‘I’m sure she didn’t,’ Suzanne commented with a smutty smile on her face. ‘Probably too shagged out.’
My stomach lurched and I had to press a hand over my mouth to make sure its contents stayed where they were.
‘They were both insanely awkward all night and it was their third date. Ren could hardly look at her, he was probably so nervous.’ She dumped a bag of bananas into the trolley in triumph, thrilled with her own powersof deduction. Sherlock Holmes, Jessica Fletcher and the man whose name I couldn’t remember fromDiagnosis Murder, beware. ‘They could not get away from us fast enough. Think about it.’
‘I’d rather not,’ I replied, grabbing a bottle of red wine off the shelf and placing it in the trolley. What kind of supermarket stocked the wine next to the fruit and veg? A genius supermarket, that was what kind. Suzanne automatically picked it up to put it back before scanning the label and returning it to the trolley with a soft grunt of approval.
‘The first time with anyone is always weird, even if you’re head over heels,’ she added. ‘You were being weird as well though – anything you want to tell me?’
‘You know me, I’m always weird.’
I squinted at a woman in jogging bottoms and a giant Garfield sweater who looked an awful lot like the mum fromTwilight. It was only when she passed us I realized that was because itwasthe mum fromTwilight.
‘Well, that’s true enough,’ she said. ‘I suppose I should be glad it’s going well. If things had gone badly and I had to wait until cover of darkness to roll the bins out for the rest of my life, you’d have been on my shit list forever.’
‘Very pleased it’s all worked out so nicely for you,’ I told her as I rested my belly against the pushbar of the trolley and scooted along, allowing my feet to drag along on the floor. Supermarket trolleys always brought out the toddler in me, no matter what kind of mood I was in. I was simply powerless against them.
‘Remind me, how exactly did you help them get together?’ she asked, slapping me around the back of the head and taking control of the trolley.
‘What are you talking about?’ I grabbed a carton of milk out of a massive fridge and waved it in my sister’s face. ‘Can you even believe the price of milk here? Six dollars for one little carton? That’s like paying a fiver for a pint. It’s daylight robbery, Suze, you’re going to have to move home.’
She reached past me for two bottles of oat milk, narrowing her eyes with suspicion. ‘You said you were helping her seduce my neighbour and that he was the love of her life. How did you help exactly?’
‘Nothing really. Bit of research, a few conversation pointers.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Phoebe.’
I gazed into the dairy fridge until the words ‘fat-free vanilla almond milk’ lost all meaning.
‘I may have also helped her write Ren a love letter,’ I said eventually. ‘Ooh, pea milk? Have you tried this? Is it good?’
‘You helped her write a love letter.’ Suzanne looked less than impressed. ‘What are you, fourteen?’
‘It was very romantic, and Ren loved it.’
‘Why do I feel like there’s a “but” coming?’ she asked.
‘Because you’re a smug know-it-all?’
She smirked as she opened the fridge to select her yoghurts. Imagine hearing that and thinking it was a compliment.
‘But,’ I added with very necessary emphasis. ‘There’s a slight, extremely slight, possibility that Ren was expecting Bel to be a bit more like someone who might write a very romantic love letter rather thansomeone who might send you a voice note while she’s on the toilet.’
‘She does like to do that.’ She stopped for a moment, a giant tub of fat-free, lactose-free, flavour-free joy-free Greek yoghurt in her hand. ‘Hang on, did you help her write the letter or did you write the entire thing yourself?’
My face crumpled into a pained expression as I slumped over the handle of the trolley. ‘I was only trying to help!’ I wailed. ‘I like Bel so much and she didn’t know how to start the conversation so I tried to help but the more I got to know Ren, the more complicated it got because he’s so clever and funny and genuine and kind and—’
‘Oh my God,’ Suzanne shouted, so loud a purple-haired teenager trying to shoplift a bag of peanut butter cups dropped them on the floor and ran straight for the exit. ‘You love Ren!’
I panicked, shaking my hands in front of me as though there were no paper towels in the public loos.
‘I do not love Ren. Do I think he’s handsome and interesting, yes. Do I think about him a lot? More or less all the time. Have I woken up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night because I was dreaming about him doing things to me I will not describe to my sister in the middle of the supermarket? Of course, who hasn’t? But that doesn’t mean I love him.’
‘You literally just described being in love with someone.’ She planted her hands on her hips, despairing of me as usual. ‘Oh Pheebs, you do love him.’
