Page 52 of Coming Home to Wishington Bay
‘Oh ha ha.’
‘Laugh all you want. I’m serious. That’s why I rang. I thought Sophia might have got things mixed up.’
I stopped laughing, suddenly feeling like doing something quite the opposite, and made a point of avoiding looking at Gabe. Between my grandmother telling him I needed someone to look out for me in case I electrocuted myself and possibly him, and my brother now announcing I was, essentially, a friendless hermit, I had the feeling that whatever Gabe might or might not have been about to say, he was likely thinking he’d been saved by the bell now that he’d had a moment to think about it.
‘No. She hasn’t. And I know plenty of people, thank you very much.’
‘All right, calm down. No need to get your knickers in a twist. I was just saying.’
‘That I was a complete Billy No-Mates. Yes, thank you for that.’
‘Any special dietary needs?’ Ned asked, changing the subject although I could practically hear him rolling his eyes.
I glanced up at Gabe in what I hoped was a manner that looked confident and not slightly humiliated. He shook his head.
‘No. Look, Ned, there’s something I need to tell you. About tonight.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. It’s just that I don’t want—’
‘Hang on, Hol,’ he said, before bellowing, ‘That sauce needs to come off, now!’ In the background, I heard a ‘yes, Chef’ before my brother returned to the phone. ‘Sorry, what were you saying? It’s just a bit nuts in here at the moment.’
‘No, it’s not important. I’ll catch you later when we get there.’
‘OK. Great. Thanks. Oi! What did I just say?’ he yelled again, this time forgetting to move the phone. I sat back in surprise. ‘Oh shit. Sorry, Hol.’
‘It’s all right. You’re on speakerphone, thank goodness, otherwise my ears might have been bleeding.’
‘Shame then. It might have given you an excuse to nip next door and play doctors with Gabe.’
Kill me now.
‘Yeah. Ned?’
‘Yep?’
‘Remember about you being on speakerphone?’
‘Yep.’
‘Gabe’s here.’
If I’d had any thought of embarrassing my older brother into an apology I was, as I should have known, horribly mistaken. This news only served to cause him to belly-laugh, call out a cheery greeting to his mate, and hang up, still laughing.
We sat there in silence for a minute.
‘That was the restaurant confirming our booking,’ I said, working on an air of nonchalance.
Gabe’s laughter filled the room as he leant over, kissed the top of my head and thanked me again for doing this before announcing he was going home to shower and change and would be back in an hour to pick me up.
* * *
My room looked like a whirling dervish had made tracks straight through the middle of it with clothes littering the bed, the chair and hanging from the doorframe. And I hadn’t even brought loads! That was half the problem. One of the things I hadn’t brought was something suitable for a dinner date with my fake boyfriend and his very real parents. Call me unprepared but that hadn’t been a scenario I’d envisioned needing a suitable outfit for when I packed for my summer sabbatical.
But now I needed one, and I literally had no idea what I was supposed to wear. Paul had never introduced me to his parents, which I hadn’t thought was weird at the time because he’d been very vocal in telling me how much he didn’t get on with them and although he saw them, it was always a very tense and strained relationship and he didn’t want to put me in the middle of it all. He had, he said, hoped to reconcile with them one day, and when he did, the first thing he’d be doing was taking me to meet them. Of course, like the prize idiot he’d made of me in front of everyone, I’d believed him. What was now completely obvious was that they knew he was already seeing someone, and was in fact, engaged to that other person, so having to explain my presence over a Sunday roast would have made things a little sticky.
Other than that, I’d never really got close enough – or perhaps allowed anyone close enough to me – for the whole meeting of parentals thing. I picked up a red dress that was nice but way too clingy, a black one that looked fine but could easily tip into funereal, without the right accessories. It was easier to get away with when I’d had my hair bleached but now that I was back to my natural ebony black, it definitely had a bit of a Morticia Addams vibe. I stripped it off and tried on the pale blue one I’d stuffed in my suitcase, with the vague thought that I might finally give it a wear.
