‘Bleeding monkeys! Is that his cock?’ she says, laughing hysterically.
‘No?’ I say, trying quite terribly to convince her otherwise. That’s not his cock. He’s lying naked in bed holding a Toblerone against his naked crotch. I’m not sure if that’s worse.
‘You told us a strong 7. You never mentioned that he had girth.’
‘He has girth. Seriously, put the phone down. Unless you want to see my…’
The phone drops onto the kitchen table, luckily protected by my high-grade silicone cover. Meg narrows her eyes at me.
‘That’s not just shagging then. That’s conversation and dick pics.’
‘It’s porn. But with someone I know so it’s safer and more convenient and I don’t have to worry about firewalls.’
Meg studies my face for a moment. I can’t quite tell if she thinks I’m a genius or is disappointed for me.
‘Do you have sex on set days? Do you make lists for that too? Blow Job Monday, Toys on Tuesday?’
I smile wryly to show her that, when provoked properly, I can do sarcasm as well as the next Callaghan without even opening my mouth.
‘What do you send him?’ she asks.
‘Boobs. Boomerangs.’
‘You refer to your minge as a boomerang?’ she asks.
‘It’s a short video clip. It’s a shame you got so old.’
‘Cowbag.’
Meg won’t judge. She never does. She’s been with the same man now for nearly fifteen years and I don’t want to know about her sex life, but I assume she’s not too much of a prude to know how modern sex has evolved.
‘I send Danny boob pics sometimes.’
‘Good to know.’
‘I mean, I put a filter on them these days so as not to scare the bastard, but I get it. Does this Sam… does he make you happy?’
I pause for a moment. I don’t know whether to give her the truth or the answer she wants. Because she wants me to say yes, he makes me very happy. She wants to see the beginnings of a relationship, that I might be moving away from my grief, my loneliness, my Tom. She doesn’t want to think this is dry, mechanical sex without meaning.
‘He’s a good distraction.’
‘From?’
‘A boring life where I sit at home in the evenings, listen to podcasts and label my cupboards.’
‘In your big blanket dress thing… do you both fit under that?’
She’s joking but I see her fold her arms trying to keep in the warmth. She claims she’s half Northern now and can cope with the colder climes but really she will always have Southern blood running through her.
‘Can I say something?’ Meg asks.
‘You’re asking permission to speak?’
‘Do you remember the day you left on your travels?’
I do. Meg was the one sister who came with me to the airport to see me off, to say goodbye, to laugh at the fact I had traveller’s cheques. She likened me to Dora the Explorer. I had my passport in a Ziploc bag in case the plane crashed and I needed proof that I was on that plane so they could tell my family. I told Meg this as she embraced me hard. We both sobbed.Go, she told me.Be bold, be all those things Tom was.
‘When you went away, I thought Tom’s passing ignited something in you. My wonderfully ordered and sensible Gracie was going out into the world to experience all this chaos and adventure and I thought you’d bring a bit of that back…’
