Chapter 6
Dad stands in the doorway, as indifferent and tired as ever. ‘Mija,’ he says then wanders off.
I find Mum in the kitchen playing John Legend too loudly and shouting, ‘I love this song,’ to no one in particular. ‘Darling girl,’ she says. ‘Your hair is lovely today, so lush and shiny. You’re like one of those girls from the shampoo ads.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, grateful for the gift that is dry shampoo.
‘Go through and show your brother your hair.’
‘My brother?’ I ask, confused. In the living room, Eric is sitting aggressively tapping away at his laptop. ‘What are you doing here?’
There are huge bags under his eyes as he stares up at me. ‘Waiting on lunch.’ Without the usual pot of gel taming it, his short curly hair is frizzed up, making it appear lighter in colour.
‘When did you get back?’
‘This morning. I got a cab from the airport. Mum wanted to talk to me, so I came straight here.’
What did she want to talk to him about that she couldn’t do it when we were all here?
Eric taps the space bar several times. ‘Please tell me you brought the car.’
Grateful to hand back the responsibility, I drop the keys on the arm of the chair. While being put on the insurance of my brother’s car was touted as one of the biggest bonuses of flatsharing with him, it’s also a Mercedes E-Class, and this morning I wasn’t convinced I was sober enough to drive it.
‘Did you use it much?’ he asks.
‘I went to the big Tesco a few times. It was thrilling. How was Birmingham?’
‘I was in Scotland. It was windy.’
‘That’s all?’
He shrugs and goes back to his typing.
The overly soft sofa swallows me up and I close my eyes to still the whooshing in my head.
When Cian’s dad returned home last night, I made my excuses to leave.
However, they both insisted I finish the bottle of wine, and I ended up staying for another two hours, listening to Brendan’s stories of his many neighbourhood feuds while Cian creased up.
When the slat blinds twitched on the other side of the road, I stood up to go and Cian, slightly merry on beer, grabbed my hand and thanked me for coming over.
I had to bite my lip to stop myself from saying, ‘Any time.’
Eric swears under his breath, and I open an eye to peek at him.
‘I’m emailing Apple a complaint.’ He beckons for me to inspect the new watch on his wrist. ‘Can you see the scratches?’
Not at all, though I feel the need to provoke him. ‘That’s so bad. Maybe next time you should invest in something better quality.’
He retorts with, ‘You don’t know anything about wearable tech,’ as if it’s a cutting remark.
The next time I open my eyes he’s holding the laptop in front of me. ‘Check this.’
‘Do I have to?’
‘Yes.’
Reluctantly, I proofread his letter, removing excessive use of the word ‘disappointed’, while he helps bring through lunch.
There’s no dining table in the flat, just a few IKEA side tables in assorted colours, which Mum forces us to sit at for appetisers.
She explains each one in detail, including the prices and which ones were in the two-for-one offer.
‘Olives from Italy’ – she puts on a mildly offensive accent – and which my Spanish father follows up with ‘queso from Me-hi-co, arriba.’ When it comes to hummus, they both pause before launching into a debate about its origins.
Despite the two glasses of water I had when I woke up, my brain continues to feel like a sponge in the sun. Food usually helps so I fill up on everything I can reach. ‘Christ, Zoe,’ Eric snipes as he takes the now empty packet of feta pastries from my hand.
‘There were only six in there,’ I say.
‘You could have at least offered them.’
‘You should have been quicker.’
‘I couldn’t decide what I wanted.’
‘Story of your life,’ I say, amusing myself.
‘Eat away,’ Mum says through a mouthful of guacamole. ‘Get that junk back in the trunk. Emilio, honey, let’s show the kids the hotel we’re thinking of booking. You two won’t believe this place, it’s like The Ritz. It’s got a full spa, hot tubs, in-room massages . . .’
Mum passes around her iPad for us to see potential destinations for upcoming episodes of Off with the Es. ‘We’ve stayed in a place with mirrored ceilings before,’ she says. ‘We didn’t like it. I was convinced they were going to come crashing down. Hardly slept a wink.’
Eric chokes on a grissini and I cover my face with a hand before we both start giggling.
‘Oh, do grow up,’ Mum tuts.
Cian: How’s lunch with your family?
Me: My mum’s currently talking through plans for a dirty weekend with my dad. The only stipulation is no mirrored ceilings.
Cian: Your family is dysfunctional. Explains it all.
‘Zoe,’ Mum says, ‘kindly put your device away when we’re at the table.’ I do as I’m told, even though I’m twenty-nine, there is no real table and Mum’s not looked up from her own screen in the last half-hour.
Cian: Are you going to send me one of your school photos? I need to laugh today.
Me: I’m beautiful in all of them.
He replies with the thumb-up emoji, which I distinctly remember him saying is the emoji you use when you don’t know what else to say.
