“Millie, I’m half awake. Please can I at least drink my coffee in peace and have a shower?” She’s no longer smiling. It’s more of a confused grimace. I scowl back at her as I climb out from under the covers and hobble to the ensuite.
When I return, she’s no longer in my room. I wrap a towel round my head, pull on some clean pyjamas and find her in the kitchen. I bought my converted warehouse flat near the lanes in Brighton four years ago. It cost me a lifetime mortgage and every penny I had, but it was mine and mine alone. Mike was cagey about being mortgage-bound; his credit was iffy. So, I bought it for me, and forus. Whenever I stand in my kitchen like this, I’m so thankful I was sensible enough to do it myself. It made moving him out exceptionally easy because there was no doubt about who owned the place.
I hold a finger up when she starts to speak. “Wait. More coffee.”
“Oh, come on,” Millie groans.
“My flat, my rules,” I warn. I turn the coffee maker on and lean against the counter, taking my sweet time, knowing the waiting will be driving her crazy. I finally take a seat opposite hers, cradling a steaming cup in my palms.
“Can I talk now?” she asks.
“One sec,” I say, taking a slow, scalding sip. “Go on.”
“We’ve discussed it in the group chat and we’ve made an executive decision.”
“We?”
“Yes, your sisters.”
I take a moment to check my phone. My messages blew up for the first week after the wedding – so much so, I actually muted several people and even blocked some of Mike’s family who were horribly misinformed. Because why would he tell them the truth? He couldn’t even spare it for me.
But it’s fairly quiet now, just a few messages from close friends. I search for the family chat. Nothing there. Must be the sister chat. But hang on…
“There are no new messages in our group chat.”
Millie bites her bottom lip. “Oh. We must’ve used the other one.”
I nearly do a spit take. “I’m sorry, you have a group chat I’m notin?”
“We made it for the wedding,” she says, waving a hand dismissively.
“Liar.”
“It’s not really relevant right now.”
“To hell, it isn’t. I want a full transcript sent to me within the hour. What are you brats saying about me?”
“Not everything’s about you, Sara,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Look, you spent obscene amounts of money on that cruise. I know because when you sent the link to us, Abby gave you a three-page essay about backpacking across Europe to save money and you didn’t reply.”
“She wasted her energy. I wasn’t going to backpack on my honeymoon.”
“Yes. Agreed. Can you imagine? There’s no way you would travel that way. You’re far too…” She pauses and I don’t need her to fill in the blank. I give her a sardonic look which she pretends to ignore. “Youhaveto go on this cruise. You booked it. Did you even go halves?”
“Well,” I say. My gut flipping over on itself at the thought of my lost savings. I had to pay for him too because he didn’t see the value in going on a honeymoon.Yikes. How didn’t I see it?“No, but—”
“There you go! Problem solved. Great. Let’s pack.”
I take a deep breath, swallowing down a jolt of panic. “Millie. No. I don’t…” I wrap my arms around myself.
It occurs to me that she hasn’t even offered me a hug or asked if I’m ok. Most people would be offended, but it’s a coping mechanism we adopted as a family after mum passed. Why ask if somebody is ok when you know they probably aren’t? What good will a hug do when your world is falling apart around you?
She groans, but I swear I see a flicker of pity in her eyes. “You don’t have much time to make this decision.”
“I really appreciate you checking in on me. Honestly, I do.”Even if it’s been jarring and has given me a headache. “But right now, what I need is to be alone.”
“Yes, exactly. Alone in the Mediterranean. On a luxury yacht.”
“No. Alonehere. Not in forced proximity with a bunch of strangers.”
