‘Dad? Is everything okay?’ I ask.
‘Lana? Everything’s fine,’ he replies.
‘I worried, when I realised how late you were calling,’ I point out.
‘Oh, we’re in Australia,’ he says, as if that explains everything. ‘It’s morning here. I didn’t think about the time difference.’
‘You’re in Australia?’ I repeat, stunned.
Ethan, ever the gentleman, leans in and whispers: ‘I’ll go to the taxi rank over the road and book your lift home.’
I nod, appreciating him keeping his voice quiet enough that my dad doesn’t hear it.
‘Yeah, we’re in Australia,’ Dad continues, his voice echoing a bit.
‘Hurry up, Walter,’ I hear my stepmum in the background.
My parents split up when I was really young and even though Dad stayed in our nice family home, I wanted to live with my mum. We lived in a tiny house, on the outskirts of Leeds – but to be honest, I was much happier living in a small house without warring parents than I was living in a big house trying to avoid their arguments. Mum met someone, a few years back, and moved to Connecticut to live with him and his family – and she really does seem so happy. Dad met someone else too – Beatrix – very soon after the split, and had another daughter with her, so I have a half-sister called Persephone who is my polar opposite in almost every way. Dad was a banker (although I’ve heard Mum pronounce it differently) but it was only after he and Mum split that he hit the big time at work (and rolling in it will always be the easiest way to get a new wife, especially a snooty one like Beatrix). Dad has been retired for a while now – he’s one of those already old-money men who got even more rich off the back of, I don’t know, stocks, and financial crashes. Basically, if you can’t afford a house right now, it’s probably because of something my dad did years ago.
I guess you could say, in this divorce, I’m the only one who didn’t land on her feet. In case you were wondering, no, the family wealth does not trickle down – not to me, at least. It’s more like it’s funnelled to his new family. Aside from offering to pay for our schooling (boarding school though, which I obviously declined as a kid), Dad and Beatrix very much believe that kids should not be bankrolled by their wealthy parents into adulthood. I would be surprised if they were funding Persephone’s Paris Hilton circa-2004 lifestyle but it doesn’t really matter because Persephone has a boyfriend who is happy to keep her in the lifestyle she’s accustomed to. How would I describe Chester’s level of wealth? Stinking rich, old money. The man plays polo with royals – that rich.
‘We have news,’ Dad continues. ‘You’re on speaker. I’ll let your sister tell you… Seph, lean in so Lana can hear you.’
Oh, wow, they’re all there.
‘Lana? Can you hear me?’ my sister says, her voice getting louder as she gets closer to the phone.
‘Yep, Seph, I can hear you,’ I reply. ‘So, you’re all in Australia, eh?’
‘Yep, the gang’s all here,’ she says – confirmation I’m not in ‘the gang’.
‘Are you out?’ Chester’s voice cuts in, and I can practically see the smug grin on his face. ‘Are you out partying, Lana?’
I grit my teeth.
‘No,’ I lie, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
I can see a group of lads in fancy dress approaching me, on their way to their next drinking spot, so I try to step out of their way.
‘I’m so wasted,’ a bloke dressed as a prisoner screams. He stops in his tracks as I catch his eye. ‘Hey, baby, you ever had a convict go down on you?’
He couldn’t have timed that any worse if he tried.
‘I’m watching TV,’ I tell my family, who you can bet heard that, as I wave the drunk man away.
‘You sound like you’re on to a promise there, girl,’ Chester chuckles.
I detest the way Chester talks to women, almost like we’re horses.
‘Anyway,’ Seph continues, clearly done with small talk, ‘we have news. We’re engaged!’
And just like that, the world stops turning again, but not in the fun, romantic way it did with Ethan. No, this is more like the kind of world-stopping where you’re not sure if you want to scream or cry or laugh hysterically.
It’s not that I begrudge my sister getting married, or that I’m jealous, and please don’t think I’m making this all about myself, but I’m terrified of what this means for me. My baby sister is getting married – she’s lapping me – and at this point it goes beyond how I feel about it, it’s more about how other people are going to make me feel about it, like it’s a competition and I’m losing… despite not actually competing. Then again, I might be wrong.
‘She’s speechless,’ Chester points out.
‘She’s jealous,’ Beatrix adds, with that perfect blend of condescension and faux concern that only she – my literal wicked stepmother – can pull off.