I can’t get a read on him. I started off last night convinced he was trying to make a move on me; however, he doesn’t outright flirt and when I flirt with him, he ignores it.
Also, I’ve replayed the way he looked at me and asked me to move closer and I’m not convinced there was anything in it – which is good, because as much as I’d love that kind of distraction right now, I don’t think it would be a good idea.
Mum puts down her iPad and gestures for me to join her. ‘Shall we make the dessert and have a girlie chat?’
Once in the kitchen I stare at the ready-made apple crumble revolving in the microwave and listen to her theory on why she’s not yet going into menopause. When the crumble swaps places with the custard, she whispers, ‘Why didn’t you bring Ikenna to lunch today?’
‘What’s the obsession with Ikenna?’
‘Is Ikenna on his way?’ Eric asks eagerly as he joins us in the stuffy kitchen.
‘No, he’s not. Because,’ I start, then discreetly smell my T-shirt, convinced my sweat smells of Sauvignon Blanc.
‘Because what?’ Mum presses.
‘I’m not with Ikenna.’
‘What?’ Mum says, outraged.
‘He dumped you?’ Eric asks, half amused.
‘Why do you assume I was dumped?’
‘Oh, my darling girl.’ Mum puts her hand awkwardly on the back of my head as if to bring me towards her bosom. ‘Getting dumped is the last thing you need right now.’
I wriggle away. ‘I didn’t get dumped and we didn’t break up, because we weren’t together.’
Now they both seem confused.
‘Not together-together,’ I try.
Mum scoffs. ‘I’m far too pure and innocent to know what that means.’
How to explain that Ikenna was basically a long-term friend with benefits who ended up being my ‘boyfriend’ because he felt obligated to.
‘Emilio,’ Mum calls, and seconds later Dad’s also in the kitchen. ‘Her and Ikenna broke up. What terrible timing. He was so good to her, a great support. Zoe, why can’t you work it out?’
‘There’s nothing to work out. Just because Ikenna was there when everything fell apart, it doesn’t mean he needs to stay there.’
Mum puts her hands on hips. ‘The thing is, when shit hits the fan, you see who’s there for you. That boy was there for you. You have such terrible taste, and you finally found a good one.’
‘I can’t believe the way you go through these men,’ Eric adds as he starts spooning crumble into bowls.
‘Eric, I swear, we will fight today.’
‘Ikenna’s such a great dresser,’ Mum adds pointlessly. ‘Lovely sharp suits.’
‘You met him at a funeral,’ I snap, ‘of course he was dressed smartly.’
The kitchen falls silent and now all three sets of eyes are on me because I said the dreaded F word. As I turn away and fling the cupboard doors open, boxes labelled liquorice root, ginger and jasmine begin to topple. ‘Why do you have so much tea?’
‘Stop it.’ Mum nudges me away.
‘I need paracetamol. I’m getting a headache.’
‘What kind of a headache?’ she asks.
‘A normal headache,’ I say, my voice much too loud.
Her face creases with worry, then her hand is on my arm and her thumb is pressing. ‘Do you need to talk to someone?’
‘No. Why do you always suggest this? Why does everyone always suggest this all the time? Can you all stop staring at me?’
‘It’s okay to not be okay,’ Mum says.
‘For goodness’ sakes,’ I shout. I take a breath and lower my tone. ‘I’m just a bit hungover.’
‘Hungover?’ Mum questions.
There’s an audible exhale of relief.
‘You were drinking last night?’ Eric asks, a shade of shock on his face. ‘We thought you were . . .’ He points a spoon, as if the words none of them can bring themselves to say are lurking in an unseen corner of the kitchen.
‘No,’ I say. ‘Just hungover.’ I lean back against the counter, ashamed of how quickly I lost it.
‘Well –’ – Mum claps her hands – ‘just hungover, that’s great news. Who’s for crumble?’
We’re only allowed to leave our parents’ once Mum is satisfied we’ve both eaten a weeks’ worth of cheese and grapes.
She stands with Eric by the front door while I make a last trip to the toilet.
They stop talking when I join, and Eric makes a big gesture of throwing his car keys in the air with one hand and catching them in the other. ‘Ready to go?’
As I put on my heels, Mum bites her bottom lip. A little part of me wants to ask what’s wrong, but a bigger part of me can’t face hearing it.
‘What was that about?’ I question Eric as we head down to the car. ‘Is she truly upset by the Ikenna thing?’
‘She worries about you.’
Some downbeat guitar music begins as he starts the car then growls at the dashboard. ‘Did you go to a Tesco on the other side of London? Fill up the tank.’
I take out my phone and bring up the chat thread with Kasie.
Me: I think it’s time I spoke properly to Ikenna. I can’t keep letting this drag on.
Kasie: Undelivered