And how had she lost control of this conversation? She was finding out nothing from Erin, she now had a new problem to worry about and tomorrow she was heading to France.
Erin bit into her muffin and smiled. ‘So, as Mum hasn’t been honest with you either, we should put that boring shit to one side and plan a little stop in Primani after here. I could do with one of those cropped puffa jackets, but furry – perfect-Paris-chic-meets-UK-drip.’
Orla didn’t know how to respond so she simply bit into her muffin too.
3
‘Thanks, Orla.’
Erin had said this through a mouthful of hot chips covered in vinegar that were currently makinghereyes water on the walk from the bus stop to the family home on the outskirts of Ruislip. Orla had had no plans to visit her parents tonight, but what Erin had said about their dad had worried her. There was no way she could leave for France without attempting to address it. And trying to get more information out of her sister had already cost her a furry puffa jacket, fake eyelashes, a Kylie Jenner lip kit and the chips…
‘Call it an early Christmas gift as I might not be here,’ Orla said, watching her breath dance in the cold of the winter air. There was still a chance she could be in and out of France in no time. If the mute man really had nothing to say and the reindeer had a premature birth. She needed to know how long reindeer were usually pregnant for… But where were the real guts to this story? At the moment it just sounded soThe One Showrather thanPlanet Earth. And it definitely didn’t sound like it was going to bethebreakthrough story she wanted to put on her résumé and email off toTimemagazine.
‘What, so, you haven’t got me any other presents?’
‘Erin!’
‘Just kidding. I know how disorganised you are. That and the fact you almost burst a kidney when I mentioned the turkey earlier.’ She laughed.
They arrived outside the house and it was in complete darkness, like no one was home. It wasn’t unusual. Both their parents were on the wear-three-jumpers-and-gloves-before-the-heating-gets-switched-on side of frugal and all unnecessary energy went off between May and October regardless of the layers concept. However, Christmas was different. That was when the lights were strung up outside and their mum did everything she could to make their home the festive showstopper of the street.
‘Where are all the lights?’ Orla asked Erin.
‘Oh,’ Erin said, biting into a chip. ‘She’ll be sat around some fragranced tealights that probably cost more than having the electric on. Helen has one of those parties every month and Mum feels compelled to buy something so no one thinks we’re poor.’
Were they poor? Were their parents struggling financially since their father took early retirement? The golden handshake was supposed to be weighty enough to see them to the grave even if they outdid the Queen’s ripe old age.
‘No, the Christmas lights,’ Orla clarified. ‘It’s December. They’re always up on the first of December no matter what day that falls on and no matter what the weather.’
‘Yeah, well, do you want Dad up a ladder when he’s pissed dangling from a winking snowman?’ Erin asked. She pushed open the gate. ‘Are you coming in?’
Orla didn’t really have time. There was still so much to do before her flight… like look into exactly what time the flight was and where she was actually going. But she stepped forward.
Erin stopped her. ‘A few things before we go in.Don’tmentionSky Sports.Domention Mum’s hair, but you have to say it looks nice when really it looks like someone plugged her into the National Grid. And if Dad’s in there just… let him sleep.’
Now her sister’s fierce outer coating was cracking just a little, like an iPhone screen protector – signs of destruction but still holding it together. Before Orla could make any reply, Erin strode towards the front door, chips in the crook of her elbow, key in the lock and turning.
The very first thing Orla noticed when she stepped into the hallway – apart from the darkness – was it was actually colderinsidethe house than on the street. She put a hand to the radiator – lukewarm at best, but at least it was on.
‘OK, well, good luck,’ Erin said, back to munching her chips and beginning to mount the stairs.
‘What?’ Orla said. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To my room. I’ve got people to speak to, to let them know I’m gonna be in Paris soon.’
Shit. She hadn’t actually clarified that she wasn’t going to Paris and that Erin was in no way able to come on this trip.
‘Erin, wait, listen?—’
‘I’ll message you later.’ The response was accompanied by Erin’s Nike Air Force trainers thumping up the stairs and then the door to her bedroom slamming shut.
‘Erin! What have I told you about slamming doors?’
Orla jumped as her mum, Dana, appeared in the hallway from the lounge. She wasn’t sure if it was in reaction to the shout or to the new hairstyle that did look like a poodle had been weaved with Russell Brand. Nice things, she had to say nice things…
‘Oh, Orla, what are you doing here?’ Her mum put a hand to her chest like Orla’s appearance was as crazy as someone turning up with a National Lottery winning cheque.
‘Your hair looks great,’ Orla said, a little too fast.
