Chapter 5
? Baked goods
I was right: Josh’s wife, Saskia, declined Mum’s invitation to Sunday
lunch, so it would be just the four of us at my parents’ place that day.
It was a shame I didn’t know my sister-in-law better – or at all, truth
be told. My reluctance to wade into the world of social media – around
which Saskia’s life appeared to revolve – no doubt meant that
establishing any kind of relationship with her was a non-starter. But,
from what Elle relayed to me about Saskia’s online influencing exploits,
it wasn’t as if we had anything in common, anyway.
It’d taken me ages to figure out what to wear for the occasion; Josh always had something to say about fast fashion and how capitalism would be the death of us all.
I mean, he probably wasn’t wrong, but he was always so bloody preachy about it.
And he didn’t seem to mind that capitalism was working out pretty damn well for him and Saskia in their luxurious Chelsea apartment overlooking the River Thames.
Eventually, I settled on a pair of vintage dungarees over the top of one of Mum’s old Sweater Shop turtlenecks, which I’d been thrilled to discover languishing at the back of her wardrobe last Christmas. I pulled on my go-to Clarks ankle boots, grabbed my coat and ran for the station.
The train pulled into Crowborough station where I was due to meet Dad for the final leg of the journey to their remote cottage.
The house had once been Auntie Sandra’s second home back when she’d still worked in finance, but they’d bought it from her for a knock-down price after everything that happened. They’d needed a fresh start.
As I waited in a short queue at the exit, I noticed a tall, familiar figure threading his paper ticket through the barrier a few people ahead of me. It was my brother, Josh, with a huge suitcase and various tote bags. I tapped him on the arm once I’d emerged out the other side.
‘Hey! We must’ve been on the same train!’
He removed his earbuds and turned around, probably expecting to encounter one of his online followers, rather than his uninteresting younger sister.
‘Oh, hi. What did you say? I was just listening to a cut of my latest podcast.’
Eww. He’d launched his You Only Get One Body podcast about a year ago as an offshoot to his burgeoning Instagram account.
I’d managed to make it through about three minutes of the first episode before I’d had to switch off.
Yes, I only had one body. And I was quite content for it to wobble and be filled with Wagon Wheels, thank you very much.
Looking at us side by side, you’d never put us together as siblings.
He was the quintessential golden-boy, sporty type: blue-eyed, tall and muscular – while I was the quintessential mousy, average type: murky-green-eyed, short and insulated by a layer of doughy softness that I never moved enough to shed.
I liked to think of it as ‘stored energy’.
Sure, I might not be able to outrun the zombies, but I could hole up somewhere without withering away until the rapturous commotion had (hopefully!) passed.
After Livvie’s funeral, Josh had thrown himself into his final year of studying sport and exercise science at university and, as the years went on, his body continued to harden – followed by his mind.
I guessed it was only to be expected that, once Livvie had gone, mine and Josh’s connection would suffer, but the gap between us had widened so far that, these days, it felt like Clayton / Eastwood Ravine with no way across.
And the fact that I worked for what he described as ‘a media outlet that purports to be progressive yet happily accepts advertising from brands who continuously exploit the earth’s resources’ only hindered my occasional efforts to construct a rickety bridge.
‘I said, “we must have been on the same train”.’
‘Oh, right. Yeah, I guess so.’
‘What’s with all the luggage? Trouble in paradise?’
He looked at me and blinked slowly before turning his gaze back to the car park.
‘I’m doing an intensive PT programme with a client nearby so I’m staying at Mum and Dad’s for the week.’
‘Gotta look fit for Santa!’
For a second I thought I saw him smile, but the expression vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
‘It’s an actor prepping for a role.’
As well as running his online training sessions, Josh also had a bunch of celebrity clients who he coached in person thanks to his high profile on social media.
‘Ooh, can you say who it is?’
‘You know I can’t.’
Josh claimed to guard his clients’ privacy with the utmost professionalism, but Elle reckoned he must offer discounts to those who tagged him in their social media workout humblebrags, since they were constantly doing so.
