’s funnel.
‘I was being serious,’ Erin reiterated, her eyes now grazing the menu on her phone – no paper here, just a QR code to zap. ‘I’m trying to make sure I fit into the size eight dress I bought that won’t quite do up at the minute.’
‘Why didn’t you just buy a size ten?’ Orla asked.
‘Are you a hundred like Mum?’ Erin said accusingly. ‘Why would I do that when the other size almost fits and that’s the size Danica and Tania bought in colours that look aesthetic together?’
Orla had no answer. She had never thought the ten-year age gap between them was that much, but it seemed she had little idea how to converse with Erin and her generation without sounding like she was Mary Berry describing a thriving garden and pairing it with a festive trifle.
‘I’ll just have an Americano. And don’t get milk. Ooo… and I’ll have a triple chocolate muffin, if you’re paying.’
‘I’ll have the same,’ Orla said. ‘Do you want to order it on there and I’ll give you my card to pay and?—’
‘Done. I used your PayPal,’ Erin said, putting her phone on the table, screen down.
‘Oh,’ Orla answered. She was going to follow it up with asking if Erin used her PayPal account a lot, but challenging her sister never worked well if she wanted her to open up. And a text from their mother between the chocolate sweepstakes, reading Frances’s France email and buying some 100ml liquids in Superdrug had suggested that Erin was hiding something more than her appearances at Club Class and Orla had been tasked with trying to find out how deep she was in with a guy on Insta.
‘So, have you ordered the turkey yet?’ Erin asked, picking up her phone, looking at the screen, then putting it right back down again.
A chill ran down Orla’s spine. She wasn’t in charge of buying the Bradbee’s turkey. She had done it last year. This year it was Auntie Bren’s turn, wasn’t it?
Then Erin burst into fits of laughter. ‘Oh my God, your face! I thought you were gonna piss yourself. You haven’t, have you? ’Cos that’s what old people do. I loaned Auntie Bren my phone for ten minutes last Christmas and I was served ads for Tena Lady for weeks.’
It wasn’t funny. But it was presenting her with an opportunity to address the fact there was a chance she might not be back for the annual festive lunch, the Boxing Day Banana Bonanza and the New Year New Stew evening…
‘Actually,’ Orla began tentatively. ‘I’m probably not going to be at Christmas dinner this year.’
Erin laughed again. ‘Sorry, what? That’s better than any joke out of the Poundland crackers. Wait, that doesn’t make sense. They were shit.’
‘I mean it. I have to work.’
‘You’ve had to work before. One time you were actually working and Mum poured custard on your laptop.’
She sighed heavily. ‘I have to work away.’
‘You were working away hard when Mum poured custard on your laptop.’
‘I mean… I’m not going to be in the country.’
Now she watched her sister’s eyes light up like they could take centre stage in a festive display. ‘You’re leaving the country? Is it Dubai? Tell me it’s Dubai.’
‘It’s not Dubai.’
‘Where then? Bora Bora? Thailand at least?’
‘It’s France.’
‘Oh my God! Paris! Well, that’s it! I’m coming with you! I’ll need more clothes, acrylics and a Brazilian!’
‘Erin—’
‘Wait until I tell Burim. It has to be a lot easier to get to France than here, right?’
Burim? Was this the guy their mum was worried about? She should be trying desperately to dull Erin’s excitement, because there was no way her little sister was coming with her – and it wasn’t Paris she was going to either – but maybe she could use this current travel effervescence to her advantage…
‘So, Burim, you… haven’t told me about him,’ Orla said as their drinks and muffins arrived.
Erin shot her a straight look. ‘How do you know Burim is male?’
‘What?’
‘Well, it’s not like I just said “David”, is it? Burim could be a female name, so why did you assume it was male?’
Orla always seemed to underestimate exactly how whip-smart her sister was. But, in her defence, Erin did tend to go from going full-on dreamy eye-lash-lifted eyes over anything the colour pink to laser-focussed-on-the-details top barrister in a miniscule amount of time.
