‘Of course you do,’ Orla said sighing. ‘But, Erin, it might not be that…’ She stopped herself continuing.
‘What?’
‘I just worry that, you know, with internet relationships, there’s usually one person who is more invested than the other.’
‘And you think that’s me?’
‘Well, I know how enthusiastic you get with things.’
Erin’s mouth turned into a firm line before she said the next words. ‘You just called me obsessive.’
‘No,’ Orla said. ‘Not at all. But guys can be very… expressive. And they can paint a lovely picture of all the things you’d like to see in your future and, you know, you might not be the only girl they’re painting the picture for. When you meet someone in real life it’s different.’ She swallowed. If that’s how shereallyfelt why did she always fall into these Instagram situationships where she never met anyone in person? And the sad fact was, the people she had so far met in real life and had relations with had lasted less time than any of the online-based guys. She had known a lot less about someone she’d actually swapped bodily fluids with than the men in her DMs.
‘Oh!’ Erin said, almost vaulting off the bed to stand. ‘Oh, it’s different, is it? You don’t think a liar can lie as well when he’s looking at you over a box of Chicken Selects as he can when he’s talking with his thumbs?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say?—’
‘I know more about Burim than I know about anyone. I know what brand of toothpaste he likes, I know how many cousins he has and all their names, I know that on Tuesdays he always eats pizza and on Thursday nights he does boxing. I know that because he tells me everything and he asks everything about me too. Why isn’t that real just because we haven’t met in person yet?’
‘Erin, I wasn’t saying that?—’
‘I don’t want to talk any more,’ Erin said firmly. ‘And I’m going to get changed in the bathroom.’
‘Erin.’
Orla’s last attempt to not end the conversation was met with the slamming of the door of the en suite. It seemed that she was getting everything wrong in all aspects of her life at the moment. Rolling towards the edge of the bed, she got up too and made herway to the window. Looking out at the snow scene, so soft and pristine, yet also so incredibly hard and stark, it was a bit like a reminder of life and all its layers. And it seemed like she was the one always in charge of peeling them away or sticking them back into place…
Suddenly a light went on and Orla could see the other ‘wing’ of the wooden house. It was a bedroom, not unlike this one, large bed, neutral furnishings, and… then Hunter appeared. Was this Jacques’s bedroom? Before Orla could make a decision to step away or close the curtains, Jacques was there in the room… wearing only a pair of low-rise trunks. She swallowed, watching him put on a pair of glasses, stroke Hunter before the dog curled up on a pet bed in the corner of the room and then pluck a book from a stack on the nightstand… Hedidhave books. He was a reader. There was something about a man who read that she had always found attractive. She watched him sit on the edge of the bed, honed abs on full display, already apparently fully invested in his reading as she did a further reconnaissance of his body. She swallowed as she remembered what had happened in the kitchen. He’d apologised, she had got upset about her parents and then suddenly she was spread out on the kitchen table while he performed some ear voodoo. Except the overwhelming recollection was the way it had felt to have someone that close to her again. Someone appealing, in a physical sense at least, because his stubbornness was not attractive in the slightest and he wasn’t making her assignment here super easy. Someone so close in her personal space that she had been able to feel his breath on her chest…
And then she bolted from her position and grabbed at the curtains, pulling them closed. Because while she had been letting her mind wander, Jacques had looked up from his book and stared straight at her.
21
‘Tommy, don’t touch it. It’s broken. You know it’s broken.’
‘Right, so that’s what you and Orla were doing last night in the kitchen? Trying to make it work?’
Jacques appreciated his brother’s eyebrow raise less than he appreciated the fact Tommy was preparing to start the coffee machine again. He was really going to have to get it out of the kitchen once and for all. Why was he holding on to it? Yes, he might have told Orla one reason but the truth was because it had been Katie’s.
‘You have the wrong idea,’ Jacques said, getting two mugs out of the cupboard and setting them aside.
‘About the machine? Or about Orla?’
‘Both.’
‘Yeah,’ Tommy said. ‘Not sure I believe you on either count. You were up at 5a.m. and you’ve already chopped logs this morning.’
‘It’s called a routine,’ Jacques answered. ‘Some of us have them.’
‘Is that right, Hunter? Or is he lying to us both? Hey?’
Jacques shook his head as Tommy began to fuss over Hunter until the dog was whipped up into a frenzy and began spinning around in a circle chasing the tea towel Tommy was swinging in front of him. He hadn’t slept particularly well and as soon as the smart home monitor told him the outside temperature was warmer than it had been in the past couple of weeks, he had gone out for a run.
‘Good morning.Bonjourand all that,’ Erin greeted, sashaying into the kitchen and heading straight for the coffee machine.
‘Bonjour, ma chérie,’ Tommy replied, standing up straight and putting the tea towel down on the worktop.
‘Did you call me a cherry?’ Erin exclaimed. ‘Because that’s pretty presumptuous and also none of your business.’
