‘What time is it?’
Erin’s voice made Orla jump and her phone dropped to the wooden floorboards. She couldn’t afford for her phone to be broken! They had sparse enough means of communication as it was without losing the scrap theydidhave. ‘I don’t know. I…’
She picked up her phone, thankfully unscathed, and looked at the time on the screen. ‘It’s almost eight o’clock.’
‘Are you sure?’ Erin asked, as if the question was life defining.
‘That’s what my phone says.’
‘Yes, but is it on French time or English time?’ She was out of bed now, her phone in her hand.
That was a good point. Did these things update automatically?
‘I don’t know.’
‘And how many hours ahead is France from England? Or is it behind?’
‘One,’ Orla replied confidently. ‘One hour ahead.’
‘Oh, that’s the same as… aww, itmustbe nine o’clock there because I’ve got my morning photo.’
Orla watched the biggest smile take over her sister’s face as she gazed at the screen of her phone all bed hair and big eyes. Her sister was in another world, or perhaps just another country, very much oblivious to anything in this room, including the cold. Orla shivered as she looked at Erin’s tiny bed shorts, inappropriate given the fact that the small heater-cum-air-conditioning unit mounted above the window was only giving out a breath of raised temperature.
‘He’s eating avocado again,’ Erin continued, eyes still on her screen. ‘He has an avocado obsession. He’s always using the emoji too.’
Orla made a mental note to google what using the avocado emoji in messaging meant. There was always a double meaning. You thought your talking-stage guy was being cute and really he was telling you deeper stuff about himself – or you – than you could ever imagine. She had shivered when she found out the taco emoji wasn’t an invitation to the Mexican restaurant…
‘Can I see?’ Orla asked, stepping closer.
‘Ugh! No!’ Erin exclaimed in horror, hugging the phone to her chest. ‘Why would I let you see a photo of my guy half-naked.’
‘Half-naked?!’
‘OK, Mum, calm down. He’s wearing what he wears to bed. Like, Lacoste trunks.’
And did Erin share similar photos with Burim? Snaps of what she wears to bed? These small barely-there shorts? Less than that? But Orla had to play it cool…
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Well, maybe when he shares a photo and he’s dressed, I could… you know… see what he looks like.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it would be nice to see the guy who’s messaging you every minute and… making you smile.’
‘He does make me smile,’ Erin replied with more smiles.
The expression on her sister’s face now was so like the little girl who used to make salt and vinegar crisp sandwiches for her Barbie doll parties. It was different to the pouty moody expression she seemed to wear on all her social media posts lately. But was that a good or a bad thing? Henry’s messages had madeherlook like that. Henry had talked about actually meeting. Who said that if they didn’t mean it?
‘And he’s so fine,’ Erin said, fingers tapping on her phone, the noise of acrylic nails on screen protector sounding like an old-fashioned typewriter.
Before Orla could make any response there was a brief knock on the door before it opened wide and there was Delphine, bustling in without waiting for an invitation.
‘Bien! You are awake!’ Delphine announced.
‘And not dressed!’ Erin exclaimed, making a dive back for the sanctuary of the blanket layers.
‘Breakfast is downstairs in the café,’ Delphine said, picking up the remote for the climate control and pointing it at the machine. ‘Your table is the one with the winter irises in the centre. Would you like tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee,’ Erin said quickly.
