Page 48 of How to Kill Your Rival

It’s like the world screeches to a halt.

Gaston chooses that moment to let out a squeak of a bum admission that acts as tear gas.

‘Gaston, you filthy fucker,’ Fraser says, covering his nose with his sleeve. Gaston takes that moment to lunge forward and launch his snout into the leftover noodles.

‘Oh shit,’ Maggie says, grabbing the dog and battling him away from the food. ‘Eliza, just bloody admit it already.’

‘You knew?’ Fraser scowls at Maggie.

‘I suspect.’ She shrugs, Gaston wriggling in her arms, noodle on his snout.

‘And you didn’t tell me?’

‘It’s not my place.’

‘I’m always last to bloody know everything,’ Fraser says as he sits back on the couch and folds his arms.

‘We’re not fucking,’ I say. ‘It’s just a little stress relief. And nothing happened until the past few weeks.’

Silence.

‘It’s nothing.’ I flop down beside my brother and groan.

Maggie narrows her eyes. ‘You’re a liar.’

She releases Gaston, who storms about the room in a zoomies haze.

‘You know how it is when you get horny on adrenaline after a kill,’ I say.

‘I don’t…’ Of course Maggie doesn’t. She’d be hard pushed to squash a bloody fly.

‘It started out just competing with each other. Who was the quickest? Who did it the best? Wind each other up. It was fun.’

Maggie says nothing.

‘And what? You fell on his cock by accident?’ Fraser says.

We both hit him with cushions.

‘We’re not fucking,’ I insist. Can’t exactly admit I came against his goddamned shin, can I? They’d never let me live that down.

‘Close enough.’ Maggie laughs.

* * *

Eventually, Maggie and Fraser crash out on the sofa with the tiny fart-monster wedged between them.

I sit on the floor with my back against the sofa and text James. It’s bothering me, I haven’t heard from him. Not that I need to hear from him. Or even want to…

Liar.

Eliza

Birmingham last week. Clean job. Forty seconds, no mess, out before the neighbour got home. You?

James

Cardiff. Thirty-five seconds. Although I had to improvise on the exit.