The front door must have woken me up because a few seconds later, footsteps too heavy and fast for anyone who was here earlier thump up the stairs.
Without warning, the door opens, and Yan bursts in.
‘So, what’s all this about Rich shagging patients?’
I groan and sit up. ‘Not you,too, Yan. That’s not—’
He grins and holds up his hand. ‘I know, I know. I’m teasing.’ He sits on the edge of the bed, his brawny frame making the mattress dip. His kind brown eyes are serious. ‘What happened, Nelly?’
Yan’s a good listener, like Dad is. He doesn’t add his own interpretation to what I tell him; he just nods and let’s me speak.
‘She wasn’t a patient. She was the receptionist at work.’
‘What a prince.’
We sit in silence for a beat, and then he asks: ‘When you say “at work”, do you mean on the premises?’
‘I don’t know.’ My stomach churns. ‘Does it make a difference?’
‘A furtive knee-trembler in the disabled loo suggests opportunism. A swish hotel, with thousand-count bed sheets, and Moët on ice implies careful planning.’
‘What, a quick fumble at work doesn’t count?’
‘Who among us hasn’t found himself in the wine cellar after a shift, pants at his ankles, a Spanish waiter with a mouth like a hoover—’
‘Stop!’ I don’t want to hear about my brother’s rich and varied sex life because what if Rich strayed because our sex life wasn’t rich and varied enough?
‘I can’t remember the last time I had sex that wasn’t in a bed.’
‘The kitchen floor is overrated.’
‘I’ve been so busy with work and studying, I probably neglected the physical side of things with him.’ I don’t want to tell Yan because God knows how this compares with his life, but I always thought once a week, sometimes missionary, sometimes with me on top, was enough. ‘What if Rich found our sex life boring?’
He frowns. ‘It takes two to tango. If he secretly wanted you to tie him up and stick an apple in his mouth, he should have asked you. Not have it off with some skank on a chandelier.’ He shakes his head. ‘I can’t believe I have to explain infidelity to a couples’ counsellor.’
‘Some bloody relationship expert I am. Jesus, I don’t know how I’ll face my patients next week.’
‘You don’t have to be in a successful relationship to be able to help others with theirs. Come on, Nelly. You’re spiralling.’
I take a shaky breath. ‘How am I going to get through this?’
Yan slings his arm around my shoulders. ‘We’re all here for you. And you know Mum and Dad will love having you stay for as long as you need. They’re always complaining they don’t see youenough and still don’t understand why you moved more than three tube stops away.’
The parental tractor beam had kept Tig and Yan closer, but I’d always assumed it was more accident than design.
‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Why don’t you have a shower and put your glad rags on.’
‘I don’t want to go out.’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he says, in exactly the tone that makes me worryimmediately.
‘What have you done?’ I ask slowly.
‘Me? Nothing.’ His face is all innocence. ‘Mum, however, has organised an impromptu engagement party for Tig and Theo.’ He looks at his watch. ‘She told everyone to be here for seven, which means you’ve got exactly ten minutes to get ready.’
I check my own watch. ‘It’s only twenty past six.’
‘Yes, but the early birds will be here soon to “help out”.’ He air-quotes the last two words because arriving early to ‘help out’ is usually a ruse to nab the good seats – the ancient sofa is too low for arthritic knees.
