Page 12 of Enemies to Lovers

He furrows his brow like the question offends him and replies, ‘Yeah, little sister. Are you?’

‘Do you know what?’ I reply. I’ve sunk my beer already and the sunset is all pink and gorgeous and it makes my shoulders sit lower, my jaw loosen. I amdeterminedto enjoy this holiday. Determined! ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I am. Like you say, everyone does my nut in, but I’m glad we’re all here together.’

Despite Jamie being here, I think to myself – but I don’t say it. He doesn’t deserve the oxygen.

‘You sound soft.’ He winks after he speaks, letting me know he’s ‘soft’, too.

‘It’s in my DNA,’ I retort. ‘Which I hear can run in the family.’

Alex scrunches up his nose at me playfully, and I mirror it. He’s done it to me since we were kids – always him first, as a gesture of brotherly love, and I always copy, an acknowledgement that I have received said love. Feelings without words. Alex and I have our own language that way. He’s always been nicer to me than Laurie. Laurie tormented me as a kid – he still does – but Alex always found a way to distract him. He didn’toutright stick up for me or tell Laurie to back off (Laurie wouldn’t have responded to that), but he’s always made room for me, let me be a tiny bit more of myself. Laurie has all these ideas about how I should behave and it’s like I always let him down. Alex lets me be myself.

‘It’s a proper nice place me and Dad booked for tonight,’ Alex says, rubbing his hands together. ‘Those night-lights are strung up in the courtyard, good view, proper mom-and-pop ownersandwe saw a sign for live music in the square, too. Oh, actually—’ He looks at his watch. ‘Drink up, gang! It’s about a fifteen-minute walk and the table’s booked for half past.’

‘Look at you,’ I comment, ‘being all organised.’

‘I know,’ Alex shrugs. ‘I surprise myself sometimes.’

‘We’ll make a man of you yet?’ I ask.

He laughs. ‘Something like that, yeah. Come on. You can sit next to me if you like. Seat of honour.’

We assemble, grabbing handbags and locking doors and making sure we’ve all got phones for the way back – it will be dark and it’s not very well lit, so we’ll need the torches.

‘You can hold my hand if you get scared,’ Laurie says to Jamie with a wink.

‘I’ll assume the position of the thorn between roses, with Mike and Vee on either side of me, I think,’ Jamie bats back.

‘Isn’t the expression “rose between two thorns”?’ Dad asks.

‘You could never be the thorn, mate,’ Jamie tells Dad.‘You’re not only the flower – you’re the whole damned garden.’

Dad chuckles. ‘I can see why you do as well as you do,’ he says. ‘Smooth bastard.’

Alex and Dad lead the way, since they know where we’re going, with Mum chatting amiably alongside them. Laurie and Kate fall into step behind, holding hands and being in love and happy. So that leaves Jamie and me at the back of the group, the air between us thick with the sound of crickets and hostility, one foot in front of the other in unfriendly but rhythmic steps. I turn my face away from him and list what is good in my head – another trick from my therapist. There’s the sweet smell of lavender in the air, a cool breeze dancing through the trees. I feel pretty in my maxi-dress, in that way that’s very specific to being on holiday. I didn’t wash my hair because the sea salt in the ocean made it dry with waves more luscious than I could style myself, and even with a smidge of sunburn, at least my freckles are out already, splattered across my cheeks. My family is here. I am safe. I have a wonderful best friend and am lucky to be able to have therapy. And Greece is beautiful.

I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.

The feeling I had at drinks earlier on intensifies: something close to happiness. My breath deepens. We’ll have a great dinner tonight. My family is at its best around a table. Always has been. As long as Jamie is seated at the other end, it could even be a wonderfulnight. I think about what Kate said about having a Greek fling. Maybe I should keep my eyes peeled … it’s about time my libido came out of hibernation. All of Hope’s stories are making me think I deserve a little fun, too. Getting flung would feel like an achievement, in so much as letting myself actually have fun would be a first. Maybe it’s my bare shoulders and wavy hair and this dress … I’m kinda feeling myself. It’s been a while.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.The gravel underfoot makes a satisfying noise as Jamie and I walk, left-right, left-right. It’s annoying that I become aware of the nearness of him, the light notes of that cedary scent I caught a whiff of yesterday on his T-shirt. I’m surprised I’ve not been more ribbed about that today, but then fair play if nobody wants to think about their sister’s boobs. If the topic of the day has moved on, I’m in luck.

The path narrows, so everyone has to meander single-file, and Jamie steps back, holding out an arm to signal I should go ahead. Ishouldjust keep walking, go in front and let him fall behind. But for some reason his display of gallant gentlemanly manners irritates me. I don’t want his empty gestures.

Let’s not speak of this again …

I wish the words weren’t so branded on my brain.

‘I’m fine,’ I tell the ground, my voice tight. ‘After you.’

I sweep my arm out in front of me, and when Jamie doesn’t move, I glance up to be greeted withthat look. The muscles in my face harden, my brow lowers and we stay like that: staring each other out. His eyes are cool,and his pecs – all too clearly visible because of that poor excuse for a ‘T-shirt’ – rise and fall with his breath. I think he’s putting it on. But also there’s a tiny bead of sweat up near his hairline, and it’s oddly satisfying to see it grow in my peripheral vision until it falls down his cheek. He lifts a hand to wipe it away: slowly, purposefully, his eyes alight with something I’m not so familiar with. He looks … sad? Well, if he is: good. Maybe he’s learned a valuable lesson about how to treat people. This ice between us is his doing, after all. This is the pathhechose.

I hold his eye. I haven’t played at a staring contest since I was about ten, when Laurie would stare at me in the car on long trips and, when I’d move to look at him, he’d shift his gaze an inch so that he was actually looking past me. I’d stare at him until he moved to try and ‘catch me’, and we’d go back and forth like that until he complained to Mum and Dad that I was bugging him, when he was the one who’d started it.

‘Are you two coming or what?’ Dad yells, from halfway down the path.

I don’t take my eyes off Jamie as I answer.

‘Yeah!’ I say. ‘Jamie’s going to follow first.’

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