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“You know,” Amelia started conversationally. “When I saw this spray-tanning thing, I really thought this was it.”
Jules lifted her head. “What?”
“I know,” Amelia said. “But I did. I saw an ad on TV and I got to thinking about how there was nothing like that in Whitebridge and then I looked online and saw how small the investment was and how we could travel and do it and not have to have a shop or anything, and I thought, this is our niche, this is our hole in the market, the thing we’ve been looking for.”
“Right…” Jules wasn’t very sure where this was going at all.
Amelia sighed. “I dunno though.”
Oh dear. Jules stood up straight behind the bar. “You’re quitting?”
“I think we’re retiring,” Amelia said.
“Retiring?”
“Licking our wounds, returning the equipment, whatever,” said Amelia. “Turns out there’s not all that much demand to be orange in Whitebridge.”
“I probably could have told you that,” said Jules, wondering how they’d gone from discussing Billie Brooke kissing her to Amelia’s life choices in the space of half a minute.
“Be that as it may, my point is a bit different.”
“You actually have a point?” Jules asked.
Amelia tilted her head to one side as she watched her sister. “My point is that sometimes you can see something, or somebody I suppose, and think that it’s for you, only to find out with a little more experience that you were wrong. It’s alright to be wrong about things, or people, that’s how we learn.”
Jules narrowed her eyes, taking all of this in. “Wait,” she said slowly. “So… you’re encouraging me to get together with Billie Brooke? That’s… that’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Amelia asked. “Is it really? Doesn’t sound that ridiculous to me. It sounds like for once you’re interested in someone who’s actually interested back. Sounds like she likes you and you’re making excuses based on some stupid prophecy or fantasy that you have. Sounds like you should consider your options a bit better.”
Jules scratched her head. That was the simplest answer, after all, wasn’t it? That she’d made a mistake about Alea. That she’d projected her feelings onto someone else, and then the whole time she’d just been waiting for Billie Brooke to show up and sweep her off her feet.
Could that really be it?
Could life really be that neat, that logical and organized?
“I’ll take another half over here when you’ve got a minute,” Amelia said, waving her empty glass.
“Right,” said Jules, taking the glass and putting it in the sink.
Could she start something with Billie Brooke?
The idea sounded ridiculous the first time she’d thought it, but now it was sounding more and more sensible, better and better the more she rolled it around in her head.
Except, of course, Billie Brooke was annoying, curt, impossible to get to know, spiky, obviously deeply hurt, and all kinds of messed up. Not that Jules didn’t have her own baggage. But still.
“Cheers,” Amelia said, taking the new drink when Jules passed it over. “By the way, I was up at the home today.”
“Turning people orange?”
“Visiting granddad.” Amelia sniffed. “He had a betting slip in his pocket. Saw it clear as day when he pulled his hanky out.”
Jules groaned. “Not again.”
“Yeah, they’ve given him his last warning already. He gets caught placing bets for other inmates again and he’ll be out on his ear.”
“Don’t call them inmates,” Jules said automatically. “But I’ll have a word with him.”
“Fat lot of good it’ll do,” grumbled Amelia as the door opened and Cass bustled in.
