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‘He’s ploughing through women, since he threw his wife out,’ I tell her.
‘Kenny?’ she squeaks in disbelief. ‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘You find it hard to believe that the man you’ve only known for a couple of days tops might not be the great guy he makes himself out to be?’ I reply sarcastically. ‘You’re really out-Jessing yourself today, sis.’
‘And how would you know better?’ she asks me. ‘God, that arguing between the two of you, that’s not sexual tension, is it? Eww, you haven’t already been there, have you?’
‘Hell no,’ I quickly insist. ‘Declan used to go out drinking with him, after he threw his wife out of their house, and he would come home banging on about how cool Kenny was, how he was starting his life again because he wasn’t happy, how he could have a different girl every night if he wanted to. Declan idolised him – I’m pretty sure it was these happiness pep talks from Kenny that led to Declan leaving me. And then there’s all the girls coming and going since his wife left. So, yeah, great guy.’
‘He is cool,’ Jess says, echoing the one part of my rants that she didn’t need to take away. Then she laughs. ‘I know what I’m doing, sis, and Declan was a scumbag, you’re better off without him. Anyone who could abandon their partner is trash, whether someone convinced them to do it or they decided to do it themselves.’
She’s not wrong there. I just don’t want to see her getting hurt by someone like Kenny. Of course I see the appeal. He’s a good-looking guy with a nice house, he’s worked hard to build a career for himself, he can be charming, and he is funny, I guess – it’s just infuriating, given that I’m usually the butt of his jokes.
‘Blergh,’ I say, sticking out my tongue in disgust. ‘I really wanted to keep this a Declan-free Christmas. I hate talking about him, or even thinking of him, because it makes me feel like he’s still relevant, like he still matters.’
‘Well, he is irrelevant, and he doesn’t matter, and there will be no more mentions of D from now on.’
Jess laughs at her own choice of words.
‘Sounds ideal,’ I reply. ‘I wish I could get all members of this family to think less about D.’
This only makes Jess laugh harder.
‘You still think Mum and Dad are up to no good together?’ she asks. Her casual tone suggests she might not be convinced but, to be honest, neither am I.
‘Something is off in this house,’ I say simply. ‘That’s all I know.’
‘You’re hardly in it,’ Jess points out.
‘I could say the same to you,’ I reply. ‘God, I’m starving.’
‘Me too,’ she replies, hopping off my bed. ‘Come on, let’s go get some food.’
I get up slowly and start searching my bedroom drawers for some comfortable clothes to go downstairs in.
‘Oh, my God, quick, come here,’ Jess demands.
I walk over to the bedroom window where I join her in looking out over the back garden. The garden is nothing fancy – yet. I have all these big ideas but so far all I’ve managed is cleaning up the stone paths, keeping the lawn nice, and I’ve painted the summer house at the bottom of the garden. It’s a cute wooden thing, with windows, and a little canopy at the front. It’s currently stuffed full of garden furniture and tools, not that it would be warm enough to spend time in at this time of year.
All is as it should be in the garden apart from one thing: Mum and Dad are standing outside the summer house, having what anyone with eyes would describe as an intimate conversation. They’re leaning in, Dad has his hands on Mum’s forearms and he’s rubbing them. Their expressions are serious, then softer, then they’re smiling.
‘Right, something is definitely going on there,’ Jess whispers, even though there’s no way they can hear us.
‘Definitely,’ I reply.
‘Shall we confront them?’ she suggests. ‘Ask them what they’re talking about?’
‘No, because if it was bad, they would only lie,’ I point out. ‘We need to be smart about this. We need to watch them, listen to them – try and figure out what they’re up to without them noticing, just like we used to do when we were kids.’
‘Late nights spying from the stairs it is,’ she says with a smile.
Jess and I always used to watch what our parents were up to, when really we should have been in bed asleep. They used to throw these dinner parties for their friends and we were fascinated by it all. Long after we were supposed to be in bed we would creep back up and sit together halfway down the stairs, spying from the darkness, peering into the dining room through the wrought-iron banister railings. We learned so much by listening to the grown-ups talk, but we were confused by so much more. Well, when we were kids, without the internet, we couldn’t just look things up for ourselves and, yes, saying that does make me feel like I’m eighty years old.
‘We need to try and trip them up too,’ I suggest. ‘Normally I’d say you’re the best at talking to Dad, whereas I probably know how to chat to Mum more about life stuff. But we don’t want that, we need to switch places, swap parents, you talk to Mum – because she tends to try and seem more cool in front of you – and I’ll talk to Dad, because frankly I clearly make him as uncomfortable as he makes me, and it’s in that awkwardness where he might slip up.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Jess says. ‘I’d be excited, if the whole thing wasn’t so gross.’
‘It’s something to do, I guess,’ I say with a sigh. ‘Come on, let’s go get some food, see if we can find anything out.’
