Conceding that she can’t stretch this out any longer, Haf rinses it under the tap, but only a very thin stream of water comes out.
‘What’s up with this? Has the water pressure gone wonky?’ she mutters, bending to look up at the faucet.
‘That’s the filtered water tap.’
‘The . . . what?’
‘You know, like the water jugs you put in the fridge that make tap water taste not like ass. But a tap.’
‘That’s a thing?’
‘It’s really not that unusual,’ says Kit.
‘Maybe for posh architects.’
They both laugh gently, and a quietness settles between them as Haf offers the final glass. Every moment must end.
‘Just one thing,’ Kit says, taking it from Haf, her red nails clinking softly against the glass.
‘Yeah?’
She turns slightly towards Kit, hoping she’s going to speak this truce into being, or maybe even give her a nice compliment.
But of course that’s not what happens.
‘If you’re with my brother, perhaps don’t flirt with strangers at train stations. It doesn’t seem fair to him, even if it doesn’t mean much to you to be flirting. He’s sensitive, you know?’
Well, that didn’t go as she expected. Haf knows her face must be scarlet now. ‘Yeah,’ she croaks out. ‘You’re right.’
‘And then,’ Kit says, setting down the dried glass in the cupboard and closing the door with a clack, ‘you won’t be leading anyone on either.’
Haf is completely and utterly mortified. ‘Yeah. Of course.’
Kit is silent for a few moments, eyeing her up. ‘Okay, that’s all cleared up. I just had to say it, you know. Sisterly duty. Let’s just put it behind us. Friends, yes?’
‘Friends,’ Haf says, nodding eagerly. ‘Friends.’
‘Okay. Good.’ She nods back, and without another word, Kit leaves.
Rendered speechless, Haf stares at her reflection in the window, now alone. Kit’s right, they just should put it behind them. It was just a crush, after all. A flirtation. She’s a grown-up. Probably.
Friends.
Just friends.
Haf takes a few moments for herself and tidies up in the kitchen, wiping down the counter with the spray from under the sink. In such a large kitchen, she doesn’t half feel like a maid, but at least she’s doing this because she offered, and it gives her some time to come down from the intense highs and lows of the day.
Everyone else is in the front room with an after-dinner drink. Haf hangs in the doorway, quietly watching. All four Calloways are deep in their reading, be it the enormous newspaper slung across Otto’s lap – theFinancial Times, she thinks – or the recipe books in Esther’s lap, which she flicks through with a long, delicate finger. Kit and Christopher occupy the couch, each reading a paperback book that they are basically folding in half while reading – a slightly horrifying shared habit.
Haf’s treacherous copy ofCarolis still upstairs on the bedside table. It feels like the absolute last thing she wants to read right now. It’s not tainted, but it feels like an unexploded bomb.
The TV sits silent in the corner. At home, the TV wouldn’t be turned off for basically the whole holiday, a constant background hum.
She should probably tell her parents that she got there safely, so she wiggles her phone out of the pocket of her pencil skirt and sends them a text. It feels wrong to use her phone in a room full of readers, even if none of them have noticed her lurking, so she puts it away as soon as the message sends. Something about the act feels like she’s broadcasting inferiority to Esther and Otto, not that it wasn’t already probably beaming like a neon sign on the Vegas strip. She needs something to do that makes her look smart, or useful. Ideally, she’d be teaching the dogs tricks, but both are curiously absent.
She approaches the couch from the back and Christopher looks up from his book and gives her a little smile.
Bells tinkle in the distance, and Christopher moves to get up.
