Clara looks upset. ‘Hold on,’ she says, her voice wobbly. ‘Are you saying my TV boyfriend is somehow lesser than your note-writing boyfriend? You don’t know anything about him either, do you? At least I know what my guy looks like. I know what his name is, his age and how he speaks. You don’t even have that much!’
My mouth opens to snap back that at least my weird relationship isreciprocated!
And then I realize she’s right. Mostly.
I’m being a pompous ass. What harm is she doing, fancying some random bloke off the TV? We’ve all been there, haven’t we? Mine have mostly been fictional men in novels, but I’ve fallen for plenty of romantic heroes before. They quite often seemed somehow more real – more flesh and blood – than the men I encountered out here in the world.
I sigh, feeling bad. I don’t want things to be like this betweenus. ‘You’re right,’ I say and she regards me suspiciously. ‘I’m sorry,’ I add, then as nicely as I can, ‘I like your jumper.’
Her eyes flick up to my face. ‘It’s not yours,’ she says quickly.
I roll my eyes. ‘I know! I’m just trying to… I don’t know.’ I sigh again, then frown as I catch sight of her sleeve, covered in white, powdery stuff. ‘Jesus, Clara,’ I hiss, pulling her aside and slightly away from the family. ‘Is that what I think it is?’ I shake my head. ‘I thought you were working all these evenings, but you’ve been partying, haven’t you? Is it this new friend, Amanda?’
She shakes her head, looking confused. ‘What are you on about now?’
I grab her sleeve. ‘What is this? Drugs? Ricin?’
She barks a laugh. ‘Fucking hell, Ji— er, Jemma, it’stoothpaste. Dried toothpaste.’ She picks at it and flicks it in my direction. I catch a whiff of mint.
‘Oh.’ I feel silly.
‘Andricin?’ She snorts again. ‘That’s a poison for fuck’s sake.’
‘I heard about it onBreaking Bad.’ She frowns.
‘Drugs? At my mum’s bridesmaid fitting? That’s what you think of me?’ she says quietly, shaking her head. ‘You always jump to the maddest conclusions.’
I shrug. ‘I don’t think it was that mad. It’s not like I know anything about your life before you moved back here, is it? You’ve been so secretive about what happened in the US, what am I supposed to think?’
She looks like she’s been slapped. ‘Er, excuse me, but you never showed any interest,’ she retorts. ‘Remind me, how many times did you visit in the five years I was over there? You barely ever even messaged.’
‘I—’ Before I can reply Mum joins us.
‘You all right, girls?’ She smiles encouragingly and we both nod, silently. She continues, looking between us fondly, ‘I’m going to be such a mess at the wedding! It’ll be so emotional having both my girls with me by my side on the happiest day of my life.’ She wells up again as she takes each of our hands. ‘Having you back here in England, Clara, and having you girls living together again has brought me so much joy, I can’t tell you. I’ve wanted this for so long, to have you close by and close to each other. I know you didn’t always get along as kids, but I’m so glad it’s working out, with you two getting to know each other as grown-ups. I’m sure living together isn’t always easy, but it’s obviously working out so well. It’s all I want for you – for my baby girls – to be happy.’
Beside me Clara swallows hard, pasting on a smile. After a second, I follow suit. Looks like we’ll be faking this a little bit longer. At least until after Mum and Angela’s wedding.
Chapter Twenty-OneCLARA
‘If we stay near the entrance, surely he’ll have to pass by this way.’ I glance at Harry for approval and he shrugs.
‘I guess so? Unless there’s a secret celebrity entrance the special guests use.’
I narrow my eyes at him. ‘Negative thinking like that doesn’t help me, Haz.’ I feel snarly today and my irritatingly nice housemate with his irritatingly sweet face isn’t improving things. I’m not entirely sure why I invited him along to this event today.
A group of giggling women shoulder barge past me, all wearing the same sort of oversized trench coats. I sigh. That’s why I invited Harry. Because Amanda wasn’t free and I have no other friends in the UK – or anywhere else if we’re being really horribly honest with ourselves – and you can’t turn up to a thing like this alone. Not when you’re hoping to casually bump into a famous TV star.
I glance up and around, taking in the huge space, housingevery kind of food and drink you can imagine. It’s a massive annual festival and last week they started shouting about their special guest for the day: Milo Samuels, my future boyfriend slash husband. He’s here along with a couple of his co-stars fromBook Boyfriend, promoting the series, and I’m fully sure we’re going to fall head over heels for one another. Never mind what Jemma says.
I swipe at a passing tray of shots, grabbing a freebie for me and Harry. We both down the oddly creamy blue liquid, wincing in sync at the taste.
‘Well, at the very least, we’re right by the free samples area,’ I point out, feeling the warmth of alcohol passing through me. Whatever that blue stuff was, it was strong.
Harry checks his watch. ‘When is Jemma meant to get here?’ he asks, and his eyes narrow when he catches my expression. ‘Clara!’ he continues accusingly. ‘You said Jemma was coming along!’
I give him a shrug. ‘I invited her but she hates me.’
Harry sighs. ‘She doesn’t hate you. And you can’t lie to me like that! I really thought Jemma was coming – I was excited for a house outing with you guys.’
