the straight and narrow.’
Can this really be happening to me?
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, high-pitched.
‘Oh, he really didn’t want to do it. All ruffs and muffs he said, but it’s a slow time of year and I begged him to just take the pay cheque.’ She’s set up a drinks table in the corner of the room. ‘Vodka Martini OK by you?’
Martinis contain way too much alcohol for my liking, but I’m in no mood to argue. She drops her voice again.
‘Anyway, he says you’re the sanest person on the whole bloody job, a real mate. And judging by what a hoot your sister is, I’m sure it’s no exaggeration.’ Would he really have said that? I guess he might be clumsily covering his tracks by declaring half his hand up front – I am SO out of my depth with all of this. Bea hands me a huge Martini glass and chinks her own against it. ‘So thank you, Lulu – you’re helping to keep our children from the poorhouse. Or at least in socks.’
Socks, sex: who’s counting? Is this some elaborate double bluff to flush out if there’s anything going on? Bea’s clearly no fool and I can’t help wondering if it’s a trap. That said, there’s a sincerity about her that makes me think she’s straight up.
Nearly as straight up as the Martini, which I seem to have inhaled in a single gulp. I spy Tarquin bowling through the door in a ridiculous pinstripe suit and trilby combo, and experience the entirely unfamiliar sensation of being thrilled to see him.
‘Bea, you must meet Tarquin!’ I shriek with ludicrous enthusiasm.
‘Tark the Nark,’ she replies conspiratorially. ‘You’re right, I must.’
She leads the charge, effortlessly enveloping him in a cloud of warmth and charm. All his spiky conversational power play melts away as he sucks contentedly on the Martini she proffers like a baby on a nipple.
‘Charles has been so impressed by your approach to it all,’ she tells him gaily. ‘You’re a real breath of fresh air.’
Hot air, more like. I peel off, desperate to find Alice, only to find her deep in conversation with Charles.
‘Aah, Lulu,’ he croaks awkwardly, rocking back and forth. ‘We were just talking about you.’
‘All good, I hope,’ I replay, faux jolly, feeling like I’m at a Conservative Party fundraiser in Weybridge.
‘More than good!’ says Alice. ‘Charles is your second biggest fan after Emily. Who knew how clever my little sister was?’ she continues, giving me a hug.
‘Little?’ asks Charles.
‘Eight minutes,’ we chorus.
Charles gives a smile that reaches all the way to his eyes and lights up his face, the sort you produce when someone you love does something heartbreakingly endearing. You know, the kind of thing that shouldn’t even register it’s so insignificant to the average person, but that love goggles magnify to the power of ten. I’ve always thought that love is not something you can judge via what a person says – it’s more in the eyes, the way in which their pupils dilate when they gaze at you. Charles must detect he’s overstepped the mark, as he swiftly wipes the gorgeously sappy expression from his lovely face. Oh God. Falling in love is one thing; wading back out of the emotional quicksand is quite another. I will never take love lightly again: it’s a substance as hazardous and dangerous as kryptonite.
I’m so lost in reflection that I miss Bea’s approach. Suddenly she’s at Charles’s elbow, cocking her head towards his chest.
‘What have I missed?’
There are a million different ways to answer that question. Luckily Charles chooses an innocuous one.
‘We’re just discovering how much more mature and sophisticated Alice is than her errant twin.’
‘Ooh, Lulu seems pretty sophisticated to me,’ says Bea, looking at me keenly. She and Charles are close, but they’re not quite touching. Is she leaning in to him, or is their close proximity a natural fusion? I try to stop my eyes flickering between them for clues.
‘Excuse me, have you seen my outfit?’ I ask her.
Bea laughs. ‘It’s fun. God, I wish I was still the right side of forty and could throw on whatever I liked.’
Alice jumps in and says all the right things about how great she looks, while I work on my exit strategy. Luckily Bea beats me to it.
‘Darling, you really must talk to Tarquin,’ she tells Charles. ‘Go and make him feel loved. And will you just pop to the kitchen and get some ice out of the deep freeze?’
‘Think I’ll