‘Right, this is Meg.’ Cormac wiggles his eyebrows dramatically. ‘Who I told you about.’
Ah, fuck.Of course it is.
Meg extends her hand. Her short nails are painted different colours. ‘Nice to meet you, Michael.’
Am I meant to shake her hand? I do so, clumsily. ‘Um, yeah. You too.’ I force the words out through a suddenly dry mouth.
‘Sit down, would you?’ says Cormac, grinning widely.
His eyebrows bounce as I take the empty seat by Meg. She’s wearing a black floral dress, fishnets and red Converse, and the sunlight glints off a delicate silver acorn necklace. As she scans me, dark eyes unblinking, I feel like I’m going through the security check at the airport.
‘Meg’s an artist, Michael.’ He shifts his gaze to Meg, jerking his head in my direction. ‘He does that too, drawing and photos and writing and that. Don’t you?’
I nod.
‘Meg moved here just a few years ago, so you won’t have met her before. Michael used to visit all the time when we were kids. Didn’t you?’
I nod again.
Cormac is tilting his head back and forth between me and Meg like a demonic matchmaking cuckoo clock.
I clear my throat. ‘Yeah, we moved today.’
Meg drums her nails on her mug. ‘Well, nice to meet you properly after our little encounter in the kitchen.’
Cormac’s mouth drops. ‘Woo, is that so? Well, here, I’m gonna get some drinks. Same again, Michael?’
‘Sure.’
‘Another… Is that actually tea you’re drinking, Meg?’
Meg hands him her mug. ‘Lemon and ginger, please.’
‘Coming right up, madam.’ Cormac throws me a wink that makes my toes curl so hard they might crack as he disappears into the house.
We sit in silence. I try to tune in on the conversations happening around us, but Meg is impossible to ignore. I can feel her studying me.
‘Sorry about Cormac. He—’
‘Has the subtlety of a drunk baby?’ says Meg.
I snort. ‘Yeah.’ I unclench my hands. ‘He means well.’
Meg smiles. ‘He’s been talking about you for weeks. He’s really excited you’re here.’
A warmth spreads across my chest. ‘Really? Cormac?’
‘Non-stop. He really cares about you. You’re his cool, arty cousin that lives in London.’
I shrug. ‘Well, I don’t know about that.’
‘It’s true. Although I guess you’re now his cool, arty cousin that lives in his bedroom.’
‘On an air mattress.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously!’
