“I’m sorry.” She sighs. “Dylan wants me to run the Edinburgh office. Turns out this whole trip was a test to see how I got on and, apparently, I crushed it. I’ll be back in a couple of weeks for my stuff once I arrange for somewhere more permanent to live here, but otherwise…”
“I’m so happy for you!”
It’s only a half lie. I am really happy that her talent is finally being noticed and she’s getting the credit and responsibility she deserves. But losing my best friend so soon after the collapse of my marriage is devastating. I suppose Connor’s my friend now too, but I can’t talk to him about girl stuff like I can with Ivy. As amazing as he’s been since I spiralled a few days ago, Idon’t think he’d appreciate me starting to talk to him about PMS symptoms.
“Really?”
“Yes, of course! I mean, I’m going to miss you like crazy, but I’m really proud of you. I just want you to be happy.”
“I don’t think you’ll miss me too much – I hear you’ve replaced me with my brother.” Her eyebrow rises, which makes me blush.
“No one could replace you, Ivy.”
“Obviously. But I am glad you have someone. And I know that you and Connor haven’t always gotten on, but he’s a good guy. I wish I was there to help you through this shitshow with Rhys, but Connor is the next best thing. Like I said, he’s a really good guy.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to see that side of him now.”
Honestly, I can barely remember the ‘old’ Connor, the one who relentlessly teased me to the point that I avoided him at all costs. All I know now is the Connor who checks in on me with a text when he’s at work, who makes me a cup of tea every morning and gets me my posh blanket when I’m snuggled on the sofa with a book.
Ivy gives me a knowing look but doesn’t comment. We chat for a while longer about Ivy’s new job and potential new home, and I dance around any questions she directs towards me about how I’m doing. I’ve become a master of avoiding answering uncomfortable questions through a combination of humour and distraction.
Not long after I end my videocall with Ivy, I hear Connor coming home from the lunch shift. Wondering if he knows about Ivy not coming back, I straighten my clothes and hair and head downstairs. I smile at the photographs that line the stairs as I go, some of Connor and Ivy as kids, others of the whole family. None of them are posed or professional but candid and full of life. Thebeauty of each one lies in the realness, the imperfections and genuine joy on each of their faces.
My favourite, the one that never fails to make me smile as I pass it, is one of Connor at his fourteenth birthday party. He’s not looking at the camera but gazing at something off to the side, with a wide smile on his face and his eyes sparkling with happiness.
I remember that day vividly. His party was in the back garden of this very house, with his whole family coming together for a barbeque. His dad had set up a pool for us to cool down in, so naturally, everyone was wearing swimming clothes. Connor wore shorts and Ivy had on a bikini that she didn’t think twice about wearing. My mum had persuaded me to wear a swimming costume, but I felt so uncomfortable that Ivy had run into the house to get me a T-shirt. It was an oversized T-shirt for some retro band I’d never heard of, and it reached my knees, so I assumed it belonged to her dad.
“That you, Tilly?” Connor calls from the kitchen.
“No. I’m a burglar. I’m here to steal your valuables.”
Connor laughs. “Oh, well, that’s a shame. Because I brought food home from work for Tilly, but if you’re not her…”
I run down the rest of the stairs and into the kitchen, parking myself quickly on one of the barstools in front of him. He gives me an amused smile.
“Hi. Did you happen to pass any burglars on your way here?” he asks, leaning on the counter between us.
“I did, actually. He was heading towards the stash of Beanie Babies you keep under your bed.”
“I knew they’d be valuable one day!”
Connor brings over the takeaway containers with The Nightingales’ logo on the side and starts to unpack them.
“Smells delicious,” I say, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. “Only a tiny bit for me, I’ll make some salad to go with it.”
“You bloody won’t.” Connor puts a plate in front of me and spoons out the entire contents of the container. It’s a mix of spiced couscous, lamb, tender stem broccoli and feta cheese, and just the sight of it makes my mouth water and stomach clench simultaneously.
“Stop panicking,” he says gently. “I made this myself, so I know exactly what’s in it. It’s a healthy, balanced meal that’s going to taste good and not leave you feeling hungry after.”
He slides the plate over and hands me a fork. I look at the fork he’s holding between us and reach for it, reasoning I can always add the meal to my app later and compensate for it tomorrow.
“Don’t you dare add this to that fucking app of yours, either.” He smirks at me.
“I wasn’t—”
“Of course you were. It’s not healthy to obsess about every ounce of food you put in your mouth.”
“I don’t obsess over it,” I say defensively.
