Page 47 of The Love Hack

I tucked my feet up on the sofa and stared at my phone until the screen went blank. Drastic action. I wasn’t sure what that would mean if Amelie needed me, but I knew exactly what it had meant when I’d needed her.

When things with Kieren ended, I didn’t tell my sister. I didn’t tell anyone – not that there was really anyone to tell. My colleagues at work hadn’t known anything was going on – not officially, anyway. Mum and Dad certainly hadn’t known – I’d fondly imagined introducing him to them some day, and Mum looking all relieved and proud and saying, ‘We knew you’d find someone lovely in the end,’ and Dad shaking Kieren’s hand and saying, ‘You’re caught yourself a catch there, young man.’

But it had never happened and, in hindsight, I suppose I’d known it never would.

At the time, though, I hadn’t had the luxury of hindsight. All I’d had was the sound of blood roaring in my ears, the burning of unshed tears in my eyes and, most of all, a horrible sick feeling in my stomach that wouldn’t go away however many times I puked.

And I puked a lot. As soon as I got home, closing and double-locking the door behind me like an animal going to earth in its burrow, I ran to the bathroom and was sick. When eventually I felt able to drink some water, that came straight up too. And so it went on for the next day and a half, until I gave up and stopped trying to eat altogether.

I called in sick from work, telling them I had norovirus, which for all I knew could have been true. I couldn’t sleep. The days were an endless cycle of staring at my hands (which wouldn’t seem to stop shaking), being sick, and crying. Oh my God, the crying. I never knew it was possible to cry so much.

I was determined not to call Kieren, or allow myself to hope that he’d call me, so I buried my phone in my sock drawer and left it there on silent, and eventually the battery must have run down. I didn’t shower for three days. I tried going outside for a walk, but I couldn’t stop crying and when I almost got run over by a bus I decided it was better if I stayed indoors. I felt like there was no point in living, but I didn’t want to die enough for my demise to be the responsibility of some poor bus driver.

Eventually, on the third day, Amelie turned up. I didn’t know it was her; if fact, I would have guessed it was almost anyone else but her, because the hammering on my door was more like a visit from the vice squad than a social call from my sister. So I didn’t answer.

But the knocking went on, harder and louder, and after a bit it was replaced by the rattle of the letterbox and Amelie’s saying, ‘For God’s sake, Luce, open the bloody door. I know you’re there.’

I knew she wouldn’t go away, and deep down I didn’t want her to think anything serious had happened to me, so I dragged myself off the bed where I’d been lying, staring at my hands again, tightened the cord of my old towelling dressing gown, and shuffled to the door, my whole body stiff and sore because I hadn’t properly moved for so long.

The smell of her perfume met me as soon as I opened the door. It reminded me that, in contrast, I must smell absolutely horrible – I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a shower, never mind put my manky bathrobe in the washing machine.

But Amelie didn’t even flinch at the sight – or smell – of me. She folded her arms round me and pulled me close, and the feeling of her cashmere jumper and her fragrant hair tickling my face predictably set me off again, and I burst into a storm of weeping.

‘Come on.’ Her arm squeezed round my shoulders, Amelie guided me into the flat and over to the sofa. I heard the tap of her heels on the floor as she bustled off to the bathroom, returning with a loo roll which she thrust at me to blow my nose, and then the click of the kettle switch and the roar of the heating water.

By the time I’d finished crying, there was a steaming cup of tea in front of me, so strong it was practically terra cotta coloured.

‘I made one with milk first,’ she said. ‘But your milk’s off, so you’ll have to have it black. There’s a ton of sugar in it.’

I took a sip, feeling my mouth pucker from the tannin. The smell of it reminded me of Kieren, whose tea was always stewed like that. Even now, I drew some comfort from it, as if it was bringing me closer to him again – as close as I was ever going to get.

‘Now,’ Amelie said, when I’d worked my way cautiously through about half the mug, ‘are you going to tell me what happened?’

I looked down at my hands again, but I could feel my sister’s penetrating, patient hazel gaze on my face and before long, without really wanting to, I found myself looking up at her.

‘I’m so stupid,’ I whispered.

‘No you’re not. You’re the one with the brains, remember? You’re a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. Now come on, spill.’

Reluctantly, helped by another cup of tea and most of the rest of the loo roll, I told her.

‘And you’ve been holed up here ever since on your own?’

I nodded.

‘And you haven’t eaten?’

‘I had some biscuits, but I puked them up.’

‘Right. There’s no way you’re going to start feeling better if you’re half starved. Let’s get some calories in you.’

Amelie bounded up of the sofa and whisked through to the kitchen. Normally, I’d have followed her, making sure she knew where the plates were kept and telling her not to open the Tupperware with the cheese in, because it had been festering in there for ages and God only knew what state it was in. But today I simply didn’t have the energy. I just sat there and listened to her clattering around, and waited.

‘Eggs,’ she said a few minutes later, appearing with a heaped plate. ‘One thing I can cook, right? So long as you use enough butter, not even I can fuck up scrambled eggs. There’s no toast though – your bread’s Alexander Fleming’s wet dream. It’s in the bin now.’

I took the plate, fork and square of paper towel from her, and cautiously scooped up some eggs. They were rich and peppery and delicious, and my appetite came flooding back as I inhaled the lot in record time.

‘I take it you haven’t been to work?’ Amelie asked.

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