I looked down at my suit – going home to get changed hadn’t been part of the plan – and my tie only slightly loosened. “Somehow, kid, I don’t think someone who wears a suit like this goes around with a broken phone.” I looked at his mother. “He,” I pointed to the kid, “owes me a new screen. How do you suggest he pays his debt, because this isn’t your fault?”
The kid looked pale. “You can’t make me do that.”
He was right. I probably couldn’t. But he really did need to learn not to be dick sooner rather than later.
“I’m a lawyer. Try me.”
“You don’t even know who I am.”
I looked at his mother who was starting to smile. “His name’s Ralphie Bradfield. We live in Greenwich. And he absolutely will pay you back.” She gave me the rest of his address while he stood there horrified. “He’s my little brother and has no idea how to behave.”
“Justine!” He dragged out every one of her vowels. “What you saying that for?”
She smiled and pulled out a receipt and a pen from her handbag, scrawling down her number. “I appreciate any lesson you want to give – either of us.”
I forced a smile and felt my skin crawl at the same time as wanting to hide under a rock.
Being hit on used to be a cause for celebration. Now it was just a curse, one that was the first thing my siblings and other partners at our law firm mentioned. Never that I did well on a case, or earned mention in a law journal, or that my figures were the highest out of everyone over the last three months. No, it was always about what girl had said what to me or someone turning up at reception asking if I was free. And that was just the tip of what was a very big, greasy, dirty iceberg.
Ninety minutes later I had a new phone – one of the perks of earning a decent salary – and I was sitting in a café bar with a bottle of beer with no idea where my twin actually was. She hadn’t answered my call or sent a message, so I could only assume that she’d been kidnapped and dropped off somewhere as soon as she opened her mouth.
The family group message had been very active. I braced myself as I opened it, knowing full well that there would be endless speculation as to why I wasn’t responding.
Marie:What time should I be expecting you all? I need to make sure your father and I are decent before you get here.
Maxwell:And by decent, you mean dressed in jeans and jumpers and not sweatpants, don’t you?
Marie:I meant behaving in a way becoming of parents/grandparents. We’re used to having the place to ourselves and don’t have to consider being… discreet.
Jackson:Bleach my brain. I’m never sitting on any surface in that house again.
Ava:You just gotta hope that when you reach that grand old age, you’re still able to do it, Jacks.
Marie:What do you mean – grand old age? We’re not over the hill yet.
Callum:Did you buy Dad a supply of little blue pills as an early Christmas present?
Maxwell:Aren’t you in Marrakesh, Cal? And that is another image I don’t need.
Jackson:Bleach my brain, again.
Callum:They do have internet in Marrakesh, surprisingly. Our flight has been put back by a few hours and we’re going to stop at Wren’s mum’s first, so we’ll be there late Christmas day.
Marie:Can’t you bring your flight forward?
Callum:No can do. We’d have to fly today and we still haven’t finished inoculating. It’s been a bigger project than we thought. Now, back to the blue pills.
Marie:Your father doesn’t need any blue pills. *sniggers*
Ava:Mum, stop trying to be trendy with your messages. Claire, what size clothes does Eliza take now?
Marie:Are you still shopping for presents, Ava Marie? You’re cutting it fine!
Callum:Even my presents are bought and wrapped. Tut tit.
Callum:I meant tut tut. Not tit.
Ava:Wren did say you were obsessed with tits. And your presents are only bought and wrapped because Wren did it before you went away. Speaking of last-minute present buying, has anyone heard from Seph and Payton? They were shopping.
