Page 29 of Meet Me in Berlin

‘Dad will understand.’

Eva places her hands on her hips. ‘Josanne knows the wedding is coming up.’

‘She does, but this is my job, Eva.’

She glares at me, but she has no argument for that. ‘Fine. I’ll sort the menu myself.’

I grab my bag off the bench. ‘Also, I’m going to head off now.’

Her face darkens. ‘Where are you going? To meet Jaz? She calls and you go running?’

‘I’m going to Mum and Dad’s. I haven’t seen them for ages and now I won’t see Dad for his birthday.’

‘But—’

‘You don’t need me here.’

Eva pouts. ‘That’s because I was busy organising. I’m finished now and I want to make some content of us doing wedding prep together.’

I shake my head. ‘No way. I draw a line at that.’ I give her a quick kiss before she can persuade me to stay. ‘I’ll see you later. Nice to see you, Leila,’ I add.

I leave the kitchen, head down the long hallway and out the front door, closing it quietly behind me. I gulp in the warm afternoon air, my chest cresting and falling, then text Jaz.

Tell Mum to set a place for me. On my way. And going to Berlin next week.

Jaz’s reply is instant.

WTAF!

Chapter 9

Casey, London

Iwalk at double speed to South Kensington tube station, the desperate need for space propelling me forward. The cool change yesterday didn’t last long – today is warm and sticky, but it doesn’t prevent a cold clamminess creeping over my skin. I duck into Waitrose to pick up a Victoria sponge for Mum before descending underground.

As the train zips along the dark tunnel, I gaze at my reflection in the window and imagine that person isn’t me – it’s Jazzy or my sister. What would I say to them in my situation? I’d tell them to end it; I know I would. The carriage rocks as we round a bend and I close my weary eyes. I can’t shake Holly from my mind. Apart from some internet and social media searches over the years, I haven’t done much to try and find her. Stale regret swells in my chest and the same old questions swirl in my mind. What if I hadn’t run away? What if I’d answered her calls or responded to her messages? What if I’d told her more about myself? What if I’d listened properly that first day we met when she told me her last name? Am I just obsessing about her because my current relationship is feeling too permanent?

The train stops and I open my eyes to see we’re at Holborn. I jump up and make it through the doors just as they slide closed. I walk the long corridors to the Central Line, where I take the tube to Stratford, ride the steep escalator to the street and begin the twenty-minute walk to my parents’ house. Already I’m calmer, being back where I grew up makes me feel more like me.

The area around the train station has changed since I was a kid, gentrification for the Olympics starting when I was in my late teens. Mum and Dad’s shop was far enough away from the Olympic village and train station not to be pushed out, and the regeneration of the area has been good for their business and their house value.

Soon, I’m letting myself in with my spare key. Loud cackles drift from the kitchen, where Mum and Jaz are at the table, cradling mugs.

‘Here she is,’ Mum says, standing and opening her arms. ‘Hello, darlin’.’ Her blonde hair is pulled back off her face and she’s wearing her favourite tatty old apron that says, ‘Love thy butcher’.

I place the cake on the side and pull Mum’s short frame into a tight embrace. ‘All right, Ma.’ Then I ruffle Jaz’s thick curls, transformed from glossy and textured last night to frizzy today. ‘You look rough, mate.’

‘Get off,’ Jaz says, brushing my hand away. ‘That’s your fault. Making me go out all night.’ She squints at me, make-up smudged under her eyes.

‘Sure it is.’

‘Want a brew?’ Mum asks.

‘Yeah, ta.’ I give an upward nod towards the shopping bag. ‘Got you one of those cakes you like.’

Mum pours boiling water over a teabag, then peers into the bag. She tuts. ‘Almost six quid, those cakes. Don’t be spending your money on that.’

I collapse onto a chair and twist behind me to open the window. ‘I can afford to buy you a cake, Mum.’

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