a bit weird; you mustn’t mind that.” But I’m not sure how well she’d respond. She’s not the chattiest person in the world. I’d better take it slowly.
“By the way, Suze,” says Jess, her eyes still fixed straight ahead, “I haven’t seen you since your…loss. I was sorry to hear about it.”
“Thanks,” says Suze, her eyes darkening a little too. “It was…you know. One of those things.” She glances at me and I give a half smile, half wince.
We walk on a short way in silence and I’m pretty sure we’re all thinking about children. I’m wondering wistfully if Luke and I will ever have another baby. But then instantly I feel bad for wanting anything more than Minnie, and I squeeze her hand tightly, just to prove it to her.
Then it occurs to me: Maybe Jess isn’t thinking about children at all; maybe she’s thinking, How am I going to break it to everyone that Tom and I have split up?
The thought makes me feel cold—but at the same time, it’s not really a shock. It must be difficult for them, living so far away. And both working hard. And Tom surrounded by lots of sexy young charity workers in khaki hot pants (I expect). Maybe he’s fallen in love with one of them.
Or has Jess fallen in love with a guy in khaki hot pants? Or a girl in khaki hot pants?
I mean, anything’s possible.
I glance at Jess again, wondering whether to press her on the subject. But, after all, she’s only just arrived back, and the whole family’s around. I’ll take her out for a drink sometime and talk privately to her, I decide. Just us girls, all nice and relaxed. She’ll open up then.
“Bex, you must be really out of shape!” says Suze. “You’re breathing so hard!”
“Oh.” I look up in a daze. “No, I was thinking about…you know. Things.” I wonder if Jess will divine my empathetic, sisterly thoughts—but she gives me a blank look and says, “You should try high-intensity workouts, Becky. You usually dodge cardio, don’t you?”
Instantly, all my empathy melts away. Dodge cardio? I don’t dodge cardio!
“Actually, I’ve got a new online personal trainer,” I say loftily. “I’m on a bespoke exercise program.”
“Wow!” says Suze. “I didn’t know you were doing that.”
“Well, I bought this new dress for Christmas,” I explain. “Alexander McQueen, seventy percent off.”
“Alexander McQueen!” Suze opens her eyes wide.
“Exactly! But it’s a teeny bit too small. So I thought, I’ll hire a personal trainer and fit into the dress, plus it’s good for my health. Win-win.”
Jess frowns. “How much is the fitness program?” she says. “Surely this is all ending up far more expensive than just buying a dress that fit you in the first place or, even better, using a dress that you already had in your wardrobe?”
I’d forgotten about Jess’s habit of asking annoying questions and then staring at you without blinking. Next she’ll be saying, “Why don’t you do one hundred press-ups every day?” or “Why don’t you live on potatoes and water?”
“You can’t put a price on health,” I say briskly. “It’s an investment.”
At that moment Mum waves at us from a restaurant entrance and calls, “Here we are! This way!”
“Wait,” says Suze. “Before we go in, Bex, I need a word about…something. Jess, do you mind? Maybe you could take Minnie in?”
Suze waits until Jess has disappeared into the restaurant, holding Minnie’s hand. Then she turns to me and says in an undertone, “What do you really think about Luke’s mustache?”
“Hate it,” I mutter back. “But I’m being supportive.”
“Got it.” Suze nods, then, as we enter the restaurant, she gives Luke a dazzling smile.
“By the way, Luke,” she says. “Fab mustache!”
* * *
—
It seems to take about an hour for us all to order brunch, partly because Janice can’t pronounce “chia” and Martin doesn’t want turmeric in his mango smoothie, whereas Mum wants extra shots of spirulina in everything, even her cup of tea. Dad orders smashed avocado on sourdough in an over-casual, self-conscious kind of way, and Mum says to me, “He has avocado every day, Becky! Every single day!”
But at last our waiter has gone and we’re all sipping coffees and juices and Minnie’s crayoning in her How the Grinch Stole Christmas coloring book. I’m just telling her that grinches don’t have to be green, they can be pink (we haven’t got a green crayon), when Mum taps a fork on her saucer for attention.