‘Look, Clara, there’s something you should know,’ Jemma begins earnestly, just as Mum walks in, holding my too-full cup of tea in one hand and a bowl of orange crisps in the other. Angela is right behind her, looking fearful again. I must remember not to overuse her name.
‘Did you eat anything, Clara?’ Mum asks anxiously. ‘I wasn’t sure in all the excitement if you got any of the sandwiches? I can make you something if not?’
I catch Jemma rolling her eyes indiscreetly next to me. Ugh, she’s such hard work. Is it my fault if Mum likes to fuss around me all the time? Whatever she thinks, it’s going to besonice being looked after for a while. I’m looking forward to fully reverting to child status while I’m staying here. After everything that’s happened over there – everything that happenedwith him– don’t I deserve it?
‘I grabbed something at the airport on the way through,’ I tell her, taking the tea from her. It’s hot in my hands. ‘But I’ll totally take those crisps anyway! Cheers, Mum.’ She places them beside me on a small table that’s always sat next to this sofa. When I was a teenager, me and my friends used it for drinking games every Friday night. I grab a fistful of crisps and empty them into my mouth, enjoying the loud, satisfying crunch.
‘Where’s Harry gone?’ Mum asks anxiously, glancing around her.
‘He went back to ours,’ Jemma says absentmindedly. ‘Why?’
‘Oh, I was hoping to get to know him better.’ She looks wistful.
‘You do understand we’re not actually engaged?’ I sit up again, crisp crumbs sprinkling in all directions.
‘Well, yes, but—’
‘Mum, they’re not togetherat all,’ Jemma interjects sternly. ‘Like, not at all. Not even a little bit. They just met outside the house earlier. He’smyfriend.Myhousemate. Remember? You met him at mine last year? They don’t know each other.At all.’
Wow, territorial much? Maybe she fancies him. Massive nerds were always her type. But, of course, now I feel bad. That would actually be a bit out of order if I’ve spent all afternoon clinging to a guy she’s into. No wonder she’s been so red in the face about it.
My wrist beeps, making Mum jump.
‘What’s that?’ Jemma glances around anxiously and I tut.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say, raising my arm straight over my head, waving it about towards the ceiling. ‘So, gang, let’s talk about me moving home!’
‘Why is your arm in the air?’ Mum looks flummoxed.
I keep waving the arm. ‘It’s just my watch,’ I say by way of explanation, but she and Jemma still look just as baffled. I sigh, continuing, ‘I’m supposed to stand up every hour for a minute or so. It’s a fitness tracker, it thinks I sit down too much.’ Jemma rolls her eyes as Mum slow-blinks at me with bafflement. I continue, ‘Who can be bothered with that? If I wave my arm in the air like this, it tricks it into thinking I’m standing up.’
Jemma scrunches up her face. ‘Why do you even wear it then?’
Of course she doesn’t get it. I shrug. ‘I dance sometimes?’ I offer. ‘Y’know, around the furniture at home and in bars on a Friday and Saturday. It likes me more when I do that.’
Jemma laughs. ‘You’re trying topleaseyour fitness tracker?’
I nod. ‘Oh yeah! It’s very judgy. And it is not pleased with me very often. Honestly, I don’t know what’s more insulting – when it asks me if I’vefinished working outwhile I’m still exercising, or when it asks meare you exercising?when I’m just casually strolling between my bed and the fridge.’
‘Goodness!’ Across the room Angela looks just as baffled as Mum, then perks up. ‘Did you know a man in Toronto once stood on one leg for seventy-six hours and forty minutes?’
I squint at her. Did someone buy this woman a Guinness World Records book for Christmas or something? ‘Anyway,’I say breezily, ‘now that I’m back, I might take up jogging or something.’ I glance at Mum excitedly. ‘Ooh, do you think a Peloton would fit in my bedroom?’ Mum gulps and stares at me, not answering. I roll my eyes at her continued confusion. ‘It’s an indoor bike? It killed Big?’ She shakes her head, clearly out of her depth, and I try not to laugh. ‘Actually, the internet would argue that technically Carrie Bradshaw killed Big, since she didn’t call an ambulance and then left him to die slowly on the floor.’
‘What ishappening?’ Mum murmurs as Jemma stands up decisively.
‘Mum, you need to tell her.’
I feel a shot of fear. Tell me what? What does everyone know except me? Mum, Angela and Jemma all regard each other, communicating silently.
And, once again, I’m on the outside. ‘Fine,’ I laugh nervously. ‘We don’thaveto get a Peloton. It’s not like I can keep my room tidy enough anyway. I need the floor space for my clothes. You know what I’m like! No wardrobe can contain me!’ No one reacts so I keep speaking. ‘And I can always do a bit of aerobics here in the living room if the watch bullying gets too much, can’t I, Mum?’
She stares at me, huge-eyed and silent. OK, this is freaking me out. What’s going on? I glance at Jemma, who is still glaring at Mum. ‘Tell her!’ she says again, sounding upset and gesturing at me.
Oh god, Mum’s ill. That’s what this is, isn’t it? She does look paler than I remember.
I swallow. ‘Look, let me get my suitcases upstairs, and then we can talk. Whatever’s going on, I’m here now. I’m here for you and I can totally help look after you.’ I feel myself welling up, and get to my feet. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Wait!’ Mum says suddenly and I freeze at the urgency in her voice.
