Page 44 of Little Miss Fortune

The freshly hoovered carpet under my feet adds some bounce and speed to my step. I clench the door handle and take a short, rapid breath.

When the door opens, my stomach sinks.

Her mascara has left black streaks on her cheeks; her lipstick has been wiped off with the back of her hand; and her luscious hair that usually falls perfectly is slightly less perfect.

‘Sashka, what the hell happened to you?’ I ask as she collapses her head onto my shoulder and squeezes.

‘He, broke, up, with, me. He, ended, it, all.’ She cries after every word.

I should have got that bloody ice cream.

CHAPTER 15

Toby’s not the messiah, he’s just a supervisor

Sashka is a big fan of Japanese cuisine, except for kakigori—a shaved ice dessert—that she says sounds like kaka gorye which means poop sorrow. So when Dad hands her some curry udon, she inhales it, stopping for brief sniffles.

‘Do you want anything to drink?’ I ask, stroking her head.

‘Omwy if itf ancobol.’ Sniffle.

‘What?’ I ask.

She chews on the noodles and swallows loudly. ‘Only if it’s alcohol.’

I walk to the stairs and shout, ‘Dad, do we have any sake?’

‘There is cooking sherry in the cupboard.’ His head pops up on the landing.

It’ll have to do. Where is Leon’s stash when you need it?

‘What happened?’ I ask tentatively, shuffling backwards and forwards on my chair.

‘So, here I am waiting for him at the opera. Looking great, by the way.’

‘Of course, always.’

‘He texted earlier to say he might be late because he was stuck in the lift.’

‘There was a blackout for about fifteen minutes.’ I avoid mentioning that I was in there with him. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling this information might make it worse.

‘So, he shows up, shirt in hand, but wearing a T-shirt. I sorta laugh because he looked a bit frazzled, and it was cute. I try to lead him in, and he doesn’t move.’

I notice that I am physically on the edge of my seat and shuffle back as Sashka drinks the sherry.

‘And then I remember that he doesn’t like the opera, so maybe after a hard day at work, like, his shirt was off... It probably was an awful day at work.’

Ouch. Ignore the pain pang, Fuko.

‘So, I say, Let’s ditch the opera. It’s probably not even that understandable. It’s Hungarian, for fuck’s sake. And he is not really moving, he just gives me this pathetic smile, and I know immediately what he is going to say.’

‘What does he say?’

‘It’s not going to work out.’ She sniffles again and finishes the wine.

I pour her another one. ‘That’s it?’ I pry.

‘Well, I ask, What do you mean it’s not going to work out? and he says, I think you’re amazing, Alexandra, uses my real name—Alexandra.’