Chapter 3
Eliza
I’m sitting on the wall, swinging my legs as far back as they’ll go before they hit brick and bounce off again. This has always been one of my favourite places to sit at home: out the front, squeezed between a gap in the hedge, watching the world go by. We live on a tree-lined street in one of the nicer parts of Sale, a small town about twenty minutes’ drive southwest of Manchester. My friends wonder why I haven’t moved closer to the city, seeking a buzz instead of what they perceive as suburban boredom – ‘suboreban’ – but I like it here. I close my eyes and tilt my face to the sun, trying to catch a few rays before it goes behind the hovering clouds. It’s been a shitty summer so far. I hope Phoebe’s having more luck with the weather in France. I still can’t believe she didn’t invite me. I picture her now, laughing and carefree with the sun on her face and the snow-capped mountains behind her, just like in the photos she used to send me. It makes me smile, too.
My ears prick up as a car turns into the road and, sure enough, it’s Angus.
A few strays from the kaleidoscope of butterflies that resides in my heart burst out through the bars of my ribcage and make their way into my stomach. The buggers are under much better control these days, but I’m annoyed at the few that won’t behave themselves.
I watch as Angus parks his old Land Rover Defender on his mum’s drive, remembering with affection the day he brought it home from his uncle’s farm. It was painted bright orange within weeks.
‘Are you still driving that shitmobile?’ I call as he gets out of the car.
‘It’s a classic!’ he exclaims, flashing me a cheeky grin as he slams the door shut behind him. His dark-blond hair is as dishevelled and windswept as ever. Phoebe said he plans to tidy it up for the wedding, I recall with a pang.
‘Hello trouble,’ he says, coming over.
‘Speak for yourself.’ I don’t get down from the wall and he doesn’t try to kiss me hello.
‘I haven’t seen you for ages. How are you doing?’
I glance over my shoulder in the direction of my childhood home, although I can’t see it for the foliage in the way. ‘Bit gutted,’ I reply with a shrug.
‘Yeah.’ He regards me with concern. ‘I heard your mum’s selling up.’
‘She’s already accepted an offer.’
‘That was quick,’ he comments.
‘Mmm. I’m sure she could have got more if Rose hadn’t been rushing her.’
He gives a small, pitying smile that makes me regret bitching. Angus has never liked it.
‘Have you heard from Phoebe?’ I change the subject before he does.
‘Nah.’ He shakes his head. ‘She’s only been gone a couple of days.’
‘Feels like longer.’
There’s that smile again.
Phoebe is my older sister by twelve minutes, my beloved middle sister. In a funny way, she has always come between Rose and me. She’d like to say she bridges the gap, but actually, she widens it. Rose and I have always fought for her attention.
‘Are you back for the weekend?’ I ask Angus.
‘No, for the whole week. I want to get the apartment sorted out before Phoebe returns.’
‘Trying to soften the blow?’
‘Something like that.’ He smiles half-heartedly.
Phoebe wasn’t keen on moving back to Manchester. She’s only doing it because she promised Angus years ago that they would. He wants to live closer to his mum and property is cheaper up here, so they can afford to buy something of their own at last. Plus they’re both able to work freelance – she’s a translator and he’s a journalist – but she’s planning to take a break from her translation work to pen the novel that she’s always wanted to write. When we were younger, she was always bounding into my bedroom, desperate to tell me about her latest story idea before it slipped from her mind. I could’ve listened to her chat away for hours. She was very engaging. She still is.
‘What about you? Have you found anywhere to live yet?’ Angus asks.
‘Nope.’ I steel myself for his reaction. ‘I’m thinking about moving to London.’
‘You’re shitting me.’ He gapes at me. ‘You’re moving to London the second Phoebe and I leave? Are you avoiding us?’
I force a roll of my eyes.
No, just you.
‘Come in for a coffee?’ he asks hopefully, jerking his head towards his house.
‘Nah, your mum will want you to herself. Maybe catch you later, though,’ I say out of politeness.
‘Are you up to anything tonight?’ He ignores his cue to leave.
‘I’ve got a gig at a working men’s club. Should be fun.’
He smirks at my caustic tone. ‘Give me the address and I’ll pop in.’
‘You don’t have to.’
‘I know I don’t.’
His mum appears then, and proceeds to sweep him up in a hug. I take the opportunity to escape while I can.