‘I mean, I know me, so that doesn’t sound right, but to the normal folk…’ he jokes, ‘… that could actually work.’
‘We don’t have to go too hard, pretending to be a couple who are madly in love or anything like that, we’re just the appropriate plus one the other person needs. We can get each other through the summer.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Millsy says, clinking his can against mine. ‘How do we do this?’
‘I guess we can give each other a list of dates in the morning?’ I suggest. ‘See which ones we can make.’
Millsy laughs.
‘You’ve got your shit way too together to pull off claiming you’re dating me,’ he says.
‘And you’re way too cool for anyone to think you’re dating a puzzle nerd,’ I point out. ‘But you’re an actor, right? And, like I said, we’re not pretending we’re in love. We’re just plus ones.’
‘Just don’t go falling in love with me for real,’ Millsy playfully warns.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ I reply.
I think we can safely say there’s not much chance of that. Well, he’s far too cool for me and I’m far too dorky for him. Cool has never been my type, and I suspect I’m nothing like the kind of girls Millsy usually goes for either. We’re not even close to being each other’s type. I do like hanging around with him though, and I can’t think of a better person to be my plus one for the summer.
8
I’m one of those people who is quite fussy when it comes to beds. It’s not so much that I have especially high standards, I just never seem to get a good night’s sleep unless I’m in my own bed.
But last night, when Millsy showed me into his spare room, I couldn’t wait to get into the bed. He told me that he’s currently showing the room to potential flatmates, so I guess that’s why it’s so neat and tidy, and why he’s put so much effort into making it such a nice room. It doesn’t quite have the chilly bachelorness of the rest of the apartment but it’s still super cool. And with the king-size bed, with lovely soft microfibre sheets, along with the Goonies T-shirt Millsy gave me to sleep in, I pretty much drifted off the second my head hit the pillow. I’ve never felt so at home somewhere that wasn’t my home.
It’s Sunday afternoon now and I’m almost at my parents’ house. I couldn’t face going back to Hades to fetch my bag but Millsy said he’d go for me. It does mean that I can’t get back to my apartment until tonight though, so I wasn’t able to go home and get changed. Millsy did offer to pop to town and pick up something a little more daytime friendly for me, but he's already done so much for me. I thanked him for my makeover over coffee this morning, and he downplayed it, but I really can't thank him enough. I feel like a different person.
I decided that the easiest thing to do would be to pop into town on my way to the station to buy some clothes and some make-up myself. Well, I definitely want to keep my new face, so I need to get the right items to recreate the look Dani gave me. My hair still looks amazing, in that way that it always does after a professional hairstylist has dried it for you – I’m dreading washing and drying it myself though. As for my new style, well, even if I could completely get on board with my tiny red dress being right for me, I definitely don’t think it’s the best idea for Sunday dinner with the family; do you?
I popped into the Trinity shopping centre, hurriedly buying make-up before whizzing around a few clothes shops. The fitting rooms in H&M were not that busy so I rather cheekily applied my make-up while I was in there. It must have been so weird for the assistant, seeing me go in there looking like a caricature of the morning after the night before, with my crudely removed old make-up and my peculiar outfit consisting of a red dress with a Goonies T-shirt over the top. After paying for my new outfit – careful not to go over the contactless payment limit – I nipped to the toilets to get changed. Another miraculous transformation. I look half decent now.
I don’t remember the last time I went to my parents’ for dinner in anything other than my comfy clothes. Usually super-soft tracksuits, off-the-shoulder tops – almost always in black or shades of grey. But today, starting as I mean to go on, I’m rocking up to their front door in a red and white floral mini tea dress, the likes of which probably hasn’t been seen on me since I was a toddler, when my mum could dress me in whatever she wanted without protest.
I’m walking along the street towards their house, enjoying the delicious combination of the sun on my skin and the cool breeze, when I notice something that stops me in my tracks. On the driveway, sandwiched between my mum and dad’s cars, is a baby-blue Mini Cooper, and I only know one person who drives that car: my cousin Flora.
I hover on the spot for a second. I’m not sure I’m in the mood for Flora, especially when I’m so very clearly still in her bad books, no matter how hard she tries to pretend otherwise.
Before I get a chance to even think about making a break for it, a black Ford Fiesta pulls up just in front of me and out pops Oliver from the passengers’ side. I recognise it as his friend’s car.
Of course, my brother doesn’t recognise me, not with my new makeover. We both reach the end of our parents’ driveway around the same time. He glances at me, in that way you do with people when you cross paths so closely. He looks away before snapping his neck back in my direction.
‘Cara?’ he says, his eyes wide with… something. I can’t read him. ‘Is that… is that you?’
‘Of course it is,’ I say with a laugh. ‘I had my hair done – what do you think?’
‘I like it,’ he replies as his initial surprise relaxes into a smile. ‘It suits you.’
I wrap an arm around my little brother, giving him a squeeze before we head for the front door together.
‘I see Flora is here,’ I say.
‘Yeah, and Auntie Mary,’ he replies. ‘Mum just told me on the phone.’
‘Fabulous,’ I say sarcastically.
Auntie Mary is nothing like my mum. My mum is warm and affectionate, kind and generous – almost to a fault. She’s the rational person in our family, who keeps everyone together. She’s a great cook with a lovely house, but she isn’t going to rain hellfire down on you if you leave crumbs on the worktop or wear shoes on the carpet.
Auntie Mary, despite being raised by the same parents, in the same house, is nothing like my mum. She isn’t warm or friendly. Her house is like a museum, where you’re terrified of knocking things over or spilling your drink – if you did either, you would never hear the end of it. She’s not one for showing positive feelings or emotions, but an angry scowl or a harsh word of displeasure comes easy to her. Perhaps saddest of all is that I don’t have any positive memories of her, despite her being around me for most of my life. I have loads of memories of doing fun things with my mum and Flora – they are really close – but none involving my auntie. It’s just the way things have always been though, so I’m not all that bothered by it, and she’s the same with Oliver, so I know that it’s not me, it’s her. It’s never mattered until recently. The cold, reluctant hugs at Christmas and silent indifference at family gatherings were all I knew. It’s only since I decided I didn’t want to be Flora’s bridesmaid that my auntie has upped from indifferent to hostile.