Page 133 of How We Began

“I don’t know either,” he said at last.

Then he reached for my hand and we headed back to our room.

9th April

“Who the fuck is Miranda?” I demanded, my green-eyed monster back with a vengeance after I’d accidentally looked at the screen of his phone. To my credit I hadn’t been actively involved in stalking and it was a genuine mistake.

“Our rep in the States,” he said, his face folding into a frown.

“Why is she texting you?” (Crazy jealous alert)

“Why are you asking? And why are you looking at my phone?”

“I’m not looking at your phone. It’s right there by my leg and it flashed clear as day.”

“Seriously, Lilah. Are you jealous?” His tone cut through me.

“What, that some strange woman is texting you? Who I’ve never heard of before? Yes, I fucking am.”

Cue major stomp off out the front door.

Damn it. What am I supposed to do now? It is a Tuesday and it’s only five in the afternoon.

(Later)

Turns out, my brother is handy in a case of the green-eyed monster. “We need a BBQ,” I stated, mainly to the table.

“What, now?”

We’d been in the pub for a good few hours and I’d lost the feeling in my legs.

“No, you fool, for our new home.”

“It’s April, and we don’t actually own it yet, Lilah.”

I blew a raspberry. “Mere facts. When will we own it, have you heard anything?”

“Four more weeks, according to Tracy, the world’s most useless solicitor.”

“Good. I’m going to paint my room purple.”

“Purple is for the sexually repressed, Lil, which you aren’t.”

“Not now, but I will be.”

“Do you think you should go home?”

“Don’t want to. You can’t make me.”

10th April

(8.30 a.m.)

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.”

“No, really. I am very sorry, but I need to be sick.”