Page 18 of Meet me at the Seaside Cottages

‘Yeah, it is,’ says Al.

‘And it’s not being a snob if it’s got the sugar concentration of tablet.’

‘The sugar concentration of tablet is perfect; what’s your problem? Come on. Go and get dressed. Have a shower first. I’ll buy you a gin and tonic if you’re going to flap about the wine. Gins and tonics, plural.’

Essie frowns. Janey realises she is holding her breath, so much does she want her daughter to take even a baby step towards getting out of her slump.

‘But Shelby McFlynn.’

‘I’ll handle Shelby McFlynn,’ says Al, who had always done well with the girls, and even more so these days now he has a trim beard and a job that requires a suit and tie and, for the more deer-killy days, a Barbour jacket and a Land Rover.

‘You couldn’t get Shelby!’ says Essie. ‘No way, man!’

‘I could get Shelby!’ says Al, horrified.

‘Prettiest girl in the school? No chance.’

‘Ah, that was school. And all those football club losers she was into then are now still losers. Whereas I . . . ’

‘ . . . shoot Bambi with a gun.’

‘Provide an important environmental service. While still in full possession of my hair.’

He shows her a picture of Zara.

‘Bloody hell,’ says Essie.

‘Yeah,’ says Al complacently.

‘Well, my boyfriend is lovely-looking.’

‘Does he know you’re wearing monster slippers right now?’

Essie has forgotten she is wearing her old monster slippers. She and her mother remain in a war of attrition over the thermostat.

‘Some men like feet,’ she says, frowning.

‘Yes,feet, notclaws.’

Essie frowns to think what, exactly, Connor would think of the way she looked right now, her skin breaking out, wearing grungy old jimjams. She sighs. Janey looks the other way in case they catch eyes.

‘Come on, sis,’ says Al, his voice warm, as if he’s trying to coax a scared foal. ‘Come on. Get dressed. We’re going out.’

Essie makes the face again.

‘What is the big deal with Shelby, anyway?’ asks Al.

Janey immediately pretends desperately hard not to be listening and goes into the next room. Fortunately, as the house is the size of a well-appointed rabbit hutch, she can hear perfectly well.

‘Ugh,’ says Essie. ‘She was . . . when the divorce was happening, and my mates were being nice and the teachers were doing their best, she would walk in and go, “Oh, boohooing again? Poor little Essie,” and all her horrible mates would laugh. All the time. Wherever I went. “Oh, everyone, be sympathetic topoor top-of-the-class Essie.” I was absolutelyterrifiedof her. Every day.’

Janey’s heart drops. Essie had spent those years yelling, sulking and slamming doors. She had tried so many times to get her to open up – always, obviously, wrongly. She should have got Al to do it.

‘She was probably just jealous,’ says Al.

‘Of my misery. Yeah, whatever,’ says Essie. ‘Anyway, even if she was, loads of people are jealous. I don’t go up to Taylor Swift and say, “Oh, boohoo, you only got to date Harry Styles for five minutes,” do I?’

‘I bet you would.’

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