“Well,” says Jess, then stops.
“What?” I narrow my eyes at her.
“I appreciate it, Becky. It was very thoughtful and generous of you. You’re always generous. Thank you.” She puts it down on a side table. “So, what’s new? How’s Minnie getting on at school?”
She’s dodging the question.
“What?” I demand. “What’s wrong with my present? Why isn’t it perfect? Tell me!”
Jess sighs. “Well, the packaging is problematic. But you must realize that.” She gestures at the plastic film on the box.
“It’s fully recyclable,” I say in bewilderment. “I checked. It says, Fully recyclable.”
Jess just gives me a blank stare. “We can’t ‘recycle’ our way out of the plastic pollution catastrophe that’s devastating our planet in its thoughtless surge of consumerism,” she says. “Although thanks again,” she adds as an afterthought. “As I say, it was thoughtful of you.”
I can feel my shoulders slumping. Great. Every time I think I’m green enough for Jess, she goes even greener. I’m going to get her something so green for Christmas, she won’t know it, I silently vow. I’ll get her…leaves.
A buzzer sounds, and Mum picks up an entryphone receiver. “Hello? Oh, Suzie! Come on up! Third floor!”
“You’re going for the facial-hair look, I see, Luke!” says Dad in a jovial voice. “Very ‘now.’ What do you think of Luke’s mustache, Becky?”
My head jerks up and I realize everyone’s looking at me. Shit. OK, I need to be supportive.
“I think it’s a brilliant charity effort,” I reply, hedging, “and everyone must sponsor Luke.”
“We can get you some mustache oil for Christmas, Luke!” says Janice, and my smile turns to a rictus of dismay. Mustache oil?
“It’ll be gone by then,” I say too quickly.
“Well,” says Luke, stroking his upper lip self-consciously. “That was the idea. But if you like it, Becky…”
Like it?
“Do you like it, love?” says Mum, with interest.
Argh! I feel totally put on the spot. I don’t want to say anything negative, but how can I say I like it? Husbands and wives should not discuss mustaches in polite company, I instantly decide. It should be a major breach of etiquette.
“You said it looked great the other day,” adds Luke.
“Right,” I say, my voice a little shrill. “Yes. I did say that, didn’t I?”
“So!” says Mum, handing Luke and me espresso martinis. “Speaking of Christmas, shall we discuss arrangements?”
“Let’s wait for Suze,” I say. “The Cleath-Stuarts are coming for Christmas Day too.”
“Oh, good!” exclaims Mum. “It’s going to be such a lovely day. Just think, Graham! No cooking, no decorating…Becky’s going to do it all!”
“All?” I echo in slight alarm.
I know I’m hosting Christmas, but doesn’t Mum want to do some? Or, like…most?
“Becky, love, we don’t want to get in your way,” says Mum in generous tones. “It’s your Christmas.”
Before I can say, “I don’t mind sharing,” the doorbell to the flat rings and Dad swings the door open.
“Suze, my dear!” he exclaims. “Welcome to our new home.”
“Wow,” says Suze, her eyes like saucers as she ventures in, peering around. “Just wow. This flat! And, Jess, you’re here, and, Jane, your outfit is amazing, and…oh my God, Luke!” she says as though this is the biggest surprise of all. “You’ve got a mustache.”
“Becky likes it,” says Janice eagerly, and Suze’s gaze swivels to me in astonishment.
“Really?”
“For now,” I amend quickly. “I like it for now. You can like things for a bit. You can really like them and then…not like them quite so much.” I clear my throat. “That can be a thing.”
“Huh,” says Suze, looking mystified. “I never thought—” She stops herself dead. “I mean, absolutely. Good for you, Luke. It’s…It’s…” She seems to be struggling for words. “Wow!”
* * *
—
As we walk along Shoreditch High Street to the restaurant where we’re having brunch, Minnie holds my hand and we fall into step with Suze and Jess, while the others walk farther ahead.
“Have you seen what your mum’s T-shirt says?” demands Suze, as soon as Mum is out of earshot. She sounds on the brink of hysteria, which is pretty much how I feel too.
“I know!” I say. “Thank God Minnie can’t read!”
“And espresso martinis.”
“And circus skills.”
Dad showed us some tricks with his newly acquired diabolo just before we came out for brunch. We all clapped and said, “Encore!” and Janice only shrieked once, when the diabolo nearly hit Martin on the head.
