“When people callmea liberal, they do mean to be rude,” Adam said. “Trust me.”
“I saw a clip of you on that show,” Daniel said. “What’s your problem with Jeremy Corbyn? Too nice to the poor? Not enough bomb-dropping on Iraqis? Doesn’t look good in a suit?”
“Daniel, please!” Adam held up his hands in defense. “It’s hard enough having a Tory in my home.”
“What do you do here in London, Daniel?” Stefan asked politely. “Coralie says you’re a chef?”
Seeing suddenly with Stefan’s eyes, Coralie realized anew how handsome her brother was. His creamy skin and delicate features made sense in London in a way they hadn’t back in Darwin. His hair was long, down to his shoulders. It was elegant. She saw Stefan as Daniel might see him, too, tanned from a trip to Mexico, his physique newly honed from his regular CrossFit WODs (that meant “workouts of the day”—he posted them on his Instagram). It hadbeen quite a long time since she had attracted anyone or been attracted to anyone new. She’d almost forgotten it was part of life.
“Stef, mate, I’m a cook. I work in a place near Mare Street? Called Junkyard? Yeah, it used to be a junkyard. The mains are thirty pounds each. But we have a weekday lunch that’s a bit cheaper.”
“I’m trapped in Clerkenwell during the week,” Stefan said.
“And he doesn’t eat,” Coralie said.
“Protein shakes are nutrition.”
“Maybe! They’re not food.”
“I thought it was all about Moro for you two,” Sally said. “Wining and dining, Stefan.”
“We took a hit after Brexit,” Stefan said. “The agency, I mean. Our big campaign for Eurostar—remember how much work we did?”
Daniel elbowed Tom with a smile. “Your fault, mate.”
Now Tom raised his hands. “I voted Remain! Unlike your friend Corbyn.”
“Whoa, whoa!” Coralie said. “This is a birthday, not a panel show.”
“I don’t understand why Theresa May hasn’t called an election,” Adam said. “Twenty points ahead in the polls. Or is it thirty? You could put Labour out of business for a decade just with a snap GE.”
“No need to sound so happy about it,” Dan said.
Tom grimaced. “I’m in the most marginal of marginals. And Marina’s only just forgiven me for the last one.”
“Anyway, Tom,” Coralie said, “aren’tyouliberal intelligentsia?”
Stefan made a little moue. “Not in that quilted gilet.”
There was a single long cry from upstairs. Sally clapped her hands. “She’s awake!”
Anne darted to the door. “I’ll get her.”
One thing Coralie loved to do was cuddle Florence after a nap,her golden hair all tousled. She gave Adam a wounded look. He nodded toward the door: She should go up, too, if she wanted. Coralie could feel Sally watching; she’d almost certainly seen the exchange. Partly from embarrassment, she made a dash for it. But she was walking quietly, and when she reached the landing, she saw something that surprised her. Hard Anne, all angles, was holding Florence to her chest. Florence’s head was leaning on Anne’s shoulder, eyelashes fanned out above her pink cheeks, utterly relaxed. Anne swayed, humming. Coralie tiptoed back down the stairs.
As she reached the hall, the doorbell rang. “It must be Alice and Beauty,” she called into the sitting room.
“Flo’s little best friend from nursery,” Adam announced.
Sally was enchanted. “Is her name really Beauty?”
Coralie opened the door. “Hi!”
“Hi!”Alice jumped up on the front step and swept Coralie into an elegant cloud of blonde hair and fragrance.
“You smell nice. Where’s Beauty?”
“Ugh! She only napped for five minutes. Nicky has her in the buggy. But it won’t work.”
