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After what feels like hours of cooking, we all gather around the huge table where two former front rooms have been knocked into one oversized dining room. I’ve been known to eat at award-winning fancy restaurants in London on occasion, but between the enchanted meat, Mum’s skills, and the sense of family, it’s the most delicious meal I’ve had in a long time.
Once the washing up’s done, I attempt to head back up to my bedroom, but Chrissie takes my arm.
“Now your cover’s blown, we don’t have to mess around pretending you’re not one of the family. And that means we can have a proper night out. Mum’s on babysitting duty, and I’ve got just the thing in mind to cheer you up.”
I frown at her. “We tried the whole night out thing on Friday. Look where that ended up.”
Chrissie laughs. “That was us taking our lawyer out. Not us taking our sister out.”
“But Gabriel—”
She places one of the toddlers carefully on the floor, sits down on a stool and crosses her arms. “Firstly, you are not living your life in fear of that dickhead. Secondly, I know for a fact he won’t be where we’re going, because the only person in the world he’ll listen to will have told him to stay away.”
“And where is that?”
Liam walks in wearing a tracksuit, grinning. “My fight, of course.”
I shiver. “I’m not sure watching my brother get punched in the face repeatedly will help my nerves.”
Liam shakes his head. “Have some faith. I’ll win, I promise.”
Chrissie shoos Liam out, then descends on me. “Shower. Now. Then I’m getting you ready.”
“Manually or magically?” I drag myself to the door with exaggerated slowness, putting on a show.
“Whichever makes you look the most stunning. Now move it.”
There are a lot of bathrooms in the house. The fact that it had originated as an entire row of terraced houses makes for a huge array of rooms, a massive garden out back, and a charmingly disjointed vibe.
I head for the largest bathroom, created in what had once been a master bedroom in one of the houses towards the left-hand side of the row. There’s a bath I can lay out full length in, and I suspect even Liam could do the same. It’s always been used for both long luxurious soaks and purification rituals. There’s also a walk-in shower with a dinner plate showerhead and jets on the walls, which I choose in the interests of time. There are many things my parents don’t believe in spending money on. But when it comes to things they think are worthwhile, like their cars and their clothes—or in this case, their bathrooms—they go all out.
One of the things Mum definitelydoesn’tbelieve in spending money on is expensive toiletries. I use some homemade concoction which, to be fair, probably smells better than anything sold in a little boutique.
I linger under the hot water for ten minutes, then wrap myself in a towel and wander back to my bedroom, feeling slightly more alive.
Chrissie is in there waiting for me. “Right, sit. First things first, I’m removing any lingering traces of your disguise. I want you looking exactly like my sister again.”
She waves her hand in a spiral over my head, and judging by her satisfied smile, I’m back to my old self.
Chrissie hands me a copy ofVogue. “Flick through. Pick a dress and some shoes. It’s tempting to choose for you, but I’m trying not to be too much of a control freak.”
I grin as I open the magazine. I’m not that interested in high fashion, but I always enjoyed this game as a teenager.
“That one,” I say eventually.
It’s longer and looser than anything Chrissie would have picked out for me if left to her own devices, but the emerald lace is still pretty sexy, and my sister nods approvingly.
“Stand up. Towel off.”
I do as she orders. I’ve never really felt naked in front of Chrissie, and though it’s been years, there’s still no awkwardness. She scrutinises my body like a sculptor inspecting a block of marble, then looks away and stares at the picture in the magazine as though she’s trying to see through it. She puts one hand on the picture and one hand on my collarbone, then closes her eyes, clearly concentrating hard.
I shut my eyes, too. When I open them, I’m wearing a perfect replica of the dress, cut to fit my body, and Chrissie is smirking in triumph.
“Okay, that’s pretty impressive,” I say.
“I know. Now sit down and let me sort your hair and make-up.”
She drags her fingers through my hair in a complex pattern. Each time she reaches the bottom, it grows by about an inch. She continues until my shoulder length locks are almost down to my waist.
