Page 48 of The Love Hack

‘Not for four days. I called in sick. I guess I’ll need to see the GP if I stay off beyond this week. I can’t go back, obviously.’

‘Well, you could if you wanted to. Chin up, tits out, style it out.’

I put the plate down on the coffee table and shook my head. ‘Nope. Not happening.’

‘Okay. So on Monday you see the doctor and get signed off with stress. It’ll give you a bit of breathing space while you decide what to do next.’

‘I’ll have to find another job. I won’t be able to pay the rent otherwise.’

‘Yeah, you will, but there won’t be any rush, right? Give it a couple of weeks. You’re in to fit state to go to interviews right now. Speaking of which…’

She fixed me again with that steady, luminous gaze. Her eyelashes were curled and mascaraed and she had some sort of highlighter thing on her skin that made it glow like a pearl. The last time I’d looked in the mirror, I’d seen flaky bits all round my nose and mouth, a massive spot erupting on my chin, and bits of four-days-ago’s make-up crusted in the hollows under my eyes.

‘Shower,’ Amelie ordered. ‘Now. And use that L’Occitane stuff I gave you for your birthday. You were saving it for best, weren’t you?’

‘Of course I was,’ I muttered.

‘Well, don’t. It’s there to be used when you need it, and you need it right now. Up you get.’

I realised that she was channeling our mum, who’d always been a big believer in tough love.

I got to my feet, swayed a bit with light-headedness, and walked carefully to the bathroom, pulling my dressing gown off and letting it fall to the floor behind me. Then I closed the door and switched the shower on to boiling hot.

When I emerged twenty minutes later, wrapped in a clean-ish towel with another round my hair, I found that Amelie had stripped the sheets off my bed and replaced them with fresh ones, opened the window to fill the flat with chilly early spring air, and switched on the washing machine. I didn’t feel much better, to be perfectly honest, but the fragrance coming off my skin, the crisp, clean duvet cover and the cold breeze made me realise that feeling better was an option. Eventually, when I was ready.

My sister stayed late that evening, and we drank wine and ordered a curry and she listened to me talk and I cried some more. She left around midnight, literally tucking me into bed and ordering me to make sure my phone was charged and to call her if I needed her, however late it was.

Just before she turned off the light and let herself out, she said, ‘Remember, Luce, the thing about men is they’re dicks. Hold that thought and nothing they ever do will surprise you. It might hurt you, but it won’t surprise you.’

I woke up the next morning feeling quite a bit better, and sorted out a load of the necessary practical stuff I needed to do, getting a sick note and starting to polish up my CV. The following day, I felt even better and managed to go out for a walk without any bus-related mishaps. I went to Amelie’s birthday drinks, alone, and although I didn’t stay late I managed to laugh and even dance a bit.

And the following Friday, Amelie turned up at my flat again. This time, she had something with her: a nylon shoulder bag, only its sides were made of mesh instead of solid fabric. I could hear rustling sounds coming from inside it.

‘Close your eyes, Luce, and sit down,’ she commanded, and I did.

I heard my sister whispering, and the snap of a plastic catch, and a moment later felt sharp pinpricks on thighs and warm softness against my hands. My eyes snapped open.

In my lap was a kitten. He was smokey-grey with amber eyes, spiky whiskers and a tiny, upright tail. He was precious and purring and perfect and I fell instantly in love.

‘Oh my God,’ I breathed. ‘Look at his little face. Where did you…’

‘Battersea cats’ home,’ Amelie said proudly. ‘They’re awash with kittens at the moment but he was easily the cutest. They called him Astro, but you can change it if you like.’

‘I think he looks like an Astro. He’s the best thing ever. I adore him. Thank you.’

‘There’s food and toys and stuff for him outside,’ she said. ‘I had to get a taxi here and the driver was none too pleased, until I tipped the hell out of him.’

All I could say, again, was, ‘Oh my God. Thank you so much.’

‘Now remember,’ Amelie lectured, once she’d stashed Astro’s food in my kitchen, put his litter tray in my bathroom and filled a cereal bowl with water for him, ‘this cat needs you. And you won’t be able to look after him if you don’t look after yourself. No no more of this going into a decline nonsense, you hear?’

‘I won’t,’ I said. ‘I promise.’

And, of course, I didn’t. My broken heart and smashed self-esteem recovered in due course, and every time I needed to cry over Kieren and torture myself with the memory of what had happened, Astro would come and perch on my lap and purr and make me feel better. Whenever I needed to rake over it all, Amelie would listen and reassure me that none of it had been my fault.

Nothing about her kindness surprised me. She was my sister, doing what sisters did. But I knew that, if she ever needed me like I’d needed her then, I’d do whatever it took to fix what was wrong – because that was what sisters did.

And now, she did need me – but I had no idea what to do to help her. I couldn’t bring her a kitten, not to an apartment in Manhattan where she was only going to live for six months. There must be something else I could do.

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