CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In the hours after Dev and I made our daring escape, I kept my phone close, still checking it every two minutes as I shovelled a third helping of turkey down my throat, searching for news reports about exceptionally good-looking people breaking into any stately homes, having a jolly good time and politely leaving in a timely fashion. So far, so nothing. Bonnie and Clyde, Mickey and Mallory, and now Gwen and Dev, two outlaws who played by their own rules, did what they wanted, when they wanted, but also made sure they were home in time for dinner.
A text from Dev popped up on the screen and I opened it immediately.
Can’t believe we did that. I’m here until Tuesday, let me know if you’ve got time to hold up a bank/get coffee x
‘What are you smiling at?’ Manny asked as I slid my phone into my dress pocket.
‘TikTok of baby capybaras in Santa hats,’ I replied before turning to my sister. ‘Cerys, how about you and me pop down to the pub for a drink after dinner?’
The entire table fell silent.
Cerys stared at me as though I’d suggested we nip out to tar and feather Mr Regal at number 43.
‘What did you just say?’
‘I asked if you’d like to go to the pub after dinner.’
As unappealing as the idea of sitting in a room, alone with my sister, might be, it still beat the thought of starting the day over from scratch again. Best-case scenario, she made the wish, I made it come true, we all woke up on Boxing Day ready to gorge ourselves on my dad’s famously rank turkey enchiladas. Worst-case scenario, she continued to find fault with everything I’d ever done and I got back from the pub just in time to chuck myself on the fireworks again.
‘I thought it might be fun to put in some sister time,’ I added. ‘Have a catch-up.’
Whatever I was selling, Cerys was not buying.
‘We have never been to the pub together in our entire lives and you want to start today?’
‘You should go!’ Mum practically screamed, banging a hand against the table, her eyes feverish with excitement. This was it, the sisterly bonding moment she’d been waiting for her entire life. Daughters who went on holiday together and wore matching pyjamas and texted each other to say something other than ‘Are you going to Mum and Dad’s on Father’s Day or should I?’
‘You should go,’ Mum said again, more forcefully. An order not a suggestion. ‘We’ll look after the kids. And Oliver.’
A quick check on my brother-in-law, who was currently loosening his belt buckle by three whole notches, suggested the latter would be more of a challenge than the former.
‘Fine.’ Cerys flicked away a speck of dry mascara and continued to stare me down. ‘One drink.’
‘You never know,’ I replied, savouring my turkey in the hopes that I wouldn’t be eating it again for another year. ‘You might even enjoy yourself.’
‘Stranger things have happened.’
A chunk of dry white meat stuck in my throat and I coughed it down, banging on my chest and trying not to laugh.
‘Oh, Care,’ I chuckled as I dabbed at my watering eyes. ‘You don’t know how right you are.’
The walk to the pub was frosty in more ways than one. Cerys was silent the entire way except for the seven minutes she spent complaining about the Derbyshire mizzle ruining her new suede handbag and the only time I managed to stay silent was when I stopped myself from asking why she’d brought a new suede handbag to walk to the pub in the first place.
‘What’ll you have?’ I asked, holding the door open and following her inside. The Baslow Arms wasn’t especially busy, we’d finished lunch early and the afternoon crowd hadn’t filtered in yet, a few overly keen regulars were propping up the bar and, I assumed, people who ate their Christmas dinner in the evening. AKA total weirdos.
‘Whatever’s drinkable,’ Cerys replied. ‘Which probably doesn’t leave me with many options.’
‘I seem to remember the sauvignon blanc was OK but I haven’t had it since I was about seventeen so don’t hold me to it.’
We walked over to a small round table in the corner, squeezed between the roaring fire and the bay window. I shrugged off my borrowed scarf and coat, hanging them on a hook on the wall, while Cerys took the chair closest to the fire. Her coat remained on.
‘Nothing says a sophisticated taste in wine like underage drinking. I’ll have a gin and tonic. Hopefully they can’t find a way to fuck that up.’
‘Gin and tonic it is,’ I repeated, bowing under the Sisyphean weight of the task at hand. ‘Are you going to take off your coat?’
‘No.’