Josh put his earbuds back in. Charming. We stood in silence on the kerb of the collection bay.
I scanned the car park, but couldn’t pick out Dad’s car among the drizzly sea of dark grey vehicles.
It was unlike him to be late – he had countless train apps and always knew what time I’d arrive to the minute.
He probably knew about any impending delays before the train driver did.
‘Can’t see Dad’s car, can you?’ I asked, in an attempt to jump-start another conversation.
Josh sighed and removed a single earbud.
‘Can you see Dad’s car?’ I repeated.
‘Nope.’
‘So, how’s Saskia?’
‘She’s fine.’
‘Why couldn’t she come?’
‘Some work stuff.’
By ‘work stuff’ I could only presume she was working on her latest TikTok by contorting her ridiculously flexible body into letters to spell out a generic wellness statement to a trending remix of ‘Lifted’ by Lighthouse Family.
Elle – who hate-followed Saskia on Instagram and kept me in the loop of the main developments of her and my brother’s increasingly public life – had deduced her influencing niche existed at the intersection of veganism, yoga and mental health. What a Venn diagram that was.
Mind you, it was better than Josh’s. He was also something of a ‘wellness influencer’ these days, with upwards of 500,000 followers.
The trouble was that, alongside promoting plant-based smoothie subscriptions and his virtual strength-training programme, his content seemed to be gradually mutating into anti-science nutribollocks – all under the guise of promoting natural alternatives, individual choice and ‘holding authority to account’.
Although Josh had never confirmed it, Elle and I were pretty sure that he and Saskia had met through social media. It was all too easy to imagine them sliding into each other’s DMs, swapping meat-free sweet nothings and mutually cooing over their combined following of almost a million.
‘It’s a shame she couldn’t come. I don’t think I’ve seen her since your wedding.’
Silence from Josh. For once, I was relieved it was raining, as the sound of it drumming on the tin roof above us gave my ears something to focus on.
I didn’t know why I even bothered to instigate chitchat with him these days.
It was like trying to converse with a traffic cone – albeit a six foot two traffic cone with its own range of personalised eco-merch.
Dad arrived a couple of minutes later to fill the conversation vacuum. He swung into the collection bay and wound down the passenger window.
‘Ah, well, this all worked out, then. I was hoping the stars would align and I could do one journey instead of two. Come on, kiddos, climb in.’
I wondered how Dad would’ve felt if his own parents had referred to him as a ‘kiddo’ as he approached his fortieth year on the planet. Deep down, though, I liked the familiarity and warmth of the collective nickname. Even if one kiddo was missing.
I climbed into the back of the car through reflex. It’s not like I needed the extra legroom.
‘Still sticking with diesel, then?’ Josh asked from the front passenger seat.
I could see my dad bristle in the wing mirror as he checked his blind spot and pulled away into the puddle-strewn road. He knew that Josh would say something like this, but it still wounded him every time it happened.
‘Joshua, as you know, your mother and I don’t go out very much or drive very far. This car really does have very few miles on the clock for its age, and if we sold it, its new owner would undoubtedly clock up more. Our carbon footprint really is as small as we can manage.’
‘That’s not stopping you from getting on a plane next week, though, is it? Did you read that article I sent you about aviation emissions yet?’
My body tensed to signal that my anti-conflict mode had activated.
‘Please, Josh. We’ve literally just got in the car. Dad. How are you?’ I asked, trying to inject as much chirpiness into my tone as possible.
‘Very well thanks, love. Your mum’s cooking us all a proper feast—’
Josh opened his mouth to interject but Dad knew it was coming.
‘Yes, Joshua, all vegan, of course. That’s why I’m three minutes late – your mum sent me on a mission to source a vegan Christmas pudding.’
Shit, shit, shit.
Dad’s utterance of the C-word made me suddenly realise that this ‘Sunday lunch’ was effectively a substitute for a family festive gathering. I hadn’t thought this through at all. Their gifts were all on order, but I’d brought nothing with me to give anyone, not even Christmas cards.