‘ Is Burim female?’ Orla asked.
‘Are you asking me? Or is Mum?’
Damn, she was good. And, as a journalist, Orla ought to sharpen up her ability to get people to divulge things they hadn’t planned to. Travel in Mind magazine was an eclectic mix of National Geographic meets Time with a spattering of Condé Nast Traveller . Although, this past year, most of her features had been about places or animals, not people. She’d been getting to the heart of heathlands and the apex of the animal kingdom, finding those unique stories that made their magazine stand out amongst its peers. Perhaps if she focussed much more on the pregnant reindeer than the mute man, it would be more in her comfort zone…
‘You don’t have to answer that,’ Erin said when Orla hadn’t immediately replied. ‘I saw Mum’s message to you earlier.’
‘You read Mum’s messages,’ Orla exclaimed, a whole catalogue of things she had sent her mum about Erin raining down on her mind like the stringy ribbons from party poppers.
‘Who doesn’t have an app that reads people’s messages these days?’ Erin rolled her eyes.
‘I don’t,’ Orla replied. ‘Because that is an invasion of privacy.’
‘As is Mum getting all pretending like she cares over someone I’m in a situationship with.’
‘So, Burim is a guy.’
‘Sorry, do you even know the word “situationship”?’
‘I’m aware of its meaning and that it’s usually not of a platonic nature. I also know it’s generally ended by the guy who, five messages before, has called you “ml” and said he hopes you sleep well and the rest of the chat is the girl saying “good morning”, “wyd”, “is everything OK?”, “have I done something wrong?” until we get to “Merry Christmas” and “Happy New Year” when eventually she dries her eyes, picks up her self-respect and moves on.’ She took a breath as all those oh-so-relatable phrases she’d just spewed out gave her flashbacks.
Erin looked impressed. ‘That was so accurate to what Marla’s been through at least seven times now.’
‘Erin,’ Orla said. ‘Mum’s worried you’re spending a lot of time focussed on Burim and not concentrating on college.’
‘Mum should spend less time poking her nose into what I’m doing and more time focussing on Dad and his drink problem.’
‘What?’
‘Hmm,’ Erin said, picking up her coffee. ‘I bet she didn’t tell you anything about that, did she? Got so drunk last week he fell down the steps outside the chip shop and ended up in A&E with concussion.’
Orla knew her dad liked a few pints at the weekend with his friends and there was nothing wrong with that. Everyone did it, didn’t they? And who hadn’t had a little slip of their footing when on a night out? It usually happened right before kebab sustenance was required then on to the Uber home.
‘Well, Keith can go a bit over the top on their nights out and he encourages Dad to try drinks he isn’t used to,’ Orla reminded.
‘Oh, sorry, didn’t I say? This was ten in the morning. Keith was probably at work. You know, the thing our dad doesn’t do any more because he took early retirement?’
Shit. Why hadn’t her mum told her anything about this? This was far more urgent than Erin talking to a guy on Insta. Then she had a thought: maybe that was why she’d been sent down this rabbit hole, as a distraction technique.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Erin whispered like she was a conspirator in a government overthrow plot. ‘You think Mum has given you the task of asking about Burim as a distraction technique from the real shit that’s going down with Dad.’
‘No,’ Orla said immediately. ‘Of course not.’
‘Ha!’ Erin replied. ‘Not even the muffin believes you.’
And how had she lost control of this conversation? She was finding out nothing from Erin, she now had a new problem to worry about and tomorrow she was heading to France.
Erin bit into her muffin and smiled. ‘So, as Mum hasn’t been honest with you either, we should put that boring shit to one side and plan a little stop in Primani after here. I could do with one of those cropped puffa jackets, but furry – perfect-Paris-chic-meets-UK-drip.’
Orla didn’t know how to respond so she simply bit into her muffin too.