Page 70 of Break the Ice

‘You paid him. The extra petrol money, for his time,’ she tells me.

‘This is different. He needed a date for a party.’

I sit down in the incredibly busy arrivals area at JFK to catch a breath. It’s been a strange and chaotic twenty-four hours, a bit like that time I was trying to deliver a dog when England literally stopped working because of the snow. In a London park, dare I say it a quaint London park, I went on a stroll with Joshua and we came up with a plan for me to fly to the Big Apple and pretend to be his shiny, new British girlfriend. I think this is the most spontaneous thing Joshua has ever done and it was fun to grab a piece of paper out of my bag and plot the whole thing out, to book flights from my phone, to ask him several million questions because it would be my first time visiting. What do I pack? Where do I stay? Would I have time to do the Gossip Girl tour?

‘Are you telling me he’s paying you to be a date? Like an escort?’ Norah says, getting more shrill. ‘Are you shagging him?’

I pause. I think I may have put the stoppers on that sort of fun because I was a little worried to hear I was only the second person Joshua had ever slept with. Not that I was judging, but he suddenly felt like someone I couldn’t just play around with. It was obvious that Avery had damaged him in many ways and I didn’t want to add to that turmoil. It meant I felt emotionally responsible for him, almost protective.

‘You’re so gross. I’m here because he’s nice and I’ve never been to New York. He’s offered to show me round. I’m paying my own way from the money I got when Uncle Lorenzo died. I never go on holiday,’ I argue.

‘So you two are friends now?’ Norah asks.

‘He’s a good guy. Why not? I don’t know enough Americans.’

She goes quiet for a moment. ‘It just seems that you’ve put a lot of trust in him incredibly quickly.’

‘Says the woman who was letting this man stay in her actual house.’

She goes silent, because I’m right and she will never admit it.

‘Ben and Chloe are back in London and are looking after Steve, so he’s OK too.’

‘Good. His name is Cookie, by the way.’

‘What’s the latest with him, anyway?’

‘We’re getting Skye allergy-tested properly. I can’t take him back. I won’t do that to him, but Adam is also talking to his brother.’

‘The one who lives in Glasgow?’ I say, with a pang of sadness that he might be moving that far away.

‘Yeah. We’ll see. For now, Ben’s got him for a week.’

‘You know he could continue to live with me? Steve loves me.’

‘I did notice. But then Steve loves drinking out of the toilet too.’

I laugh as I sit there watching the commotion around me. It’s like London on speed; everyone is rushing, purposeful in their marching towards gates and taxis, but the communication is different, loud, no pretence. The airport is a big festive buzz ball – giant ribbons, lights and Christmas trees everywhere. I think I like how big everything is, how I’m in bloody New York, this is such a surprise, when I thought I’d just come home to London and spend the arse end of the holiday with a bottle of vodka, binge-watching something on Netflix.

‘Be safe. Do you have travel insurance?’

‘I do.’

‘Can you message me every day to let me know you’re OK? Turn on your location on Snapchat.’

‘I will.’

‘And buy us treats, of course.’

‘Snow globe or fridge magnet?’

‘Keyring. I love you, Phoebe. I don’t say it enough but I do. If you’re there for him, to help him, then that’s a good thing you’re doing.’

I’m surprised to hear such sincerity spoken out loud. ‘Have you been day drinking?’

‘Such a cow.’

‘Love you too, sis. Always.’