‘Excuse me—’ a woman tries to interject.
‘I DON’T WORK HERE AND I’M NEVER WEARING THIS IN PUBLIC AGAIN!’ I yell. Clara giggles as the lady scarpers, looking frightened. I sigh, turning to my sister, who’s shovelling food packets into her basket. ‘So, did that Katie woman send you the details for the job?’
‘Katiezzz, not Katie,’ she corrects me, groaning under the weight of trash-food in her basket. ‘And yes, we have indeed been exchanging many professional emails this morning about my new job and what is expected of me.’She grins at me happily. ‘Genuinely, I’m thinking this could be it – my new career path! What if all these weeks of obsessing over Milo was actually the universe leading me to this cool new job?’ She breathes out. ‘And I’d beamazingat celeb wrangling, don’t you think? I love going to fancy celebrity parties, I love talking about celebrities and bigging up celebrities, I’d love running errands for celebrities.’ She pauses. ‘I love, y’know,celebrities. And sure, this is only one day – one event – as Milo’s PR, but I’m bound to be so great at it, they’ll probably offer me the gig full time.’ She frowns. ‘Obviously once Milo and I start dating, it won’t be professional for me to stay working alongside my man, but by then I’d be able to move on to other celebrity PR jobs. Probably for, like, Timothee Chalamet or maybe Leo Woodall. This is going to open all kinds of doors! It’s my calling!’
She could be right, actually. She has always been celebrity-obsessed, so who knows? This could end up being the job for her. ‘Sounds like a plan,’ I agree, in part to shut her up because the hangover fog is descending again.
We pay at the self-service checkout with minimal frustration and head back out into the cold. Only one person in the car park asks me to find her a trolley and we head for home, laughing our heads off.
As we reach the house, Clara’s chattering away, telling me about a threesome she once had in Barcelona.
‘I thought it would make me feel sexy,’ she says. ‘Threesomes are always super-hot in movies, right?’ She grimaces. ‘And women seem to love it in porn.’
Even in my fragile state, I manage a laugh. ‘You’re not serious? Women in porn are always so unconvincing with their wild oohs and aahs.’
‘Either way,’ Clara shrugs, ‘I thought it would make me feel liberated and sexy, but it was shit. The other woman kept hitting me in the face with her hair extensions. And at one point the bloke poked me in the eye with his elbow. I left in the end – they didn’t notice.’
‘That’s a sad story,’ I tell her sombrely, feeling a rush of affection for my sister.
It’s not just the hangover making me more loving, I genuinely am starting to enjoy having her around. She’s fun and silly, and she’s been working hard on being less of a pain around the house. She’s not forcing her will on everyone quite so much. I think Harry’s been coaching her on how to be a better human.
I insert the key in our front door, my hands only slightly shaking. ‘Let’s get the oven on,’ I say desperately, my mouth already watering at the prospect of all this food. ‘And then you can tell me what this thing is later with Milo.’
‘It’s actually the opening of a new sports centre,’ she says casually, as I head for the kitchen and dump heaving carrier bags on the counter. ‘Milo and one of his co-stars have agreed to take part in a kickboxing class for a social media campaign. It’s to, like, encourage kids to be more active or some other important crap.’ She titters. ‘I have to join in apparently, so I’m not just standing there looking like a creepy spectator.’
I glance at my watch. ‘Is 10.45am too early to eat sausage rolls and onion rings?’
‘I’ve signed you up, too.’
I’m not listening as I read the cooking instructions on the back of a packet of crinkle cut chips. ‘It says 190 degrees, but if I stick it on at 220, it’ll be ready faster, right?’
‘And Harry and Salma.’
‘Sod the pre-heat time, it’s going in now,’ I sing, throwing the tray into a lukewarm oven. Even the prospect of carbs on their way is making me feel better.
‘It starts at 4pm, so we’re leaving here at three.’
I set a timer on my phone. ‘It says twenty-five minutes but I don’t think I can wait more than twelve. I’ll just eat them cold and solid, who cares.’
‘Amazing,’ Clara says happily, fiddling on her phone. ‘I’m so glad you’re up for it. I’ve just sent the confirmation email.’
I look up at Clara, taking in some of what she’s saying at last. ‘We’re leaving what at who?’
Her smile is a rictus. ‘Weren’t you listening? Oh well, too late now!’ She laughs. ‘Katiezzz said I should bring people to the kickboxing class to make up numbers, so I’m taking you, Harry and Salma along.’
‘What?’ I freeze halfway through emptying Doritos into a salad bowl. Delicious irony.
‘It’ll be fun!’ she says breezily. ‘Taxi is coming at three because I now have an expense account.’
‘You have a… wait.’ I shake my head, the hangover clouding her words.
‘Well, nottechnicallyan expense account,’ she acknowledges. ‘But Katiezzz said I can send a receipt, which will be reimbursed. Harry said he’d cover the taxi for now.’
The waves of sickness that had started to recede are back. ‘Hold on, Clara.’ I try to steady my breathing, focusing on the oven door where food-redemption lies. ‘Just stop talking for a second.’ She waits for me to continue. ‘Are you saying we’re going somewhere – in a taxi – at three today? Did you say…’ I fight the panicky nausea, ‘…kickboxing?’
‘Yep!’ She nods excitedly like this is the best thing ever, and not, in fact, the worst thing ever. I mean, GOD! Going to a kickboxing exercise class on a good day would still be at the bottom of my to-do list. It wouldn’t even be on my list. It would be on my anti list. My don’t-do list. The list of things I would never, ever do, thank u next.
And with a hangover???
