‘Where’ve you been?’ Mum said, going over and rearranging her hair a bit. It fell just below her jaw bone. Made her look androgynous, which Rory liked.
Rory wanted it cut higher but she didn’t think she had the bone structure for it. She still had a roundish face, what her mother lovingly called the curve of the teenager.
Rory wanted to be done with the whole teenager thing. Damn the curve of it. She wanted hollowed cheeks and an interesting face, plus short hair and a go-fuck-yourself expression, like Eden could manage.
Eden could look hard as nails despite the long-haired, pretty thing she had going on. Rory wished she knew how Eden did it. A certain narrowing of the eyes, a sense that Eden would strike when you weren’t expecting it. Rory would never admit to anyone but she’d totally copied it in school for the protection of her crew. She had a reputation for being fearless. She wasn’t fearless, precisely, but she couldn’t bear injustice and bullying. Like the grief poor Artie used to get. That made anger bubble up inside her.
Lots of things did, actually.
She wondered what was wrong with her – thinking about stuff made her angry. She had entire conversations with herself where she told people exactly what she thought of them. Was that normal? Did anyone else’s inner voice go off on flights of fantasy? Was that the writer in her? The conversations that started out one way and grew into stories of how she’d narrate what was going on around her.
‘I do wish you’d let your hair grow a bit, darling,’ her mother said. ‘It looks beautiful just a little longer. Not because I want you to look more feminine, obviously, just because it would be beautiful. Beauty comes in all guises.’
‘I know, Mum,’ said Rory, leaning against her mother and feeling grateful for the love.
Mum was amazing and really did her best even if she was always putting her hetero foot in it. Mum was so behind Rory and everything gay that it was a miracle she hadn’t had the whole hotel painted in the PRIDE rainbow.
Rory appreciated it but it was typical of her mother – over the top. Rory was a lesbian, not a cause that would involve the whole family, all of Eboli Road and the Sorrento Hotel.
Rory could imagine it now: ‘The Sorrento Hotel – we’ve got free Wi-Fi, four-posters in some of the rooms, all mod cons, and we’re one hundred per cent LGBTQ+-friendly.’
Cringe. She closed her eyes and wished there was no photograph. She wished she could sit with her mother and maybe Savannah and watch something on TV, something old fashioned like they used to watch and be happy. OrFriends. She lovedFriends. It was calming, warm.
‘Come on, everyone, I’m ready for you,’ said Steve.
Rory turned and scowled at him. Normally, she liked Steve, he was sweet, but then, thinking about when she’d been eleven and how Indy had upset her made her cross with him and Indy. Emotions really didn’t make any sense, did they?
‘Have you got your necklaces on?’ Steve said to everyone.
But he was really directing this at Rory, who was only into necklaces if they were leather thongs with shark teeth on them. The four gold necklaces, each with a different crystal or stone had been given to the girls when they were babies.
‘Yes,’ said Rory, reaching up to finger hers. It was a peridot, a dangerous green. She quite liked it. The others were all different, that was part of their charm. Indy’s was a turquoise, which went perfectly with her hippie-girl look. The twins had different ones. Eden’s was a citrine, while Savannah had an opal, which suited her: it was cloudy and hard to pin down what colour it really was, which suited Savannah to a tee. Savannah was a sensitive soul, easily swayed by other people, anxious.
‘You have boundary issues,’ Eden had told her once. ‘And you don’t,’ she’d added to Rory, who was listening in.
‘Thank you, Dr Robicheaux,’ Rory had replied tartly. ‘Are you handing out medication today?’
‘No, I only psychoanalyse people,’ Eden said. ‘You have to deal with your own crazy.’
‘OK, everyone, in place,’ said Steve.
Rory went and joined her sisters. She was glad she was far away from Indy. Glad that Dad, who had been there last year for the photo, didn’t appear to be around. Probably off with Ferdie, either in the pub or the bookies. Mum smiled at them all benignly.
‘You look beautiful,’ she said.
Poor Mum, thought Rory suddenly. Poor Mum, it wasn’t fair, was it? Dad was off spending money or getting happily merry and Mum was here running the whole show, as usual. Rory wanted to tell her everything but how could she?
9
Wednesday
The Platts had a birth plan.
‘There’s music, candles, separate Swiss balls for both of them—’ Andrea, Indy’s partner in crime and the midwife who worked on the ante-natal care part of booking women in for either hospital or home births, had explained a few weeks before.
‘Lovely,’ said Indy, scanning the notes at the time.
‘No bright lights,’ added Andrea.
