‘It’s my favourite. I got you a copy for Christmas when we were fifteen.’
I ignore this, knowing there’s no chance I read it. ‘What’s so good about it?’ I move closer and feel hostility vibrating from her.
‘It’s hard to explain,’ she says simply. ‘I just love the characters and the story.’ She hesitates and I wait, hoping she’ll let me in a little more. She clears her throat, removing a small, whiteenvelope from the inside cover and using it as a bookmark. ‘It’s a romance. There’s a guy called George who’s really grumpy and a woman called Julianna who’s really nice, and they hate each other at first…’ She trails off. ‘It’s just great, OK?’
I nod enthusiastically. ‘It’s cool you still love reading. It’s all you ever seemed to do when we were younger!’ I laugh and she frowns like she’s trying to work out if I’m insulting her. ‘I mean, it’s awesome!’ I add quickly. ‘Really impressive! I was always so rubbish at reading.’ I pause, thinking back. ‘Actually, I think books lost me around the time I readJack and the Beanstalk.’ I giggle. ‘I mean, when the giant shouts, “Fe fi fo fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman!” I was like, duh, hello? That doesn’t even rhyme? “Fum” and “man” do not rhyme. It’s literally made-up noises and they still couldn’t get it to rhyme with “man”.’
Jemma barks a surprised laugh and I feel a triumphant swell in my chest. Iwillget her to like me.
‘So why is it covered in plastic?’ I ask nicely, trying to keep up the momentum. ‘Is it so you can read it in the bath?’
‘It’s a library book?’ she says with a hint of impatience. But why would I know that? Libraries cover things in plastic? Do they get a lot of men wanking over the books? I move closer to examine the cover and she lifts it up, showing me a brightly coloured but worn jacket.
I frown. ‘Why don’t you get your own copy if you love it so much?’
She looks away, but answers quickly, ‘Idohave my own version. Loads of them actually. Hardbacks, paperbacks, afirst edition off eBay.’ She pauses. ‘But they are just for looking at and admiring on my bookshelf.’ She nods at the copy in her hand. ‘This one is forreading. I’ve been checking it out since I was young. They have plenty of newer copies ofToo Good to Be Trueavailable at the library, but this version, thisparticularcopy, is special…’ She blushes. ‘It’s dumb, I guess, but it’s like my comfort blanket. When I’m stressed out or having a bad day, I pick this up. It soothes me. I tend to read this, then something new, then this again.’
I smile. It feels like we’re getting somewhere at last. ‘I can understand that,’ I tell her as warmly as I can. ‘Do you still go to the same library you used to?’ She nods. ‘God, I remember that place!’ I laugh. ‘I mean, I remember how muchyouwent in there. Every time Mum and me went food shopping, we’d drop you off there, right?’
She smiles a little mistily. ‘And I would go sit in the corner, reading my way through the children’s section. I went there most days after school, too.’ She unfolds her legs, sitting up straighter. ‘It hasn’t changed a bit in all these years. It still feels like a home away from home.’ She looks shy. ‘Actually, I work from there sometimes, too. I do interviews and transcribing in the work space.’ She shrugs. ‘I can do most stuff from home, but it helps me to get out of my room and have a separate place, like a pretend office.’
‘You still work for that writer, yeah?’ I enquire, really hoping that’s right. I haven’t asked her about the ghostwriting thing in years.
She nods, then sighs like it was a dig. ‘Yes, I’m still aresearch assistant.’ She swallows, then adopts a determinedly bright tone. ‘But it’s totally better than being an author with all that pressure to sell books and reviews and mean internet trolls…’ She trails off, unconvincing. ‘Anyway, we’re working on a ghostwriting project right now for a famous mountaineer. His memoir.’ She wiggles her eyebrows mischievously, leaning forward. ‘He’s really sexy actually! I’m doing a lot of interviews with him and loads of research! But… not much writing.’
I widen my eyes. ‘But that’s so cool, Jim-Jems! And it’s a lot more impressive than me! I have no career at all, and no idea what I’m going to do now I’m back.’
She looks at me sympathetically for a moment. ‘What were you really doing over in the US? Even Mum never seemed to have a solid idea.’
I glance out of the window, taking in the small overgrown garden out there.
I should’ve been more in touch with Mum and Jemma. I feel a pang of intense guilt over what a crappy daughter and sister I’ve been. I always meant to call and message, but life goes by so fast. And suddenly huge, momentous, humiliating, horrible life stuff is going down and you feel like you can’t call your family about it.
‘Um, bits and pieces really. Agency waitressing, hostessing, bar tending.’ I perk up. ‘Oh! I did some voiceover stuff for a while, that was fun!’ I sneak a look at Jemma, wondering if she disapproves. I smile away my anxiety. ‘But mostly I was just focused on enjoying a year-round hot girl brat summer.Or, if nothot, at least a lukewarm summer. Maybe a chilly girl rascal autumn?’ I laugh and Jemma joins in, almost reluctantly amused.
After a moment, she clears her throat. ‘So what made you come back then, if it was so great over there?’ Jemma is watching me, I can feel it, though I’m staring out at the garden again. She’s pushing this question. Does she know something about what happened over there?
‘Never mind that!’ I spring up, excitedly. ‘I want to hear aboutyourhot girl experiences. Are you dating?’ I wave my hand towards the rest of the house. ‘What about Harry? He’s totally your type and seems really… sweet! Way posh, obvs, but cute! Like a young and nerdier Prince Harry with more hair. Thank god about the hair, right!’ I giggle. ‘Do you fancy him?’
Jemma frowns and I feel any warmth from our conversation fall away. ‘No! Please don’t say that. Harry and I are just mates; housemates. I hate that people act like you can’t live with a boy without it being… more.’
‘Oh come on!’ I rib her, though warning alarms are blaring in the back of my head. ‘You would be sooo cute together! Don’t tell me you’ve never got drunk and accidentally shagged him? He sleeps in the room right next to you!’
Jemma stands up. ‘I’m not like you!’ she says in a tight, angry way. ‘I wouldn’t do that to a friend. I wouldn’t mess with someone’s head like that.’
‘OK, OK, I just meant—’ I begin, feeling afraid, but she cuts me off with a waved hand.
‘Forget it. I’m going to the library. I have some work to get done and I need to return this.’ She holds upToo Good to Be Truefor a brief second, the white envelope peeking out from a point near the end, and I swallow down competing emotions in my chest.
‘Look, Jim-Jems, I’m—’ I want to make this better. I want to say sorry – though I don’t understand what happened – but she’s already out of the living room.
A minute later, I hear the front door slam and I slump back down onto the sofa. I’m starting to think moving in was a huge mistake – as if my life wasn’t enough of a fucking disaster. Maybe I should’ve stayed on Mum’s sofa, listening to her and Angela cooing at each other. I mean, step-sis Buffy might’ve warmed up eventually. She might’ve even stopped insulting me in ways I don’t understand because I’m too old. It would surely be better than being stuck here, in my smelly new bedroom, with a sister who hates me and no clue what to do next with my life.
I go back to my room, where I crawl under the pile of clothes on my bed, and fall asleep flicking through TikToks.
Chapter SixJEMMA
Clara is covered in paint splodges. Pink paint. And she’s wearingmyjumper.
