looks at me, suddenly welling up as if she’s about to burst into tears. ‘Oh, honey, I’m so happy for you.’ Giving me a hug, she breaks away sniffling. ‘Sorry I get so emotional . . . It’s just . . .’ She dabs her eyes with the sleeve of her kaftan and gives a little hiccup. ‘I’ll be right back. I’m just going to grab a napkin.’
Thrusting her drint=“0ing to ourint=”0ink at me, she turns and I watch her dashing off through the crowd. As it parts, I spot my sister. Carrying a briefcase and wearing a dark work suit and harassed expression, she couldn’t look more out of place at a fashionable gallery opening if she tried.
‘Hi, Kate.’ I wave to attract her attention, and seeing me, she turns and marches over. ‘I’m so glad you could make—’
But she cuts me straight off. ‘Is that who I think it is?’ she demands, bypassing the pleasantries and jerking her head towards Nate, who’s still chatting away on his iPhone.
Oh shit.
I feel a clunking thud. The thing is, I haven’t actually got round to telling my sister about Nate. It’s not that I forgot as such. It’s more . . .OK, I completely avoided telling her. She left me half a dozen voicemail messages this week, but I just texted back saying I was busy with work. Which is entirely true. I have been super busy with work.
I’ve also been super busy falling in love with Nate, but I couldn’t tell her that. She’s not exactly a paid-up member of the Nathaniel Kennedy Fan Club.
‘Um . . .yes, it is,’ I say, avoiding eye contact.
‘The Bridge Guy!’ she gasps incredulously.
‘He’s called Nathaniel,’ I say, feeling defensive.
‘I could call him a lot of things,’ she replies, with a hard edge to her voice, ‘and most of them aren’t very complimentary.’
I feel my jaw set and I square my shoulders, just like I always do when I’m about to have an argument with Kate.
‘Like, for example, married.’
‘He’s getting divorced,’ I explain quickly. ‘He and his wife are separated. He’s living here in New York now.’
Kate’s eyes narrow and she fixes me with the kind of look that terrifies vice-presidents of law firms across Manhattan. ‘You’re not seeing him again, are you, Lucy?’ she demands, in a tone that makes grown men tremble.
By the look on my face there’s obviously no need to answer.
‘Oh my God, you are,’ she gasps in disbelief.
‘We’re in love,’ I say simply, trying to suppress a blissful smile, and failing.
‘In love?’ She staggers back as if she’s just been shot. ‘Since when?’
‘Since I was nineteen,’ I say, smiling ruefully.
Kate gives a little snort. ‘Lucy, you haven’t seen him for ten years. People change.’
‘Well, he hasn’t!’ I say rather crossly. For goodness’ sake, my big sister is always so negative. ‘OK, so he doesn’t drink coffee any more, and he does yoga, and—’
‘Yoga?’ gapes Kate.
‘What’s wrong with yoga?’ I demand. ‘It’s very good for you. We’re doing private classes together.’
‘You? Doing Yoga?’ She suddenly bursts out laughing. ‘Lucy, you can’t even touch your toes.’
‘Yes, I can. Almost,’ I say sulkily, thinking back to yesterday and mine and Nate’s first lesson with Yani, our yoga instructor. He had long, dark hair and wore flowing white robes and reminded me a bit of Jesus. Especially when he kept talking about enlightenment, and spirituality, and discovering your inner soul. Unfortunately the only thing I discovered is that I have a body that does not bend. But like Yani says, it’s all about the practice.
‘Anyway, yoga’s about the mind, not the body. Maybe you should try it,’ I suggest, shooting Kate a look.
My sister looks back at me as if I’m an alien. ‘Er, hello, can this robot who’s stolen my sister please give her back?’
‘If you’re just going to make fun the whole time—’
‘Well, c’mon, Luce.’
‘No, there is no “C’mon on, Luce”,’ I snap hotly. ‘We’re back together again, and this time for good, and that’s all there is to it.’
I break off, flushing, and Kate falls silent. ‘Look, I’m not trying to spoil things for you,’ she says, her tone much kinder, ‘but are you sure about this?’
‘I’ve never been more sure,’ I say determinedly. Then I just can’t help myself and gasp excitedly, ‘Oh, Kate, this is it. The real deal. He’s the One. He always was the One.’
I feel like when we were little and used to huddle excitedly together beneath the bedcovers, sharing our secrets.
But there’s no flash