I glare at Clara as Great-Aunts in every direction eruptinto debate about the Mias they know. One of them asks if Marias count and then announces that all the Marias she knows are dead anyway. This kicks off a loud, confusing chat among the Great-Aunts about how everyone they know is now dead.
Observing the mayhem, Clara grins slyly and throws her hands up with exaggerated innocence. ‘OK, fine! Whatever. I was having a vape outside and saw this handsome thing approach up the driveway.’ She winks at Harry and he reddens even more. ‘So I asked if he’d mind pretending to be my date for the evening.’ He turns slightly reproachfully to Clara.
‘Yes, your date,’ he says pointedly, some of his redness receding. ‘I didn’t realize you’d tell everyone I was your fiancé.’
Clara shrugs disinterestedly again.
‘Haz, you should be thrilled to be my fake fiancé,’ she smirks, then rolls her eyes at my expression. ‘God, Jim-Jems, do you want to chill out?! It was just a laugh! I did it because I’m sick of everyone interrogating me constantly about my dating life, then looking at me all sad-face-emoji and telling me it’ll be my turn next. As if I want the hassle of a bloke around, leaving pubes all over my stuff.’
This is a lot. This is Clara being her most… Clara. I glance automatically at Angela and her daughter for their reaction. The former looks frightened, the latter amused. It’s the first time I’ve seen Buffy almost smile.
Clara sneers sideways at a slightly startled Harry. ‘I mean, come on! As if I’d date this guy.’ She catches my annoyed expression. ‘Sorry! I mean, he’s obviously good-looking andstuff! But he’s not Mia cup of tea on any level, y’know? He’s not… I dunno? He hasn’t got that’ – she snaps her fingers in his face – ‘je ne sais bad boy? I need a bit of whisky in my coffee, if you catch my drift. Sorry, Haz.’
He looks perplexed. ‘Whisky in your – is that an actual expression?’
She shrugs, no trace of remorse. She’s always mean to guys and I hate it. I also hate that they usually love her for it. I can feel my cheeks getting red. Stress always makes my rosacea flare up; just another reason to resent Clara being here.
Ughhh. Why did I come downstairs?
I hug the library book I’m holding close to my side, thinking about the note tucked away inside the front cover.
A month ago, some random woman left me a short, handwritten note in there, scrawled on fancy stationery. The mysterious note writer – who I’m affectionately calling Karen for now – scolded me for bending the front cover. Utter nonsense, for the record – and I told her so in my reply. We’ve been exchanging funny, silly notes ever since, swapping favourite book recommendations, best fictional characters, and – today’s note – our top five romance tropes.
I consider making a run back upstairs to hide with Karen.
I’m suddenly aware of Mum at my elbow. ‘So,’ she says hesitantly, eyes searching my sister’s, ‘Clara, sweetheart, are you saying you’re not engaged? This isn’t your fiancé? Or even your boyfriend?’
‘No, Mum, GOD!’ Clara rolls her eyes at her, like she’s the dumbest person ever.
‘Oh,’ Mum says, looking embarrassed. ‘Well, it’s all very confusing.’
Clara meets my gaze and tries to give me a complicit look, like,Isn’t Mum silly? I narrow my eyes, glaring back, my face hot. We’re not on the same side.
‘Oh come on, Jemma!’ She throws up her hands. ‘I haven’t seen you in years and the first thing you want to do is have a go at me? Over, like, nothing?’
I sigh, trying to calm down. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m overreacting.
After all, the fake fiancé trope in romance novels was number one on that list I gave pen pal Karen, so surely this is… funny? I glance over at Harry, who’s watching me anxiously for a reaction. I push down any remaining anger, swallowing the hard lump in my throat. I put a cool hand to my boiling cheeks, trying to calm the redness there.
I don’t really want this to be mine and Clara’s reintroduction. Sure, I’m not exactly buzzing to see my sister again, but I should make an effort. She won’t be here very long. It’ll be a few days, maybe a week, then off she’ll flounce, back to the US where she mostly wants nothing to do with us.
When she first moved over there, she messaged quite a lot, updating Mum and me about all her comings and goings. Revealing various temp jobs, detailing people she’d met or celebrities she’d spotted outside designer stores. But as her life picked up pace over there, she forgot about us so fast. For the majority of the last five years, we’ve mostly kept track of Clara’s life via the regular Instagram posts: weekendhikes with friends; glamorous-looking nights out in fancy clubs; expensive meals I can’t comprehend or pronounce. But emails and texts mostly went unanswered. And mostly unsent, if I’m being honest.
‘Sorry,’ I say begrudgingly, and I see Harry’s shoulders relax an inch. I meet Clara’s eyes and smile brightly. ‘It’s great you’re home. How long are you staying anyway?’
Her eyes narrow and slide away from mine. I watch as she switches her weight from one leg to the other. She clears her throat.
‘Hmm?’ she says, examining her fingernails.
‘Clara?’ I prompt, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. I can feel the heat returning to my face because I recognize Clara’s confessional body language.
She looks directly at me at last. ‘Well, actually, I have good news!’ She smiles widely – her fakest smile. ‘I’m done with America. I’m moving home. Not moving, actually – moved! This is me, moved back to the UK. Aren’t you pleased? I’m back for good!’
Chapter ThreeCLARA
The Great-Aunts have gone at last, all agog with my oh-so-outrageous Harry lie – not to mention my announcement about moving home. I push down the twinge of embarrassment and remind myself that I don’t care what they think. In fact, I’ve probably done them a favour! They’ll be buzzing their tits off, gossiping about this for weeks. It’ll probably give them a whole new lease of life.
I collapse on the sofa in the living room, shutting my eyes and hoping Mum will notice how exhausted I am and bring me a cup of tea.
