I saunter in, eyeballing both my father and Marsaili as I indelicately throw myself into a chair next to my sister for theatrics. Marsaili rolls her eyes.
“Why are you dressed like that?” My sister frowns at me in my Metallic Monogram tweed skater dress with signature V belt by Louis Vuitton.
“What?” I glance down at myself. “Nicely? You should try it sometime.”
She gives me a smarmy look. “You laid this out for me.”
I swear under my breath because she’s right—I did. And she looks completely fantastic in the Rainbow, cashmere, striped-knit shorts from The Elder Statesman with the navy, lace-up jumper from the Michael Kors Collection. I see she picked her own shoes though. Some sort of sad, brandless espadrille. Espadrilles! In London! In the Autumn. My god.
“A dinner with all my girls,” my father says as I reluctantly sit down at the table.
This is a dinner I’ve been coerced into: Bridget, my father and the step monster—at our house, obviously. Apparently they’re not willing to risk me yelling at them in public, those little snowflakes. Catered, obviously—because Marsaili doesn’t lift a finger around the house anymore, that lazybones.
I wonder if that’s why she’d grown so lax about serving my breakfast properly over the years?
The coercion came about because my father said he wouldn’t pay my credit card bill this month unless I attended, and I clarified whether attendance was the only prerequisite and he said yes, so firstly, he’s an idiot and secondly, obviously I had that drawn up by my legal team and now that bitch is iron clad.
“Thank you for joining us, Magnolia.” My father smiles.
“Sure, yeah,” I say. “Yesterday I bought an electric hydrofoil surfboard.”
“Okay.” My father nods at the same time my sister frowns and says, “Why?”
“It was about £10,000,” I say, sipping my water.
“Of course it was,” he says and sighs.
“You don’t even surf,” Marsaili tells me.
“But I could.”
“Where?” Bridget scoffs. “You going to zip around the Thames?”
I ignore her.
“How’s it going with Tom?” my father asks.
“Yes, fine,” I say, as I shovel the honey-garlic butter roasted carrots around my plate. “He’s been away the last five days. Home tomorrow.”
“Anything interesting happen while he was gone?” my sister asks a bit pointedly.
I glare at her. “No.”
“Nothing at all?”
I give her a weird look. “No.”
I take a sip of my wine.
“You didn’t nearly have sex with someone in the Gucci change rooms?”
I choke on my wine.
“Who told you that?” I stare at her.
(“Who did you nearly have sex with in a Gucci change room?” Marsaili asks.)
“BJ and I get lunch,” my sister says with a shrug.
“When?” I blink.
(“BJ?” Marsaili whines. “In a changing room?” And my father holds his head: “I think I’m getting a migraine.”)
“Wednesdays, usually,” my sister says and forks a piece of chicken.
I pull my head back in surprise. “Usually?”
She makes a “mmhm” sound with her mouth full.
“What do you talk about at these lunches?” I ask, frowning.
“You.” She nods at me. “Them.” She nods at my father and Mars. “Him—him and you. You and Tom. Jonah and that Taura girl—”
(“Jonah’s with Taura Sax?” Marsaili asks, eyes wide. She knows that’s who BJ cheated on me with.)
I glare over at Mars. “Don’t be such a gossip, Marsaili.”
Marsaili gives me a tired and exasperated look and my father pours himself an extra big glass of wine.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bridget asks, maybe hurt.
I shrug, demurely. “It’s complicated.”
“It’s BJ,” she clarifies.
Marsaili looks between us, very, very unthrilled.
Me, however? I’m delighted that BJ’s ruining this family dinner without even being here.
“How close to sex were you?” Marsaili huffs.
“Not very.” I roll my eyes.
(“Hands on the equipment,” my sister says under her breath but loud enough for everyone to hear.)
“Oh, fuck me,” my father says and does two wide blinks.
No one says anything so I glance over at our resident infidel.
“Marsaili.” I look at her with tall eyebrows. I nod my head in my father’s direction, “I believe he’s talking to you.”
And at that—Marsaili snorts, which turns into a laugh, which makes me nearly laugh but I get a handle on it before it gets away from me.
Marsaili looks at me for a few seconds. “Will you help me with something in the kitchen?”
“Absolutely not.” I shake my head.
Bridget kicks me under the table.
“Oh, fine.” I roll my eyes, dragging my feet as I follow her.
Marsaili folds her arms over her chest and peers up at me. “Are you really going to hold my affair with your father over my head while you’re cheating on Tom?”
I glare over at her, at her presumptions. “Tom and I have an arrangement.”
“Oh, you and Tom have an arrangement?” She blinks, unimpressed. “How terribly modern of you. Enlighten me, what is this arrangement?”
“Sure, yeah—the condensed version is, he’s in love with someone he can’t have, and I’m in love with someone I was told would hurt me if I stayed with him so I didn’t and I should have and now, everything’s a fucking mess.”
“Because you’ve slept with Tom too,” she says. Says, doesn’t ask.
“Well, who told you that?” I throw my hands into the air, as I lean back against the bench.
She sighs. “I ventured a guess.”
“Oh.”
“You’ve never slept with anyone else,” she tells me.
“I know.”
She gives me a look. “Not even Christian.”
“I know.”
“Didn’t much like it when you were dating him—”
“I know.” I roll my eyes.
“Gang lord and all.”
“Just a little baby one.” I shrug.
And Mars laughs and then she gives me a parental look.
“Are you being safe?”
I scoff. “Are you?”
She laughs again.
“I’ve missed you,” she tells me.
“Yes, I’m sure.” I nod. “I’m an absolute treat.”
She rolls her eyes exaggeratively. “I can see in my absence your ego’s gone completely unchecked.”
“Not entirely, no.” I shake my head. “Life’s beaten me down some… I broke a nail last week. The barista used the wrong milk in my coffee thrice in the last fortnight. My sister is apparently having regular lunches with my ex-boyfriend. I had a sesame seed between my teeth when I bumped into William at Harrods—”
“Which William?”
“…Arthur Phillip Louis.”
She snorts a laugh. “Oh, well—that’s your very worst nightmare.”
“I saw BJ having sex with someone else.”
“BJ slept with someone else?”
I frown. “He’s always sleeping with someone else.”
She rubs her temples, she goes to say something—she doesn’t. She fiddles with her bracelet.
“What did you mean when you said he almost died?”
I stare at her for a few seconds, wondering how I can get around this without telling her—or if even that’s the right thing to do.
I sigh.
“He overdosed once.” She gasps quietly. “Right after Reid and I started…dating.” If that’s what you’d even call it.
“Magnolia”—she shakes her head—“I had no idea.”
“No one knows,” I tell her.
She nods solemnly. “Is he still on drugs?”
I shake my head vehemently. “He promised me he’d never again.”
She nods, relieved.
“So, now what?” she asks.
And I pull up empty with a shrug.
“I have no idea.”
00:51
Vanna Ripley
Hey
Hey
Miss you
I’m in town for a few days…
Are you? For work?
And pleasure.
Hah
Come over…
Can’t
What?
I can’t.
You can’t?
