Chapter 11
I’m glad I’m getting out of the house tonight, even if it’s only for dinner at Tig’s.
I’m wearing something from the ‘possibly-keep’ pile currently taking up half my bedroom floor: a black T-shirt emblazoned with, It’s Britney, b*tch in neon-pink letters.
Vandi and I bought them when we saw her Piece of Me Tour.
Vandi only wears hers around the house because, asterisk notwithstanding, the logo’s too rude for her.
Below, I’m wearing skinny black jeans also from the ‘possibly-keep’ pile. I suspect Britney will be a keeper, but the fate of the jeans hangs on whether the intentional rips on the knees look stupid or not. Tig will no doubt let me know.
Sometimes, it’s useful when she’s tactless.
She’s only a ten-minute walk away, but I stop at the corner shop and buy a bottle of Pinot Noir. It’s not my natural instinct to bring wine when I see my siblings, but it’s something Rich always did when we had dinner with his brother or his parents. It weirded me out at first.
‘If I took wine every time my parents fed me, they’d be alcoholics by now.’
He’d grimaced. ‘My mum’s halfway there.’
I’d backtracked immediately. ‘It’s a sweet gesture. I’m sure my family would love the occasional bottle.’
Tig is obviously not a fan of studied niceties because when she answers the door she scrunches her nose when she clocks the bottle.
‘What’s that for?’
‘To thank Theo for cooking.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Another wanky habit you picked up from that wanker?’
‘Can you lay off Rich for one evening?’
‘As long as you lay off telling me I’m getting married too fast.’
Touché.
I follow her through the narrow corridor towards the kitchen at the back of their ground-floor maisonette.
Tig bought the one-bed flat a year ago. She’s flighty and spontaneous, especially when it comes to boys and clothes, but at least she’s made sure she isn’t relying on a partner for a roof over her head.
Theo is chopping spring onions haphazardly, a tea towel slung over one shoulder. Yan taught us to chop like pros; I’m surprised Tig hasn’t insisted Theo speed up and do it on the diagonal, the proper way.
‘Nella’s here!’ she announces.
Theo wipes his hands and comes to kiss my cheek.
‘Good to see you again, Nella.’
‘She brought wine,’ says Tig, as if I’ve trailed in dog turd.
He smiles. ‘You shouldn’t have, but thank you.’
I hand him the bottle. ‘Thank you for having me.’
Tig hands Theo a corkscrew, and in one swift choreographed movement, he’s uncorked it.
Tig goes to the table and fills up three glasses. It’s laid for four, I notice.
‘Is Pen coming?’
She frowns. ‘Well, she was until about thirty minutes ago. Now she says she can’t.’
‘Did she give a reason?’
‘Says she’s got a headache.’ From Tig’s tone, it’s obvious she thinks there’s more to it. ‘She should never have chosen to do an accountancy degree. It’s one exam after another, even after you qualify. She’s constantly stressed and she’s only just started.’
‘She wanted to follow in your footsteps. Take it as a compliment.’
She shrugs off the comment and hands me my wine, Theo comes over and we all say cheers. The way they gaze at each other as they chink glasses makes my throat catch. It’s been a long time since Rich looked at me like that.
Whatever misgivings I have about this hasty engagement, what Tig and Theo have looks a lot like love.
And for a moment, I’m overcome by the pang of loss, because what if I never experience it again?
Tig’s frowning at me, and I force myself to smile. I can’t let her see how much I’m struggling; it’s not fair, not when she’s so happy.
‘Can I have a quick word in the living room, Nell?’
I follow her to the front room and sit on the sofa beside her.
‘Right, I’ll get straight to it,’ she begins. ‘Will you be my Best Lady, Maid of Honour – or whatever you want to call it?’
For a moment, my mind goes blank.
‘Oh,’ is all I can say.
She looks at me, waiting for more.
A front-row seat to a whirlwind wedding right after my break-up with Rich? Nice one, Universe.
No way is what I want to scream, but I can’t. Maybe I can nudge her in another direction, though.
‘Surely Pen is the obvious choice? You’re closer in age, and she’d make a great proti koumera.’
From the way Tig grimaces, it’s obvious she disagrees.
‘You must be joking, Nell. I’d have to be holding her hand all the way through. Besides, you’ve done it before, so you know the ropes. You were Niki’s Best Lady.’
‘And look at how that marriage worked out.’ Our cousin Niki in Cyprus got married a couple of years ago, but within six months, her husband had run off with another woman. ‘Are you sure you want me with that track record?’
Tig swallows. ‘I want you to have a reason to hang out with me more. I never see you – this way, I know I will.’
I wasn’t expecting this. I’ve never seen her this earnest, this vulnerable, and she suddenly looks like a kid again.
‘Sorry, Tig. Of course I’ll do it. It would be an honour.’
She pulls me into a hug so tight I worry she might crack my ribs.
When we part, she’s got a tear in her eye, but she’s smiling.
‘Thank you.’ She wipes her eyes. ‘It would have been embarrassing if you’d said no. The whole point of tonight was to officially sort this.’
‘All good?’ asks Theo, when we’re back in the kitchen.
‘All good,’ says Tig, a soppy grin on her face.
The happy picture is interrupted by the doorbell.
‘Maybe Pen decided to come after all?’ I ask.
Tig’s busy with the rice, so I bustle out of the kitchen to the front door.
I open it, expecting Pen.
It’s not Pen. It’s Mark Marino.