Page 96 of Someone Like You

His words rip through me like shrapnel. I don’t want to imagine the imminent goodbyes with my family. But more so, London is where real life is, where Raff is dating someone and this cosy little bubble I’m starting to settle into doesn’t exist.

There’s also the little white lie he’s just told about oversleeping. Raff has been up nearly as long as I have, only he’s been talking to his frigging girlfriend who’s frigging skiing in frigging Switzerland.

‘Well, we should get going,’ says Dad, his voice dragging me back to the kitchen. ‘I told Marv we’d be there by eight-thirty.’

He, Mom, and Monica burst into action, gulping down the rest of their coffees, and Monica grabs a granola bar from the pantry. Then Raff and I follow them into the entry, where they all put on outerwear, Dad grabs car keys, and Mom and Monica sling their handbags over their shoulders.

‘Bye, sweetheart,’ says Dad. ‘You two have a good day. And when your sister gets up, try and find something for her to do.’

‘Maybe she can help with the baking,’ Mom suggests, giving me another quick hug. ‘We should be home by three.’

Monica’s arms encircle my neck. ‘Wish me luck,’ she says, and I do.

When we close the door behind them, the house descends into silence – which lasts approximately twenty seconds.

‘Morning…’ moans Issy from the top of the stairs.

‘Hey,’ I say brightly. ‘How did you sleep?’

‘I didn’t.’ She clomps down the stairs, skulking past us towards the kitchen. ‘That frigging air mattress!’ she shouts over her shoulder.

I’m sure it played its part, but it’s more likely Issy’s impending divorce that’s the main culprit for her insomnia. And she seemed totally out of it when I snuck past earlier, so hopefully she gotsomesleep.

‘Sorry,’ I whisper to Raff. He may have signed up for a harried Christmas and the occasional bout of wedding drama, but he didn’t agree to play emotional nursemaid to my sister.

He shakes his head, telling me without words that Issy’s behaviour isn’t a problem. He jerks his head, and we walk in right as Issy holds up an empty coffee pot and bursts into tears.

I look over at Raff – seemingly so confident only moments ago that he was up to the task of looking after Issy – and he seems petrified.

I take charge. ‘Here, let me,’ I say, taking the coffee pot out of her hand. ‘You go sit.’ I point to one of the stools and she glumly stumbles around the counter and sits. I put on a new pot of coffee, spilling a mound of grounds on the counter in the process. Just typical Gaby clumsiness, and neither my best friend nor my sister bats an eye.

Once the coffee’s brewing, I clean up the mess, then go into the pantry where I scout for Pop-Tarts. My sister may be thirty-six, but she’s also a sucker for toaster pastries.

‘Strawberry or blueberry?’ I ask her, holding up two boxes.

She brightens a smidge and replies, ‘Blueberry.’

While they’re toasting, I call Raff into the pantry.

‘Maybe check what ingredients they have and make a list? I can run you down to Metro Market once I get Issy situated.’

‘Sure.’

I go to leave, but he places a hand on my arm, stopping me. He leans in close and I school my reaction. He smellssogood, like pine and spices and mulled wine – like Christmas personified. ‘You’re a good sister,’ he whispers, his breath on my ear.

Good frigging grief, I need to get out of here.

‘Thanks,’ I mumble, pushing past him.

Twenty minutes later, I’ve fed and caffeinated Issy, and corralled her into the shower. She’s under strict instructions not to call Douchebag and in case she decides to anyway, I’ve ‘hidden’ her phone where she’ll never find it: in the enormous tote bag she carries everywhere. She calls it her portable black hole because she can never find anything in it, and I am counting on it doing its job – at least until we get back from the store and I can keep a close eye on her. If there’s an emergency, she can call 911 on the landline.

I call out, ‘I love you!’ and hear a muffled, ‘Love you too,’ over the stream of water as I close the bathroom door.

Raff’s right – Iama good sister. Though, Issy would do the same for me if our roles were reversed. As I back Mom’s car out of the garage, I’m reminded that she did once – when Eric and I first broke up and he was showing up at mutual friends’ parties with Donna on his arm. At least Ithinkit was Issy who started the rumour that Eric couldn’t get it up.

‘Hey,’ I say, dismissing thoughts of my ‘impotent’ asshole of an ex, ‘before we go to the store, there’s somewhere I want to show you.’

Heading down Queen Anne hill, I turn right onto West Highland Drive. Fortunately, it doesn’t appear too busy when we get to Kerry Park, and I find a spot half a block away and parallel park. It takes me several goes because I don’t drive in London and it’s one ofthose use-it-or-lose-it skills. But Raff doesn’t seem to notice my shoddy parking or how far the car is from the kerb when we get out – he’s too engrossed in the view.

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