Page 54 of Hot to Go

Lucy puts a hand to my shoulder, looking around the couple.

‘I’m so sorry, is there a queue?’ she retorts, then turns to me. ‘I think this one is a good choice, honey bear. When we’re scissoring, I think it’ll give us some good leverage.’

I close my eyes, trying not to laugh. The woman’s husband doesn’t know where to look. ‘Lawrence, LAWRENCE…go and get a member of staff.’ The woman drags her husband away towards a person in ayellow shirt.

‘We’re going to get thrown out,’ I tell Lucy.

‘And…? What a story for the ages. My nieces will love it. Meatballs first though, yeah?’

I smile. I haven’t even picked a mattress yet but maybe we can loop round through this labyrinth for refreshments. As I stand, I look over at Janet and her husband buying their sofa bed. They sit on the mattress together, laughing, his arm around her as he kisses her on the forehead, her eyes closed.

‘It’s those two over there…’ the angry woman’s voice screams out.

Yeah, we better loop round.

Charlie

‘Is this your boyfriend then?’

Brooke turns to the tour guide and then back to me and starts making very swift retching noises. ‘Oh god, no. He’s my brother, eww!’

I also scrunch my face up at the insinuation. The guide either thinks I look young or that I’m some older man after a teenager and all of it just gives ick factor. To try and reinforce the point, I shove Brooke in the arm and she pushes me back.

‘I’m sorry…’ the tour guide tells us, resplendent in a yellow university campus T-shirt. ‘Do you still want one of these?’

‘Yes,’ Brooke says, ‘I think that’s compensation for the trauma you’ve just put me through,’ she says, grabbing at the tote bag on the table and peering inside, not before taking one for me too and handing it to me.

‘Brooke, no…’ I tell her as we make a very swift departure from the foyer. ‘I’m too old to be carrying a bright yellow tote with #TOTESFUN on it.’

‘You’re not old, and there are free phone chargers in there so suck it up,’ she tells me, hooking an arm into mine.

Today, we’ve ventured over to a university open day in EastLondon. It’s involved a trek to some Instagrammable food van and a shoe shop to look at vintage trainers, so I hope the university thing wasn’t a ruse and education is at the forefront of Brooke’s distractable mind.

‘So what are we looking for?’ I ask, skimming through a brochure in my hand. I scan the room and it’s a mix of parents looking earnest and enthusiastic, and confused kids being dragged around being sold the dream that this could all be theirs.

‘Cute boys and coffee shops with seating, no?’ she tells me.

‘You could have just gone on forums and YouTube for that sort of information,’ I tell her.

She grins at me with big giant teeth. ‘I joke. I’m so funny.’

‘According to you…’

‘There’s a talk in psychology at eleven thirty and I want to check out some accommodation and the people on the year abroad scheme,’ she says, showing me a note on her phone where she has it all planned.

Brooke is our mum, from the desperately curly hair to the way she cheerleads everyone in her life with her unwavering positivity. In a house of three boys who sometimes deal with life in flatulence jokes and sweatpants, she’s made us presentable to the outside world, ensuring we have some female influence in our lives.

‘Your nose looks so nice since I did that face mask on you, you know?’ she says, putting a hand to my chin and examining my face. She also spends her weekends preening me in the absence of having other females in the house to share these rituals with. My pores are far more refined for the experience.

‘I have also been seeing the benefits,’ I say, to which she smiles broadly. We join a stand where someone is talking about the student union and the many club nights they have here on a weekly basis. My heart pangs to hear that information; I miss nights like those with their two-pound pints, but it’s alsobecause this is part of my little sister’s future. It’s a mix of fear and pride.

‘Is this what Warwick was like then?’ she asks me.

‘Warwick was lovely and green and a little university campus isolated from the world, this is…’

‘Grim?’ she asks.

‘Quite the opposite. You’re in the thick of it, you can go to a club night and then head for salt beef bagels, five minutes that way. I think a city university is more your jam,’ I tell her.

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