Page 25 of Wish You Weren't Here
He takes a drag of his cigarette and shakes his head.
‘Waitstaff,’ he replies, his voice deep and rough.
‘Have you met any of the family yet?’ I ask, wondering what kind of mood they’re in.
‘Oh, yeah,’ he says, widening his eyes for effect. ‘It’s a special kind of awful in there. They’re a bitSaltburn, honestly. Actually, they make theSaltburnfamily seem normal.’
‘They’re my family,’ I reply, without missing a beat.
His eyes widen in horror.
‘Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – not shit, sorry for swearing, I just?—’
‘Don’t worry.’ I cut him off with a smile. ‘I’m sort of the family outcast, and you’re not wrong about them.’
He relaxes, the tension easing from his shoulders.
‘Is it some kind of special occasion?’ he asks curiously.
‘It’s a lunch to talk about my sister’s upcoming wedding,’ I explain, rolling my eyes.
He lets out a low whistle.
‘All this for a lunch? That’s crazy,’ he says.
‘I know,’ I say with a sigh. ‘I’m jealous that you’re here to serve it, instead of having to attend it.’
He flicks his cigarette to the ground and crushes it with his boot.
‘I’m Tyler, by the way,’ he says, his tone vaguely flirtatious.
‘Lana,’ I reply.
‘I guess I’ll see you in there,’ he says, nodding toward the door.
‘If you see me looking like I need rescuing, make up an excuse for me to step outside,’ I joke. See, this is why my appidea is great, because it could be perfect for situations like this too.
‘Deal,’ he says with a laugh.
With no other ways to put off the inevitable, I finally head inside. The rear hallway is just as I remember – elegant and imposing, with polished floors that reflect the light from the chandeliers overhead. The walls are lined with oil paintings of people I’m probably related to but wouldn’t recognise if I bumped into them in the next room (although the fact they were ghosts might tip me off). The air smells faintly of polish and something floral, like the manor’s trying to convince you it’s a welcoming cosy home and not a stone-cold museum of a place.
I make my way to the drawing room, where everyone usually gathers before moving on to the dining room. If you like rich fabrics and antique furniture, with massive fireplaces and old charm (aka creaking floors and drafts) then you’ll love it here. As mansions go (as if I would ever have a choice) I would much prefer something cool and contemporary.
As I walk in, everyone looks at me like I’ve just crashed their party, which, I suppose, I have in a roundabout way.
The thing you need to remember is that this isn’t my world. I was out of it before I was old enough to understand what it meant to live here. My upbringing was far more typical – in Mum’s tiny house, just us, living a modest life. This place was something I visited from time to time, like a theme park attraction (specifically, the haunted house), not somewhere to live. I never learned the (usually pointless) etiquette they all swear by, or shared their taste, or hobbies.
Naturally, as I grew older, I spent less and less time around Dad and his new family. I really am only summoned here for special occasions or formalities.
‘Here she is!’ Seph exclaims, jumping to her feet and rushing over to give me a hug. Seph is all brunette waves and designerclothes, with a perfect figure (nothing is too big or too small and, if it was, she’s had it quietly tweaked). She’s flanked by her bestie, Eleanor, who stands close by but you can tell she’s trying to keep herself out of hugging distance – as if I would, it would be like hugging a hornet nest.
‘Hello,’ I say, forcing a smile. ‘Sorry I’m a little late.’
It’s only a few minutes, because I was chatting to Tyler, but I’m starting as I mean to go on – polite, enthusiastic and present.
‘That’s okay, we know what you’re like, so we gave you the wrong time,’ Bea says with a tight smile.
‘Hi, Bea,’ I say, offering her a smile.
