JAKE
Penelope Forrest has grown up. I mean I caught glimpses of her twice this year at her parents’ funerals, but she was obviously not up for conversations. I still remember her drawn expression and blotchy, red face. I’d wanted to wrap her up in a hug and stroke her hair. Little Nel, Harry’s baby sister, the girl I grew up with, who used to blush every time I smiled at her, and who held her head down when she walked in public. I hated to see her tears, I always had. Before the funerals, I probably hadn’t seen Nel for about five years, not in person anyway. I had definitely seen all the pictures she’s been posting online.Wait, does that sound stalkerish?
It’s not like she was a kid when I last spent any time with her. She was fresh out of university and although I’d noticed a slight change from the girl I’d once known, she was still curled in on herself as she sat and avoided eye contact with everyone. She used to wear baggy clothes and big cardigans even in the height of summer, but she has changed. In blue skinny jeans and knee-high, tan, leather boots and a satin blouse that hugs her chest, the first few buttons undone to show more cleavage than she ever would before. Then she went and took her coat off and flashed me her sexy as fuck bra; deep purple with black lace trimming the cups. It was visible all of one second, but that image is now seared into my retinas. Of course, it’s nothing compared to the images of her from social media that live rent-free in my brain. They’re definitely not the images that should come to mind when one thinks of their best friend’s little sister.
I hang her coat, hat, and scarf up on the hooks in the hall, getting a whiff of her brown sugar and cinnamon smell. I check the corridor quickly thinking of burying my nose in her coat and inhaling hard, but I manage to refrain. I freakin’ love that smell. I hear Lisa call everyone up to the table and head back into the kitchen where the only seat available is next to Cami, Lisa’s mother. Sliding in between her and Rhiannon, I offer them both a smile and detangle the green napkin on my plate that’s been elegantly folded to look like an elf’s hat. Nel is sat opposite me, with Charles and Gordon on either side. She seems to tuck herself in, hands in her lap and shoulders curled over, studying her plate like it holds all the answers, and not making eye contact with anyone. She’s far more recognisable as the girl I once knew like this, not the girl I’m dying to get to know, who posts those photos on Instagram.
Harry and Lisa have a big, beautiful house, and their kitchen-diner is spacious. But even with the table extended as far as it will go, it’s a squeeze with twelve chairs and two highchairs. Still, everyone is smiling and laughing as Lisa brings out a huge platter laden with slices of delicious smelling ham.
“Darling, I told you I would carry that in!” Harry jumps up to help his wife, taking the dish from her while shaking his head in gentle admonishment.
“Please, I’m pregnant. Not incapable,” she protests with a smile on her face.
Everyone oohs and aahs as Harry lays the giant plate down on the middle of the table, and the smell of roasted honey and meat wafts around us. Nel’s eyes widen in surprise when the dish is set in front of her.
“This looks incredible, Lisa,” she says, offering a shy smile to our hostess.
“Well, thank you, hon.” Lisa’s returning smile is much wider as she slides into her seat in that way pregnant women do.
Harry ropes the boys in to help him and slowly but surely the table fills up.
“I thought you said we were having salad, sweetheart.” Cami laughs by my side.
“Well, it’s Christmas, salad is a bit plain, we had to jazz it up a bit.”
A gargantuan bowl of salad is the second showstopper to be placed on the table. Adorned with cranberries, pomegranates, pistachios, and red onions that look to have been pickled, all laid on a bed of deep green leaves. It looks very festive. As soon as Harry takes his place at the head of the table, opposite Lisa, and motions for us to dig in, there are hands everywhere. I’m passed the basket of bread and the salad servers before passing them to Rhiannon, but she’s busy wrestling her son into a bib. So I serve her a portion while her back is turned and pass her husband the implements to serve himself. I watch as Nel slides a thick slice of ham onto her plate and butters her roll with a heavy hand before piling the salad on top of her meat. She catches me staring and immediately looks back down at her plate, her cheeks turning red.
Conversation starts easily and everyone chats as old friends, except Nel who stays quiet, eyes darting between people as they speak. She seems to enjoy her food though, her first bite has her eyes rolling to the back of her head and she puts her hand over her mouth as she chews, nodding to herself as though agreeing with her tastebuds that it’s delicious. My cock notices, twitching in my jeans while I watch her eat.Okay, stop being a perv, Partridge, there are children around, for fuck’s sake.
“Oh!” Lisa says, suddenly, getting up from her chair and fetching something from the kitchen counter. “Jake, Nel, you guys got here a bit later so you haven’t had your itineraries yet.” She hands us each an A4 sheet of paper with lots of typed writing on it.
At a quick glance, I can see a plan for the next few days, each item with a specific timeslot. Looking across the table I stifle my chuckle as Nel stares at the paper with horror.
“Obviously, the itinerary starts tomorrow, Christmas Eve-Eve, so tonight is a bit of a free for all,” Lisa chuckles.
“How devil-may-care of you Lis,” I smirk at her, and she sticks her tongue out at me in response.
“Mummy!” Lucas gasps at her action.
“That was an adult necessity, it doesn’t give you permission to do it.” Lisa narrows her eyes at her son, but her smirk tells him she’s just playing. This causes both her boys to giggle.
“Umm…” Nel speaks up and the whole table quietens, probably because it’s the first thing she’s said since we sat down. “Did Harry tell you I need to head back to the city on Christmas Eve, for work?”
Lisa waves at her dismissively. “Of course, hon. You do what you’ve got to do. You can check with the itinerary so you’ll know where we are when you get back and you can catch up with us.”
“Remind me what you do for work, Penelope,” Charles asks, taking a break from shovelling food into his face and dabbing his moustache with his napkin.
Harry clears his throat and shuffles in his seat. “Uh, Charles, can you pass me the bread please?”
Charles does as he’s asked but looks over to Nel expectantly. “I’m a photographer,” she says with a nod.
My lips twitch. Harry has never been particularly keen on Nel’s choice of subject when she went pro with her photography, but it wasn’t until she got in front of the camera that he became downright disapproving. I suppress my smile at the memory of Harry and I at our weekly squash game when he arrived in a bad mood, huffing and puffing until I finally asked him what was wrong. When he told me that Nel, his sweet and shy baby sister, was posting photos of herself in lingerie on Instagram, I think he was expecting me to be as disgusted as he was. Not for me to just shrug and suggest we start the game. He most definitely wasn’t expecting—and will never know—how quickly I searched her name online, found her account, and looked at the posts in question.
Nel is a boudoir photographer with a small studio in London. She promotes her business heavily on social media and in just a couple of years, she has blown up in popularity. From what I’ve gathered—by what a professional might call mystalking—she had a client who was nervous to pose in her underwear, so Nel decided to strip with her. They took a selfie and Nel posted it on her page to show there was nothing to be afraid of. Since then, she started doing posing tutorials on TikTok in an effort to boost women’s confidence while wearing lingerie just as she suggests others do. She also does makeup tutorials and fashion posts. From there, she started getting sponsorships from lingerie companies and I have been following her avidly—What can I say? She has charisma—She’s definitely the most famous person I know.
“Oh splendid!” Charles exclaims, placing his drink on the table. “What kind of photography? Weddings?”
“No, it can’t be weddings,” Cami laughed. “Otherwise, she would have photographed Lisa and Harry’s wedding.”
