Page 28 of You Belong With Me

‘Bit of a fascist,’ Meg advised. ‘But then so is my sister. She could really bake a cake though.’

‘She left them to you in her will?’ Declan said.

‘Her estranged son and his nuclear-wintery wife turned up to do house clearance and were going to turf the birds out on their arses, so I intervened,’ Edie said. ‘Not thinking what I’d spend on Trill.’

Declan gazed at her, visibly impressed, possibly imagining Edie some variant of Manic Pixie Dream Girl.

She checked her delivery app. ‘Our noodles are on Alfreton Road!’

The three of them ate on their laps, forked down platefuls of mapo tofu, mushroom chow mein and spring rolls, companionably channel surfing.

Declan made a considerable effort with Meg, and Meg seemed surprised and then gratified that one of Edie’s wanky ad exec associates from fancy London was, in fact, great.

‘You work in a care home, which is one of the best things you can do for society,’ Declan told her. ‘I try to flog you things you don’t need, for capitalism. One of the worst.’

‘To be fair, I love my gadget that mashes potatoes – it’s amazing. I forget what it’s called. Mashy, I think. Do you like mashed potatoes?’

‘I’m Irish. My blood is part potato.’

‘You have to come back for dinner another time and try it,’ Meg said. ‘Right, Edie?’

Declan shot Edie a discomfited look: it contained an ongoing apology for abruptly inserting himself into her existence to this extent.

It provoked Edie to reply: ‘One hundred per cent he does. I won’t even need a hospital to insist, next time. And you can have wine on that visit.’

She could see his body language easing.

‘Then thank you very much. You’re the only people I know in Nottingham, and you’re a great start.’

‘You came here not knowinganyone?’ Meg said with awe.

Edie privately congratulated herself on subtly challenging Meg’s assumptions. Meg’s identity was very home-city-forever, and she had an unexamined attitude that those who left were quitters and pseuds, no doubt based on feeling abandoned by Edie. Now, she could see it also involved bravery.

‘I like a voyage of discovery.’

‘We’ll look after you,’ Meg said, patting his knee.

There was something very solid about Declan: both in his broad shoulders but also his manner. He knew who he was, and Edie detected a sort of … centre of moral gravity that she liked. She realised it made her feel – a funny word to apply, really – safe.

The reason Team Jessica loved Declan wasn’t because he was one of them; it was because he was one of those people everyone loved, who became hotly contested territory.

Edie hadn’t had a single qualm about him seeing her home, and that was an acid test of trust, she always thought. Someone like Jess would be hoping to find mould on her shower curtain. He mentioned his sisters a lot, partly to thoughtfully draw connections with Meg. He’d make a lovely dad, one day.

And he was well-travelled but wore it lightly: only a few years younger than Edie but he’d had many adventures, often solo. That sort of self-reliance was cool.

Edie suspected Ad Hoc and Nottingham wouldn’t keep him long – she was unsurprised it ended with the girl back home – and was glad they got him passing through, before he settled down in Brisbane or Knock.

When Declan insisted honestly, he wasn’t lying, the in-house band on a ferry crossing to Bilbao was genuinely called Smooth Passage, Edie near-prolapsed in laughter.

Declan looked back at her, warm appraisal of her written on his face, and she knew that his being clipped by a Toyota Avensis had fast-tracked a firm friendship.

Edie was drifting off around one a.m. when she heard an ungodly, primal howl from below her room that she recognised as emitting from Meg’s lungs. She was out of bed and skittering down the stairs in seconds flat, adrenaline sufficient to lift a lorry from a child. Intruders were scary, but no one, absolutely no one, threatened her younger sibling without awakening lioness instincts in Edie.

The light was on in the kitchen, and Edie turned the corner and shrieked.

On one side of the room, there was Meg in her nightwear leggings and t-shirt, a serrated bread knife held threateningly aloft.

On the other was a fully naked Declan, staring impassively at the shelving on the far wall. To call it a dark, surreal tableau was to undersell it. David Lynch himself would decline to direct it.

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