Page 53 of Unapologetic Love Story

‘At the gym,’ Meggie Lewis said, her lips twitching with pride as she tossed the croutons. ‘I told her not to rush home, but she’ll drop in before you go.’

‘Well,’ Raina’s father laughed and wagged a finger, ‘we’re not eating without her.’

‘She had breakfast, she’ll be fine,’ Meggie retorted.

Raina twisted her neck until it gave a little crack. It took a lot of adjusting to re-enter this house and behave as though no time had passed. ‘Fine.’

‘How’s London?’ asked her father.

Raina thought of her podcast, her sun-filled house and Tom Branimir’s big hands.

‘It’s great.’

She moved to the fridge and found the ever-reliable jug of iced water and cucumber. She poured a hefty glass and downed it in two long gulps.

‘What’s the news?’ she asked, addressing the question to her father, because Meggie was now occupying herself with a large glass of white wine.

‘Come over here,’ he said, moving to the kitchen window. Raina obediently followed.

‘What am I looking at, Dad?’

‘Look at next door’s bin sheds.’

‘Oh, Dad.’

‘No, look. Raina, look at them.’

‘I am.’

The two of them stared out of the double-glazed window at next door’s bin sheds and Raina exhaled.

‘What am I looking at?’ she finally asked.

‘I just want to know where they get the gall?’

‘Oh, Dad.’

‘Where do they get the audacity to do this to me?

‘They’re not deliberately doing anything.’

‘Those,’ her father cried, pointing at the bin sheds, ‘are the ugliest things to darken this street since Martin’s brown camper-van.’

‘Let it go, Peter,’ Meggie said from the other side of the kitchen, adding some more ice to her wine.

Raina nudged her father and laughed, knowing that he did genuinely care about matters like this, while also appreciating the fact that he was playing it up to make her laugh.

‘You should put it on the local bulletin,’ she said impishly.

‘Don’t encourage him,’ Meggie said, moving the salad bowl to the middle of the table and opening the fridge to select some cold cuts. Raina topped up her glass and sat down at the table, the same table she ate at for the first twenty years of her life. The linen napkins were the same, the salt and pepper shakers were the same. The meals hadn’t progressed beyond salads, cold cuts and the occasional healthy pizza or grilled bit of fish.

As ever, Meggie Lewis measured the portions.

‘How’s the podcast?’ her father asked.

He asked because neither of them liked to listen. They’d never responded well to Raina getting a diagnosis and liked to pretend that it was something she’d ‘grown out of’ over the years.

‘We’re nominated for two awards,’ Raina said brightly.