She leans in and gives me a kiss on both cheeks, managing to radiate her resentment for having to be polite in a way that I can feel. My body stiffens up in response.
Beatrix ‘Bea’ Pemberton is in her fifties, with a face that’s been lifted just enough to look perpetually surprised, and hair that’s always perfectly coiffed – uptight, like her. She’s got that posh ‘horse-girl’ look – probably used to do dressage in some kind of professional capacity. I’ve never been all that into horses myself – unlike Seph, who has been known to get horses for her birthdays.
‘My soon-to-be big sister, bring it in,’ Chester says, bounding over with his usual enthusiasm. He wraps me in a tight hug, squeezing just a little too hard. Chester is tall, with sandy blonde hair and a boyish charm that makes him look younger than he is – and also like Boris Johnson could be his dad. He’s always been a huggy, tactile kind of guy, and this is not a huggy, tactile kind of family beyond the phoney greetings.
Finally, Dad stands up to greet me. Walter, in his sixties now, dresses like an extra fromThe Crown– probably because Bea tells him to. His suit is tailored to perfection, and his shoes are polished to a mirror-like shine. I have his eyes, which is ironic because we see the world in very different ways. Proudly,though, I didn’t inherit his heart or his brain. Really, the only thing I could imagine wanting to inherit from him is probably his bank balance.
‘Lana,’ he says, kissing me on the cheek. His tone is warm but distant, like he’s trying to connect but doesn’t know how.
‘Hi, Dad,’ I reply, matching his tone.
Dad isn’t one for small talk – or talk talk, sometimes – and today is no different.
‘Shall we get comfortable in the dining room?’ he suggests, already heading for the door. ‘Get this show on the road, as they say.’
‘Let’s,’ Bea replies.
I feel a hand on my arm, stopping me in my tracks, holding me back.
‘Lana, can I have a moment?’ Bea says, and it doesn’t sound optional.
‘What’s up?’ I reply.
‘I was just going through the gift registry, for the wedding, and I’ve noticed that we don’t have you down for anything,’ she explains, with the tone of a waiter in a snooty restaurant letting you know that your card has been declined. ‘I did send you this list, well in advance, and as you know we’re quite late in the day now…’
‘Oh, that’s okay, I have a present for them,’ I tell her.
‘But on the registry…’
‘I just bought them something,’ I say simply.
‘What do you mean?’ she replies.
‘Like, I went to a shop, I picked something out, I paid for it, wrapped it – that sort of thing.’
Okay, so I haven’t wrapped it yet, I’m not that organised, but it feels like a needed detail to make her understand.
‘You’re supposed to buy them something that they want,’ she says, horrified. ‘From the registry.’
‘I thought it was supposed to be a gift, so I bought them something I thought they would like, ages ago,’ I explain. ‘I saw, on Seph’s Instagram, that she’d had a new pantry fitted in her kitchen, and I noticed all of the copper in her kitchen, so when I saw these fancy mason jars with copper instead of silver, I thought they would love them.’
Bea looks unwell.
‘Do you really think Persephone uses her kitchen?’ she says in disbelief.
‘She does on Instagram,’ I point out.
‘Perhaps she pretends to,’ she corrects me.
‘Then she can pretend to use these – what’s the big deal?’
Bea must hit her limit with me because it’s at this point she abandons the conversation.
We all filter through to the dining room, where the large, round table is perfectly set.
I take my seat, feeling like I’ve just walked on to the set ofThe Traitors, except here, you know everyone’s a traitor, and I’m the faithful they probably all want to murder. I’m glad I’m not staying here tonight.
Tyler enters the room to take drinks orders. We exchange secret smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that makes Bea, who never misses a thing, look between us with a slight narrowing of his eyes. When her gaze finally locks on Tyler she clicks her tongue. It’s the stubble, I’m telling you.
