‘Maybe you should come home more often, then.’ There’s no accusation in his tone and I can almost hear the smile in his words. ‘And talkin’ of changing, last time we hung out,’ he says, pushing me back, one hand curled around my shoulder. ‘You had blue hair.’
I feel my hand self-consciously at my head. Although the blue went a long time ago, I’m still getting used to short hair. ‘Has it really been that long?’
‘What, since you abandoned us?’ His eyes crinkle ever so slightly in the corners, his hand uncurling from my shoulder to rub a darkly bristled chin. ‘Well, now, Ivy was going through her Twilight phase, hoping the sparkly one would ditch the one wi’ the resting bitch face—’
‘You take that back!’
‘And you wore converse and ripped jeans, not designer denim and Gucci running shoes.’ His eyes travel the length of me, appreciatively. Okay, so I’m not really dressed for cleaning, but a girl has her standards, only mine are a little further from the pole than Nat’s.
‘Ah. Now I see. Ivy said you’d gone gay,’ I say, swatting his chest. The Mac I know would barely know the difference between a muumuu and jeans in general, let alone be able to correctly label designer wear.
‘You know better than to believe that doaty wee minx,’ he says, shooting his sibling a glare.
‘Shut it, bawbag,’ Ivy fires back, slipping back into the vernacular, though her accent was always much milder than his.
‘You’re jealous of my good looks. Just ‘cos you’ve got a face that’d make an onion cry.’
‘Kids, settle down,’ I interrupt with a smile I can’t hide. ‘It’s great to see some things don’t change.’
‘Besides, Fin here knows that’s not true,’ he says, pulling my body into his and draping an arm over my shoulder. ‘Right, hen?’ His chuckle echoes through his chest, warm and masculine and not unlike the man himself. And suddenly I do remember how not true this is, in a little more detail than I’d like.
Please, God, don’t let this show on my face, I silently pray. My cheeks begin to heat at the thoughts of our drunkenly joined pasts. It was like getting it on with your cousin that evening.
‘It’s wellies you’ll be needing, not designer gear.’ Mac lifts his hand to push a lock of hair behind my ear and this, coupled with my memories, pushes the moment up to DEFCON awkward. I spring from his arms, coming to stand next to his sister.
‘But it’s good to see you,’ he says, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. ‘What are you doin’ back in town? I thought you’d married some mogul from down south and were off living the highlife abroad?’
My fixed smile falters, though I can feel the corners of my mouth twitching as I try to keep it in place, all my previous warmth and lightness draining away. He might be right about my clothing; Gucci shoes and Balmain Jeans. Sweater by Donna Karan. These are my last season’s wardrobe, and I don’t just mean they’re from the previous fall’s catalogue. They’re actually my very last season of designer wear. As in, I’m no longer wealthy enough to buy these sorts of things. I doubt I have enough in my checking account to buy a pair of Wellington boots for the rain.
Focus on the clothes. Don’t think about what else he said.
‘What?’ Mac asks, his smile falling. ‘What did I say?’
‘Well, don’t I feel like a dildo at a wedding?’ Both our heads swing to Ivy and her absurd exclamation. ‘Hang on,’ she says, scrunching up her nose. ‘That wasn’t right.’
‘Pretty sure it’s spare prick at a wedding, brat,’ Mac says, half-laughing.
God bless that girl intervening at my distress, even with that bout of ridiculousness.
‘Prick, dildo,’ she says, doing a sort of weighing motion with her hands. ‘Not much difference really. One’s the real thing and the other is just a sort of... tofu.’
‘Tofu?’ I repeat unnecessarily.
‘Yeah, a meat substitute.’
‘Ah, god,’ Mac complains. ‘Could you no’ wait until I’d left? No man should have to hear his sister talk about—’
‘Dicks?’ Ivy answers. ‘Like I haven’t heard worse from you.’
‘Aye, but you’re supposed to be a delicate maid,’ he protests.
‘And you’re supposed to be in London.’
‘I took a wee detour.’
‘You mean you got lost?’
‘I’m amazed,’ Mac says, though he’s quite obviously not, ‘that your time over the pond did’nae teach you any manners. Yes, ma’am, no, ma’am. Come to think of it, why has Fin’s manners no rubbed off?’