“I think everyone should retire to Shoreditch,” says Suze firmly. “It’s the way to go.”
Jess has been walking along silently, but now she says, “It’s really generous of Graham and Jane to give me their house. They didn’t need to.”
“Oh, they wanted to,” I say quickly. “They’re having a great time here! It’s an adventure for them. When do you think Tom will come over?” I add casually, to make conversation—and at once Jess flinches, exactly like she did before.
“Not sure,” she says. “As soon as…He’ll…” She stops as though to give herself time. “Not sure. I’m not sure.”
OK. That was a weird response. Jess’s jaw is rigid and her gaze is fixed ahead. I glance at Suze, and I can see she’s a bit puzzled too.
“How’s Tom’s work in Chile going?” I venture.
“Yes. Good.”
“Any news on the adoption?” I ask, even more cautiously.
“No, none.” Jess’s face closes up, and I see her hands clenching into fists.
I have an anxious feeling in my stomach. My sister is even more monosyllabic than usual. Her eyes have darkened with misery. And, OK, I know we’re only half sisters, but we definitely have a psychic connection. (We once built exactly the same kind of cupboard, hers for rocks, mine for shoes.) I feel I know her—and right now I’m pretty sure something’s wrong with her and Tom.
I glance at her anxiously, longing to fling my arm around her and say, “Jess, what’s up? Is it Tom? He’s always been a bit weird; you mustn’t mind that.” But I’m not sure how well she’d respond. She’s not the chattiest person in the world. I’d better take it slowly.
“By the way, Suze,” says Jess, her eyes still fixed straight ahead, “I haven’t seen you since your…loss. I was sorry to hear about it.”
“Thanks,” says Suze, her eyes darkening a little too. “It was…you know. One of those things.” She glances at me and I give a half smile, half wince.
We walk on a short way in silence and I’m pretty sure we’re all thinking about children. I’m wondering wistfully if Luke and I will ever have another baby. But then instantly I feel bad for wanting anything more than Minnie, and I squeeze her hand tightly, just to prove it to her.
Then it occurs to me: Maybe Jess isn’t thinking about children at all; maybe she’s thinking, How am I going to break it to everyone that Tom and I have split up?
The thought makes me feel cold—but at the same time, it’s not really a shock. It must be difficult for them, living so far away. And both working hard. And Tom surrounded by lots of sexy young charity workers in khaki hot pants (I expect). Maybe he’s fallen in love with one of them.
Or has Jess fallen in love with a guy in khaki hot pants? Or a girl in khaki hot pants?
I mean, anything’s possible.
I glance at Jess again, wondering whether to press her on the subject. But, after all, she’s only just arrived back, and the whole family’s around. I’ll take her out for a drink sometime and talk privately to her, I decide. Just us girls, all nice and relaxed. She’ll open up then.
“Bex, you must be really out of shape!” says Suze. “You’re breathing so hard!”
“Oh.” I look up in a daze. “No, I was thinking about…you know. Things.” I wonder if Jess will divine my empathetic, sisterly thoughts—but she gives me a blank look and says, “You should try high-intensity workouts, Becky. You usually dodge cardio, don’t you?”
Instantly, all my empathy melts away. Dodge cardio? I don’t dodge cardio!
“Actually, I’ve got a new online personal trainer,” I say loftily. “I’m on a bespoke exercise program.”
“Wow!” says Suze. “I didn’t know you were doing that.”
“Well, I bought this new dress for Christmas,” I explain. “Alexander McQueen, seventy percent off.”
“Alexander McQueen!” Suze opens her eyes wide.
“Exactly! But it’s a teeny bit too small. So I thought, I’ll hire a personal trainer and fit into the dress, plus it’s good for my health. Win-win.”
Jess frowns. “How much is the fitness program?” she says. “Surely this is all ending up far more expensive than just buying a dress that fit you in the first place or, even better, using a dress that you already had in your wardrobe?”
I’d forgotten about Jess’s habit of asking annoying questions and then staring at you without blinking. Next she’ll be saying, “Why don’t you do one hundred press-ups every day?” or “Why don’t you live on potatoes and water?”
“You can’t put a price on health,” I say briskly. “It’s an investment.”
At that moment Mum waves at us from a restaurant entrance and calls, “Here we are! This way!”