‘I don’t believe the window story by the way,’ Erin remarked, scrolling on her phone.
‘What?’
‘Delphine’s double-glazing situation,’ Erin said like she was explaining to a toddler. ‘It’s all bullshit. Like the reindeer.’
Orla was getting to the point where the word ‘reindeer’ was feeling like a code word for an ex or a new Class A drug.
‘I need to come up with a plan,’ she said, a yawn escaping her lips.
‘What sort of plan?’ Erin asked, curling up her legs and doing a body roll towards Orla.
‘One that’s going to get me a proper story to give to my boss whether it involves reindeer or not. Because as soon as I do that, the sooner we can get out of here.’
‘But… we’ve only really just got here,’ Erin said. ‘And now we’re at this much better place with Wi-Fi that actually works and this much bigger, better bed and?—’
‘And you know this isn’t a holiday, Erin,’ Orla interrupted. ‘It’s my work. And you aren’t actually meant to be here.’
‘Wow, OK.’
Orla hadn’t meant it to come out so harsh. Her little sister had enough going on in her life without her being snappy with her. Even if this wasn’t a holiday, what she had waiting for her when she got back to England was their parents in crisis.
‘Sorry,’ Orla apologised. ‘I didn’t mean that. I told you, I’m just tired, that’s all.’ She tipped herself backwards, aligned her head so she was face to face with Erin. ‘What do you think to Jacques’s brother?’
‘Tommy?’ Erin said, as if there were a line-up of brothers to choose from.
‘Yes, I mean, he’s your type, isn’t he?’
‘No.’
‘But he has, you know, the fluffy hair you like.’
‘Used to like. When I was like thirteen. Anyway, I have Burim now.’
‘But, Burim, he’s in Morocco.’
‘What?’
‘Burim lives in Morocco, right?’
Erin suddenly sat up. ‘Why do you think that?’
‘Because Mum said he’s Moroccan.’
‘I knew she didn’t listen to me,’ Erin said, sounding annoyed. ‘I told her about Burim once. I didn’t want to, not really, but I thought, I don’t know, share something with my family. And she doesn’t even remember anything I said!’
Orla sat up too. ‘But, if he isn’t Moroccan then?—’
‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’ Erin thumped the pillow. ‘I don’t know why it matters what nationality he is. He likes me. That should be enough. Unless I’m so utterly unlovable that my family can’t comprehend that someone fit like him would be into me.’
‘No, Erin, it’s not that! Of course it’s not that! You’re so beautiful, inside and out. Mum’s just Mum and she worries and wherever Burim is in the world he’s so far away and?—’
‘So she would rather I smashed one of the local goblins who hang outside H&M vaping and sending a constant mist of tropical fruits into the air?’
‘I don’t think anyone said anything about smashing.’
She swallowed. Was Erin thinking about sex? She was sixteen. Of course she was thinking about that. And suddenly Orla felt completely out of her depth. What advice could she impart when her last in-person intimate encounter was with someone dressed as a convict at a Halloween party in Berlin whose name she hadn’t even asked…
‘Well, Burim and I have talked about it and we both want to do it. We talk about it all the time actually.’
