Page 115 of Break Out the Girl

Spectacular—there is even a tin of sweetcorn. Tuna and sweetcorn ranks at number three in the ‘London’s best ever jacket potato fillings’ list.

“We should call him again,” Kitty-cat says, while opening a tin for me.

“Who, light of my life?” I ask her.

She blinks. “My brother.”

Shane hovers around the kitchen, but I don’t teach him any of my cooking tricks. Something tells me Shane would not be a good student. I’ve got an instinct for things like that.

“Let’s try one of the others,” he says in his French snake voice. “Surely, one of that bande de potes must have their ringer on.”

“What about Donovan or Wes? I know them,” my Kitty asks.

“They’re both idiots. I’d rather try the professor or…Theo.” Shane sighs, saying her name in a wobbly way.

That’s when the knowledge this Theo-girl is Shane’s surprise-sister sinks in again. Sometimes new information doesn’t stick well in my brain-box.

“Ooh, call her. You need to start bonding,” I tell him in my most earnest voice.

Seriously, if I need a second career on top of fugitive, I should be a family therapist.

Kitten looks confused. “Bonding? What are you talking about, London?”

Ooh, I get to be the information sharer.

“Shane just learned that he and Burt share a sister.” I frown then put the pieces together. “And she’s your brother's girlfriend, so, like, your sister-in-law? What a sister-bonanza for you all. Hey, Skylight?”

The girl looks up from the puzzle. “Me?”

“Do you think you’re my sister?”

I bet she is. It can’t be possible for three of our gang to have new sisters, and not me. “Do you like sissy, or sis?” I ask Sky. Personally, I think neither have the gravitas that a new lady-sibling should have. Hmm, I’ll work on that.

“I’ll call Feniks,” shrugs ol’ Shivery.

“Voicemail,” he grunts after a few seconds. Turning around, he bangs his head on the little box shelf. The books topple and one lands plop on the counter. “The Great Glass Disaster: The Rise and Fall of Ashgrave.”

Sounds like a fun read.

Tatties in, a wave of sleepiness nearly wipes me out. The food won’t be ready for another forty minutes and my eyes can’t stop looking at the squishy L-shaped sofa. “Is that one of those settees that turn into a bed?” I ask the ghost of old Bernie.

I’m pretty sure she tells me it is, so I go and investigate.

Nice. The coffee table flips over, then I pull out some extra cushions.

Voila!

“Look, friends!” The end of the trailer now has a bed fit for at least two kings, a queen and a labrador.

Kitten smiles, looking her sleepiest self too. “How many other beds are there?”

“Allow me to find out, my love.”

The report is boringly quick and easy to make. “Double trouble. Double bed in bedroom one, and same again in the other bedroom, though that one has a collection of stuffed zebras which would also make an excellent floor bed.” I look around and count on my fingers.

Basil, Sky, Shane, Burt, Kitten and me. Six sleepy sausages. “Bags-I bunk with Kitten!” I declare immediately, then quickly whisper in her ear. “We’ll take the zebras.”

Shane throws the cellphone onto the new sofa-bed. “All the numbers are going straight to voice mail. Where the fuck are they?”