‘The pizzas are getting cold,’ says Mark, sounding bored. ‘Do you want us to eat in the kitchen?’ he asks Yan.
‘It’s okay, stay here,’ says Yan. ‘I’m about to use it to cook.’
Yan and I head to the kitchen, but Mark follows.
The kitchen has never struck me as small, but with Mark in here, it feels like it’s shrunk in size. I flatten myself against the wall so he can open the cabinets without bumping into me.
Yan looks at me. ‘Told you he’s the perfect house guest. Who else eats pizza with a knife and fork? Certainly not fucking Rich, judging by the state of your flat.’
Mark acts like he didn’t hear, and I feel hot from shame. Yan should know better than to parade Rich as an un-housetrained slob, because how can it not reflect badly on me?
When Mark leaves, Yan pulls out a frying pan.
‘Thanks a bloody bunch,’ I whisper, closing the door so no one can hear us.
‘What did I do?’ asks Yan, affronted.
‘Apart from blabbing on about Rich being messy? How about starting a whole conversation about bum sex?’
Yan waves his hand dismissively. ‘That was Mark.’
‘No, it wasn’t.’
He frowns. ‘Okay, maybe you’re right. But you’re the one who brought up dildos.’ He adds olive oil to the pan. ‘A subject you felt the need to run with.’
‘He was deliberately winding me up.’ I sink into a kitchen chair. ‘You didn’t hear the shitty things he said about Tig the other night.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like, if Theo knew what she was really like, he’d run a mile.’
‘If my mate was marrying her, I might warn him off, too. She can be alot.’
Why is Yan defending him? ‘Wecan say that because she’s our sister, but he said that to my face and then acted surprised when I got angry.’
Yan takes out the cured pork and starts slicing. ‘He’s just looking out for Theo. When he talks about him, it’s obvious he thinks of him like a bro—’ Yan stops himself.
‘It’s okay, you can say it. You can mention Leo.’
‘All I’m saying is he’s acting protectively, not maliciously.’
I pause, unsure to say more. ‘He called him Leo by accident the other night.’
‘That kinda proves my point, doesn’t it?’
He adjusts the gas burner. ‘Theo gets a look in his eye sometimes that reminds me of Leo.’
He’s right, I suddenly realise. I had the same feeling of déjà vu at Tig’s dinner, but I didn’t put two and two together.
He drops the choppedguancialeinto the frying pan, and the accompanying sizzle makes it hard to keep talking. It’s a welcome lifeline because I don’t want to keep thinking about Leo.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re digging into our spaghetti carbonara, and the music has started up next door, signalling the lesson has resumed.
‘Theo must be crazy about Tig,’ says Yan.
I nod. ‘I’m not convinced a hurried wedding is what Tig would have chosen for herself, but he’s going out of his way to make it as perfect as possible.’
We eat, trying not to giggle every time the music stops and then restarts from the beginning. The same ten bars play over and over on an endless loop.
