Chapter 5
My room is still painted the same sickly pink I chose when I was thirteen.
Oily Blu Tack stains pockmark the walls, even though the posters of McFly and Robert Pattinson are long gone.
I unzip my suitcase and hang a few things.
The wardrobe is mainly full of Mum’s winter clothes, but as I rifle through the hangers, I recognise some of my old stuff: a pair of low-rise boot-cut jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt I bought because I was obsessed with Legally Blonde.
The front door must have woken me up because a few seconds later, footsteps too heavy and fast for anyone who was here earlier thump up the stairs.
Without warning, the door opens, and Yan bursts in.
‘So, what’s all this about Rich shagging patients?’
I groan and sit up. ‘Not you, too, Yan. That’s not—’
He grins and holds up his hand. ‘I know, I know. I’m teasing.’ He sits on the edge of the bed, his brawny frame making the mattress dip. His kind brown eyes are serious. ‘What happened, Nelly?’
Yan’s a good listener, like Dad is. He doesn’t add his own interpretation to what I tell him; he just nods and let’s me speak.
‘She wasn’t a patient. She was the receptionist at work.’
‘What a prince.’
We sit in silence for a beat, and then he asks: ‘When you say “at work”, do you mean on the premises?’
‘I don’t know.’ My stomach churns. ‘Does it make a difference?’
‘A furtive knee-trembler in the disabled loo suggests opportunism. A swish hotel, with thousand-count bed sheets, and Moet on ice implies careful planning.’
‘What, a quick fumble at work doesn’t count?’
‘Who among us hasn’t found himself in the wine cellar after a shift, pants at his ankles, a Spanish waiter with a mouth like a hoover—’
‘Stop!’ I don’t want to hear about my brother’s rich and varied sex life because what if Rich strayed because our sex life wasn’t rich and varied enough?
‘I can’t remember the last time I had sex that wasn’t in a bed.’
‘The kitchen floor is overrated.’
‘I’ve been so busy with work and studying, I probably neglected the physical side of things with him.
’ I don’t want to tell Yan because God knows how this compares with his life, but I always thought once a week, sometimes missionary, sometimes with me on top, was enough.
‘What if Rich found our sex life boring?’
He frowns. ‘It takes two to tango. If he secretly wanted you to tie him up and stick an apple in his mouth, he should have asked you. Not have it off with some skank on a chandelier.’ He shakes his head. ‘I can’t believe I have to explain infidelity to a couples’ counsellor.’
‘Some bloody relationship expert I am. Jesus, I don’t know how I’ll face my patients next week.’
‘You don’t have to be in a successful relationship to be able to help others with theirs. Come on, Nelly. You’re spiralling.’
I take a shaky breath. ‘How am I going to get through this?’
Yan slings his arm around my shoulders. ‘We’re all here for you. And you know Mum and Dad will love having you stay for as long as you need. They’re always complaining they don’t see you enough and still don’t understand why you moved more than three tube stops away.’
The parental tractor beam had kept Tig and Yan closer, but I’d always assumed it was more accident than design.
‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Why don’t you have a shower and put your glad rags on.’
‘I don’t want to go out.’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he says, in exactly the tone that makes me worry immediately.
‘What have you done?’ I ask slowly.
‘Me? Nothing.’ His face is all innocence. ‘Mum, however, has organised an impromptu engagement party for Tig and Theo.’ He looks at his watch. ‘She told everyone to be here for seven, which means you’ve got exactly ten minutes to get ready.’
I check my own watch. ‘It’s only twenty past six.’
‘Yes, but the early birds will be here soon to “help out”.’ He air-quotes the last two words because arriving early to ‘help out’ is usually a ruse to nab the good seats – the ancient sofa is too low for arthritic knees.
I groan. ‘Everyone’s going to be asking me where Rich is, and I can’t face having to tell them.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that. Mum’s already posted your break-up on Facebook.’
I stare at him. ‘Please tell me you’re joking.’
‘The Greek Gossip Grapevine couldn’t sit on a story like that.’
In panic, I grab my phone. Mum is obsessed with Facebook and ‘The 3G’ is what we call her page (500 friends and counting). A couple of quick clicks reassure me that I’m safe – for now.
‘Thanks for the heart attack.’
‘After tonight, she’ll plaster her feed with pics of Tig and Theo, and you’ll be old news.’
‘As much as I appreciate our sister thoughtfully pushing my misery off the front page, isn’t anyone else weirded out they’re engaged? They’ve only known each other for five minutes. What if he turns out to be some sort of creep?’
‘You’ve met him enough times to know he wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
‘Appearances can be deceptive. As I’ve just found out.’
Yan takes a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry about what you’re going through, but don’t let that colour things. Tig has to make her own mistakes.’
‘I can’t sit back and watch her get hurt.’
‘Hopefully you won’t. But you might have to, and that’s okay. Besides, when has anyone ever been able to change Tig’s mind?’
‘But she’s so young.’
‘If it helps, Mark Marino vouches for him. They did medicine together in Leeds.’
Mark’s name makes me flinch, but I keep my face neutral. ‘I didn’t know you were still in touch with him.’
I wait for him to tell me he’s not, but he’s distracted by an old bottle of Shalimar on my dressing table.
‘Ooh, I love this perfume. You can’t beat the classics.’
‘Be careful,’ I say, as he reaches for it. ‘The glass is—’
Yan drops the bottle with a yelp.
‘… broken,’ I finish.
‘Shit,’ he mutters, rubbing his thumb.
‘Did you cut yourself?’
‘No, I’m okay.’ His phone pings and when he checks it, he frowns.
‘Don’t tell me, your Grindr date has cancelled?’
‘Dates are for straights, darling.’
The doorbell chimes.
‘Oh shit, it’s started.’ I groan and pull the duvet over my head.
He peels back the covers and tries to drag me to my feet. ‘Come on, we can go down together.’
‘No way. I need time to get ready. I need to put make-up on and find something flattering to wear. Not all of us are as naturally fabulous as you.’
Yan grins and puts an arch hand on his hip, camping it up. ‘I work with what Nature gave me, and Nature blessed me with the will to go to the gym six times a week.’
‘Whatever.’ I smile wanly and root through my suitcase to find my make-up bag. ‘You go to pick up guys. That story about how you met your last boyfriend in the British Museum is a load of rubbish. You met in a sauna.’