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Anyway, everything else that’s happened I’ve told you already. I’m really happy flatting with Cress and Ford. You’ll like them, if you flat here next year (you will, I’ll make sure of it!). They’re so easy-going, and totally don’t mind when I gush about home. They actually seem keen to do postgrad in New Zealand. Encourage them. I’d love to show off Mansfield. To Cress the most. She’s grown very close with me these last eight weeks. We just click.
Do you click? Do you like her?
I really hope you do.
Ford is fun too. Bit of a flirt though.
Okay, do me a favour and call me as soon as you’ve read this?
Hugs,
Ethan
P.S. Sorry about Mrs Norris peeing on your pillow again. I hope you got the smell out of the room and are using my bed until it’s better. Such a funny cat. But I’ve decided I understand why she dislikes you so much. You’re her biggest competition. She hates that most of the time I’m thinking of you (cats sense these things).
Nevertheless, I miss her heaps. I know you’ll be hugging her, too—or trying. I’m imagining it.
Bye for real, this time,
Ethan.
P.P.S Not bye, later.
Byes are too final.
Later,
Ethan
Outside, London is a collection of rooftops. I can see Ethan crawling out of the window and perching on the pitched roof, loosely hugging his knees. I know I’ll be doing the same.
A knock at my door startles me and there’s a flash of red hair. Maria. “Fin. How long do you need? Come down.”
Carefully, I tuck the letter back in its envelope and Ziploc and set it on my suitcase. I didn’t even unpack before hunting for it.
I head downstairs. The house is narrow, three levels. Wallpapered and carpeted. Dark. The complete opposite of Mansfield. I’d feel homesick if it weren’t for the letter. Weren’t for needing to retrace Ethan’s steps.
I pass Maria and Rush arguing in the kitchen and keep going.
Cress is in the living room, gleefully polishing a newly restored harp. Her short dark hair falls to her jaw and her green eyes are big and glittery. Jeans and t-shirt cling to her curves.
She’s stunning. Beautiful even. I can see them bonding, growing closer as she plays for him.
We just click.
She smiles brightly and plucks a string. So beautiful. And she plays his favourite instrument.
I temper my unfurling envy and sit stiffly on the couch. “Thank you for letting us stay here.”
“We rent out the rooms every semester. But I’m super happy you’re staying this time. Ethan told me so much about you.”
Why does she have to be so nice?
“He did?”
“Yes. I feel like I know you already.” She plucks a few strings and it sounds like a fairy-tale. “Did he, uh, mention me?”
I hesitate. It’s on the tip of my tongue to throw out No! We only had hour-long calls, and one week together again. You barely came up at all.
But it’s not a nice thing to say.
It’s also not a true thing to say. Ethan has mentioned her. A fair bit, now I think about it.
I nod and she smiles.
“Do you study music?” I ask, gesturing to the harp.
“My minor. I love music, but I don’t want to be a struggling artist. I want wealth and a good home. That’s what my business major is for.”
The clock on the wall above me ticks loudly. Five minutes and Ethan will be up.
“Sis?” an enthusiastic voice calls.
Cress rolls her eyes. “Ford’s home.”
There’s a thick aura of conceit and confidence about Ford as he bursts into the living room. He’s short, but he makes up for it in presence. Demands attention. The dark hair and crazy green eyes don’t help.
He glances at me, offers barely more than a ‘hey’ and strides to Cress. His fingers trail over the harp as he stares at his twin sister. “What idiot left their suitcase in front of the door for everyone to fall over?”
“By everyone, you mean you?”
“I think Rush said something about coming back down for his second suitcase. He probably forgot.”
“Rush?”
“Maria’s boyfriend. They’re around somewhere.”
“In the kitchen,” I say.
Ford glances at me; this time he takes me in before dismissing me. “Right.”
He charges across the room and halts as Maria cascades through the door, hair down and flowing around her shoulders, carrying a plate of sandwiches. Her eyes snap to Ford and she stops abruptly. Her breasts heave as she sucks in her breath. Her lips curve. “Hi. I’m Maria, you must be—”
“Ford.”
“I hope so,” she says huskily. Poor Rush comes in for the tail end of it, dishevelled and disoriented from their travels. “Sandwich?”
Ford’s gaze lingers on Maria; Rush, he barely acknowledges. “I’ll take whatever you’re offering.”
Bit of a flirt?
I stand. “Cress, I promised to call Ethan. Can I use the phone?”
She plucks a delighted tune on the harp. “Let’s both chat with him. I promised to play for him when my new harp came.”
