LONDON GATWICK AIRPORT, UK
‘So, what do we think? Black Opium? Or Good Girl?’
Orla was wondering if she was actually awake, or if all of this was some crazy nightmare she was going to be aroused from by her neighbour’s Take That addiction that began through the walls at 6.30a.m. every weekday. Surely she hadn’t got up at 2a.m. Definitely she could not have last night somehow agreed to take Erin with her so their mum and dad could have crisis talks. Absolutely she can’t possibly have got Frances to sign off on a second seat on the plane. But the reality was, Erin was here. Currently waving tester perfume strips in front of her nose.
‘I… don’t know,’ was the only reply Orla could muster. She really needed coffee, but she also knew if she mentioned that out loud, Erin was going to want Starbucks and in Erin’s world, a simple Americano was not enough and every coffee had to be infused with syrup, chocolate, every seasonal flavouring the brand had to offer and very possibly edible glitter if it was an option. Suddenly two coffees were adding up to the price of a moderately generous festive gift for a loved one…
‘Ugh! You’re no good! What time is it?’ Erin asked, grabbing another perfume bottle and a third stick.
‘A-quarter-to-I-don’t-know-what-the-hell-I’m-doing?’ She couldn’t believe she had said that out loud.
‘That was almost funny,’ Erin replied. ‘I like 3.30a.m. Orla. Except she can’t make a perfume decision.’ She sighed. ‘And it’s like only five-thirty with Burim so I can’t ask him either. And he wouldn’t be able to smell them so he would judge it on the designer logos or just choose the most expensive.’
Now Orla’s head was thumping, full of noise and energy and random snippets from the very sparse information she had about this upcoming trip that her mother now thought was her golden ticket to her dream job, a penthouse in Manhattan and Michelle Obama on speed-dial…
They were flying into Grenoble and being met by a driver who would take them to a village called Saint-Chambéry. It was so small it warranted only the faintest dot on the map. What wasn’t absent were the lines that indicated mountain terrain and the dense patches of forest. It looked almost as remote as it got. Not that Orla had an aversion to remote. She had visited many challenging locations in her role as ‘animals and anthropology’ at the magazine, from a lighthouse in the middle of the ocean – home to a family who had never once left their cylindrical nest – to bedding down with beavers in Alaska. Since she had joined the publication, website hits on her articles were second only to the celebrity news pages and she reallyreallywanted that number-one spot. Not easy in a world where gossip and fame were currently king. But if her articles could be the magazine’s most popular content surely it had to lead to bigger things. And then she wouldn’t have to maintain a half-truth just because her mother needed something to be enthused by while she fought her way through tough times, both emotionally and financially.
‘Maybe I should get them both,’ Erin said. ‘And this one for Burim.’ She was holding a silver bottle now that was shaped like a robot.
Financial tough times did not equate with spending a fortune on perfumes, even the airport discounted ones. And where was Erin getting her money from when she wasn’t hacking into Orla’s PayPal?
‘Let’s put them back and… get a Starbucks,’ Orla suggested.
‘Really!’ Erin said excitedly, scrambling to place the perfume bottles back and almost knocking a stack of Dior off in the process. ‘I didn’t ask because we had coffee yesterday and I know you get a bit overwhelmed by all the options.’
Overwhelmed by how much the options cost really. But less than three bottles of designer perfume hopefully – unless Sir Keir Starmer had unleashed more cost-of-living hell she was oblivious to.
‘Hey,’ Orla said, nudging her sister’s arm. ‘I’m not a hundred like Mum.’
Minutes later Orla watched Erin suck at a hearty-something-cold-ending-in-‘cino’ while she nursed a plain-but-very-nice-and-badly-needed Americano.
‘So, tell me about where we’re going,’ Erin said, straw leaving her mouth, thin layer of cream on her overlined lips that she had redone in the toilets when they’d arrived here. ‘How many nightclubs? Cool places to be seen that I can Insta and make Tania and Danica jealous of?’
She had forgotten that Erin knew even less about this trip than she did now. Her sister, however, did know that they weren’t heading to Paris. But how was she going to cope with rural-perhaps-bordering-on-wilderness?
‘I mean, it’s France, isn’t it? Home of Mbappe and, mmm all the good chocolate and mmm Chanel.’
Or perhaps Erin didn’t need to know exactly how far away from civilisation they were going to be just yet. And it could just be that it was exactly what her sister needed. Maybe therewouldn’t even be constant 4G. It could be time to reset, spend days without connecting with anything but the environment.
‘It’s going to be an adventure,’ Orla assured her.
‘And I’m not going to have to… you know… rub myself with mud to make the local wildlife accept me as one of their own?’
She hadn’t actually told Erin about that. That was something she had done in Namibia with warthogs. It meant…
‘You read my article,’ Orla said, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. ‘About the warthogs.’
‘Calm down,’ Erin answered, rolling her eyes. ‘I might give your articles a quick skim after I’ve read about what the latest past season Love Islander has got up to.’
Ugh.Afterthe celebrity gossip not before. Still, Erin showing interest in something other than fashion, brands and guys with tattoos was a good thing.
‘What did you think?’ Orla asked, sipping her coffee.
‘That you’re mental. That there’s no way I’d cover myself in mud for anyone.’ She sucked at her drink. ‘But that when you’re out there doing that weird stuff I think you’re really sick.’
Orla smiled at the high praise.
‘You know I don’t mean ill, right? Sick as in?—’
