Page 29 of Sex Ed

‘Sister, how goes it?’ I say, going up to her and clawing an arm around her.

‘You’re half an hour late. We ordered without you. You know, the kids…’ she says snootily, like I don’t know that kids also, like us, eat.

‘That’s cool. I’ll just share Bruce’s lunch, won’t I?’ I say, putting an arm around my five-year-old nephew. ‘Can I have one of your potatoes?’ I joke. Bruce giggles.

‘Did you get lost?’ asks Alison, my other sister. Alison is less like Mum with her long blonde hair and sharp features but every sentence from her feels like it’s steeped in residual anger. It’s as if she’s still angry with me for the time I stole her favourite hoodie and left it on a bus, or the time I tried a complicated breakdancing move at her wedding, despite not knowing how to breakdance, that left me with a bloody nose and a bridesmaid’s dress she couldn’t re-sell.

‘The trains were messed up, that’s all. Happy birthday by the way,’ I say, trying to defuse the tension by handing over my gift to her. ‘You’re, what, thirty-five now?’

‘Thirty-three!’ she says, so loudly that an old lady on the table next to us drops a fork. She fake smiles at me and takes the gift bag, rifling through it, examining the contents and then sliding it back in the bag. Charming. I spent a lot of time running into that corner shop and picking out that wine. It’s Bulgaria’s finest. I watch as she puts the bag on the floor and then goes back to a conversation she was having with my brother-in-law. I hear the words pension and investments and feel my soul leave my body. I know where I belong today. I belong at the kids’ end of the table with the crayons because they think that’s the level of my IQ. I know I’m the youngest of three but still. As much as I love this little lot dearly, they’re not good for achy hangovers. I sit down next to Florence and kiss the top of her head.

‘What are we doing?’ I whisper to her.

‘We’re doing a food wordsearch,’ she tells me, brandishing a green crayon.

‘You know when I was little, your granny used to draw squares around the letters to make rude words.’

‘How rude?’

I get an orange crayon and find P, O and O.

She giggles. ‘Granny sounds fun.’

I look into little Florence’s eyes, catching a glimpse perhaps of my mum in there. ‘She was… super fun.’ And possibly the glue that held us three sisters together, who connected us all. Without her, I’ve always felt like the imposter.

‘Who was having the chicken?’ A waitress suddenly appears next to me, nestling plates across her arm, and little Felix puts his hand in the air. That Yorkshire pudding is as big as his face so he will definitely be sharing with aunty. The waitress clocks me.

‘Oh, were you the latecomer? They ordered you some breaded mushrooms,’ she says, putting a plate of deep-fried objects in front of me with a jar of mayonnaise. I’ve eaten worse but I’ll definitely have to steal a five-year-old’s roast potato now.

‘Just the mushrooms?’ I ask Alison.

‘It’s a Sunday lunch. Plus, we didn’t know if you were going to show up and if you didn’t, no one wanted to be lumbered with the nut wellington,’ she says through gritted teeth.

I love how I’ve been a vegetarian since my late teens and still none of my sisters know how to deal with it. Rachel’s the worst. At her wedding, all I got was soup and a bread roll. Bitch even made me wear mint. I looked like toothpaste.

‘I did say I was coming. I texted,’ I tell Alison.

‘Yeah… but…’

‘You’re a liability,’ Bella informs me.

‘Bells! What did we say about repeating adult conversations?’ her mother says in admonishing tones. I put my hand in my niece’s to see her cheeks redden, her eyes glass over.

‘What else did she say about me, Bella?’ I ask her, picking at one of her carrots.

‘You have zero responsibility, and you need to sort your life out,’ Florence adds.

Yes, kids’ end of the table assemble and unite. I glare towards the other end, where they all share a nice Merlot with their roast beef, having already grazed on olives and bread. Both my sisters married in their mid-twenties to men who I frequently mistake for each other given they are so bland. One is Gareth, one is Greg, and I buy both of them socks at Christmas because neither of them have revealed anything to me by way of a personality. I see why they sit me at the kids’ end of the table now. I am here to save their children in case they ever get caught in their fun vacuum.

‘Well, it is true,’ Rachel mutters out the side of her mouth. Alison titters in response.

‘So, I’m late for your birthday and suddenly it’s my whole life that’s the problem?’ I question.

‘You’re always late, for everything…’

‘I see you once a month, Rach. How are you constantly aware of my timekeeping?’

‘But look at you… What are you wearing, for a start?’ Rachel asks me. ‘You’re in a gold pleated skirt, a cropped band T-shirt that I know you’ve had since university, and Converse. You look like a student.’

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