The holiday was officially off to a great start.
CHAPTER THREE
‘Good morning, sunshine, up and at ’em!’
Suzanne might not believe in jet lag but I did. When I opened my eyes, I had no idea where I was or who was talking to me. Everything was too bright, too loud, and my mouth tasted like the furry grey insides of that cup of tea I’d put down in the spare room when the postman rang the doorbell then found three weeks later.
‘Did you fall asleep on the couch again?’ a peppy voice called. ‘Suzie, we’ve talked about this!’
I had indeed slept on the couch. Suzanne’s couch? I was in Suzanne’s house! And so was this complete stranger who had let themselves in without knocking. Frantically, I searched for a weapon and grabbed the empty wine bottle I’d finished off the night before. I prepared to strike, paused, and swapped the bottle for a massive paperweight from the side table. I didn’t want them to think I was a lush. No one liked a judgemental burglar.
‘Even if it’s a late night, you have got to go to bed. It sets your intention and— Intruder! Intruder alert!’
A tiny brunette decked out in royal blue athleisurewear appeared across the room, took one look at me and leapt into a defensive pose, producing a shiny silver canister from the hot-pink bag she had slung across her body. In my panic, I leapt off the settee, crashed into the coffee table and ended up face down on the rug, my weapon spinning away across the living room floor.
‘Hands where I can see them, scumbag!’ she yelled. ‘I’m armed and I’m not afraid to use it! What have you done with Suzanne?’
‘I haven’t done anything with Suzanne!’ I wailed, my face buried in the shag pile. It was actually quite difficult to put your hands in the air when you were lying on your stomach. I hoped she wouldn’t be too upset that I’d only managed to lift them up three inches and, I don’t know, shoot me. ‘I’m her sister, Phoebe, I’m visiting from England. I’m Phoebe visiting from England!’
Turning my head was no easier than raising my arms but I managed to contort myself just enough to see her shrug, relax her karate stance and slip the silver canister back inside her bag. Her fancy trainers moved towards me and stopped right in front of my nose as my heart rate stuttered back down to something that wouldn’t require medical assistance.
‘I can’t believe I almost maced you,’ she said, smiling as she held out a hand to help me up. ‘Nice to meet you, Phoebe from England. I’m Bel.’
My knees creaked with slept-on-the-sofa distress and as I pulled myself up to my full five feet five inches, I saw the full glory of my assailant for the first time. She was completely gorgeous. Her hair was long and dark, falling over her shoulders in glossy, undone waves, andthick sooty lashes framed the huge brown eyes that dominated her heart-shaped face, leaving enough room for her adorable snub nose and glorious smile. Her sports bra and leggings clung to her slender frame like a second skin. Was everyone in LA this beautiful? Everything about Bel was sparkling, shiny and box fresh, from her baby-pink trainers to her crossbody bag. The only box I looked fresh out of was a coffin. I looked down at my jeans and T-shirt, also clinging to the curves of my body but more like they were holding on for dear life. Not so much a second skin as actual skin, they were part of me now.
‘Nice to meet you too,’ I said eventually.
It was a lie. It was not nice to meet her. Her unexpected entrance had taken at least ten years off my life but I was far too English to tell the truth.
‘This might be a silly question,’ I said, discreetly wiping my face to make sure I hadn’t drooled on myself in my sleep. I had. ‘But what are you doing in my sister’s house?’
She cocked her head to one side, planting tiny fists on her narrow waist like a Gen Z Peter Pan.
‘I’m Bel Johnson? I’m her trainer?’
A question and an answer all at once.
‘Suzanne has a trainer?’ I repeated, blinking as I worked through my confusion. ‘As in a personal trainer? Who makes her do exercise?’
It simply wasn’t possible. Of all the random things my sister might have done since moving to America, hiring a trainer was the least believable. Suzanne hated exercise so much, when she was fourteen, she stole a notepad from the doctor’s surgery and used it to get outof PE for the following two years. And now I was supposed to believe that same person was paying another human being to make her exercise? By choice?
‘We have HIIT drills this morning,’ Bel replied, checking the time on the huge smart watch that overwhelmed her slender wrist. ‘Is she ready? She knows it’s ten extra push-ups for every minute she keeps me waiting.’
Extrapush-ups? As in there was already a designated number of push-ups to be completed?
‘She’s in Seattle,’ I told her, my own over-cooked spaghetti arms flopping helplessly at my sides. ‘She left last night.’
When she laughed, I half expected a flurry of bluebirds to flock through the patio doors to perch on her shoulders. It was the sweetest, most perfect sound I had ever heard, including but not limited to Harry Styles’ entire back catalogue, both solo and with One Direction.
‘I can’t believe she took off without cancelling me,’ she replied, shaking her pretty little head. ‘Although it was bound to happen eventually, right? Can’t keep that woman in one place for long, always on the move, zoom, zoom, zoom.’ She danced around the low marble coffee table and launched herself onto the overstuffed settee. ‘I guess I’m getting the morning off.’
Even though every cell in my body told me I shouldn’t like this cheerful, confident, exercise-inclined woman, I couldn’t stop myself from returning her smile when she beamed at me across the coffee table. As a general rule, I shied away from women like her, the glossy, put-together ones, the girls who knew how to curl their hair with a straightening iron and had a personalized, pre-set filter for their social media posts. They alwaysmade me feel anxious, less than. But despite the fact Bel had the definite look of someone who would ask you your sun, moon and rising sign within the first five minutes of meeting you, she also seemed kind, the type who would top off your wine without being asked then put a curse on your ex-boyfriend.
‘So, you’re Suzanne’s sister,’ she said. She sat up, stacking her lithe legs underneath her in a perfect lotus pose. ‘How are you liking LA? Are you having fun? What did y’all do? Did she take you out for tacos yet? I bet she took you to Guisados, Suzie loves Guisados. Did you get the sampler? Which one was your favourite?’
I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, trying to work out which one to answer first. ‘No?’
‘No what?’
