‘I only did them a few times at uni. The last time, I thought I was Mufasa fromThe Lion King. I climbed up on the table and started giving wise speeches from the sky. It was fun.’
I snigger as Harry nods agreeably. He’s always very agreeable; I assume it’s a posh thing.
See? See how good my life is now? I don’t want things to change. I don’t want anything – oranyone– to disrupt my perfectly calibrated existence.
But not much can get in the way of Hurricane Clara.
The front door bangs and my sister’s familiar trill fills the house. ‘I’m here!’ she calls out breezily. ‘I know, I know! I’m late. I got an email from 23andMe who said I have new DNA relatives. Jim-Jems, did you know we have a fourth cousin called Marjorie who lives in Utah?’ She appears in the doorway, pink-cheeked, hair in a messy bun. ‘Oh! And a relative called Denton somewhere over here! Isn’t that a cool name? Imagine being called Denton. Think of all the doors that would open up for you. Everyone would just automatically assume you were awesome. You’d probably never have to apply for a job – everyone would just give you opportunities off the back of your cool name. He’s probably, like, an influencer, or a baker with his own owl café in East London.’ She takes a breath. ‘Anyway, I’ve messaged them both and asked if they want to come to a family reunion I’m organizing. I’m sure Marjorie would be delighted to make the trip from America.’
My head lolls backwards and I stare at the ceiling. She’s been here forty-five seconds and I’m already exhausted by her. And Ihatebeing called Jim-Jems.
Salma is laughing like a traitor, waving my mug around and asking follow-up questions about Denton. Harry looks perplexed, but he hasn’t told Clara to shut up, so he’s a traitor, too.
‘Where’s your stuff?’ I blurt, and she looks surprised.
‘Oh! It’s outside. It’s just a few suitcases. I don’t have much.’ She shrugs, then glances at Harry. ‘Do you mind, Haz?’
He shakes his head, backing out of the room to obey immediately. ‘Of course not.’
‘Clara!’ I gasp. ‘He’s not your butler. You’re late – as always – and now you expect everyone to drop everything and do your bidding.’
‘Ugh.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Chill out, Jim-Jems! I will totally go and help him.’ She bounces out of the room. ‘I need to tell him where to put everything anyway.’
I clench my teeth at Salma, who raises her eyebrows, looking amused. ‘Don’t let the small stuff get to you, Jem,’ she reminds me lightly, dumping my mug on the draining board.
I nod tightly, fighting the urge to pick it up and hurl it at the wall.
Chapter FiveCLARA
God, early people are exhausting. So smug! Ooh, look at me, I know exactly what to wear for every occasion! I never get distracted by anything, not my phone, not my hair, not an email from ClearScore about my credit rating! Nobody buys early people a passive-aggressive watch for every birthday and Christmas present! What a bunch of show-offs.
What Jemma doesn’t seem to understand is that being late ispathological. I am literally incapable of being on time. Iknowit’s annoying and I’vetriedmy best to change, but I don’t know where the time goes. I will check the clock in the morning with an hour to go before I have to leave. Then, when I look again literally seconds later, fifty-three minutes have gone by. I sometimes feel like I’m living in an episode ofStranger Things.
Either way, I really wish Jemma would give me a break. Or even – y’know! – a chance. I’ve been so excited to come home and get close again, like we were when we were kids.
And sure, OK, I know I can be a bit selfish, but I’m a nice person underneath it all. I let people out at junctions when I’m driving. I gave a homeless guy a sandwich once. I stopped buying stuff from certain cheap fashion retailers the minute I heard they were evil. Well, OK, liketenminutes after I heard, but to be fair I get a lot of use out of that bag.
Upending my suitcase’s contents on the bed, I take a second to review the room. It’s a decent size, plenty of cupboard space. There’s a weird smell, but Harry said the guy who rented it before was kind of a creep, so there’s probably some sacrificed sheep heart hidden somewhere under the carpet. Candles and some white sage will sort that out.
I sit on the bed beside the piles of clothes and think about Jemma.
We must be able to find some common ground, surely. She’s probably just mad I’ve been gone for so long, but I’m back now, and I want us to be friends. I want her to like me. We got on OK as children, didn’t we? Sort of?
It wasn’t so bad before Dad left. He thought I was hilarious and didn’t give me a hard time about tidying my room or skiving off school. But he buggered off back to America when Jem and I were fourteen. And suddenly it was Jemma and Mum in it together, with their biggest joint problem being me. I had no one on my side. I was always getting into trouble and hiding letters from school. I really hated feeling like I was letting Mum down all the time, but I just couldn’t get my head around anything the teachers wanted from me. Meanwhile Jemma sailed through, getting top marks andnever missing a day. She never talked too much in class, or forgot her homework, or got shamed for the length of her skirt by a male teacher who couldn’t stop looking. She was the good girl, and that made me the bad girl.
Is it any wonder I ran off to the US?
But now I need another fresh start here.
I stand up again, trying not to dwell on it all. I spare a small look at the mess on the bed but decide the unpacking can wait, I’mma go bond with my sister!
I find her in the living room, curled up in an armchair under a blanket. She’s reading a book that is bizarrely covered in plastic.
‘Hey!’ I greet her enthusiastically. ‘I love my room, thanks so much.’ She doesn’t look up so I try again. ‘What are you reading?’
I catch a sigh she tries to swallow before she looks up. ‘It’s calledToo Good to Be True.’
‘Ooh, that’s a fun title!’ I offer, even though I think it sounds a bit nineties. ‘Is it any good?’ I try again and she eyes me warily.
