Chapter 2

ChapterTwo

Olive’s phone Reminders:

Book dental check-up (Filling needed? Skanky tooth?)

Order that rose gold Kate Spade coffee mug for Birdie

Download ‘Still Minds’ meditationapp

Listen to Day 1 of ‘Still Minds’ meditationapp

If my homelife were a sitcom it would be called The Alex and Donna Show. Which is a shit title for a sitcom, I know, but you get my point. I would be the pale, oddball sister living in the basement, popping up occasionally to make some dry remark but mainly serving as the audience for Alex and Donna to act out in frontof.

If it were Friends, I’d be Gunther.

I’ve been living in this house since I was born. It used to belong to my parents. And then, two weeks after I started university in Manchester, we found out Mum had been having a sordid affair (is there any other kind?) with a French man who had been visiting the city on business. Out of nowhere she decided to leave dad, my brother Alex and me for a new life in Marseille with her rando French fancy. Her whole family carelessly left behind because of a stupid affair! She only stayed with Luc for a year, but she met someone else in France and still lives there.

Dad was so broken about it all that he spent most of the next six months eating tinned pies in the living room with the curtains closed. And then, just as I was doing my first-year exams, he transferred the mortgage to Alex and upped and moved back to his home town of Scotland where he now goes from girlfriend to girlfriend to girlfriend, desperately unhappy and bitter about how things turnedout.

So then it was just me andAlex.

I don’t really speak to my parents anymore. Everything kind of fragmented after Mum bailed. Not that I’m still messed up about it. (Except that, of course, I totally am.) Once, when she was drunk, Birdie said that all of my current foibles can be traced back to the unexpected break-up of my family, that I was ‘emotionally traumatised’. It’s a bit of a Psychology 101 suggestion in my opinion, but… I did used to be a lot braver when I was younger. I was the girl who, at the park, ran up the slide rather than slide down it. Badass.

I like it here at the house in Saddleworth, despite the shit that went down here. It’s home: a nice roomy semi-detached, on a quiet street, with a pretty gravelled garden, countryside not too far away. Inside it feels cosy and full of memories that were happy and safe, of times before our family’s sudden split. I know the place so well that I can find my way to the bathroom in the dark without even using my hands to feel along thewall.

As I enter the floral papered hallway, I smell the delicious tomatoey scent of Donna’s lasagne wafting through the house. I yell a quick hello into to the kitchen and dive upstairs so I can shower off the day’swork.

Afterwards, in my room, I get changed into my comfy navy jersey dress and dry and comb my ginormous wilful russet curls up into a ponytail, securing them tightly with a retro scrunchy.

Down in the kitchen, I do my duty and offer to help Donna with the cooking. She shrugs, blowing her wispy blonde fringe out of her face as she stretches and rolls her home-made focaccia dough out onto the floured kitchen island.

‘All the hard stuff is done,’ she answers with a worthy smile. ‘A truly authentic lasagna takes a very particular set of culinary skills.’ She says ‘lasagna’ in a terrible, over-the-top Italian accent, and she’s not even messing about. ‘You could set the table, I suppose? If that’s not too much trouble for you, Olive?’

She’s an odd one, is Donna. I don’t think she likes me very much. I mean, everything that comes out of her mouth is technically nice and perfectly polite. But there’s this underlying antagonism which makes me constantly feel like I’ve done something to upset her. She always acts so formal with me and she says my name a lot, which creeps me out.I know she’d much rather have this house for her and Alex without me cramping their style and taking up the big room that, for the record, I’ve been sleeping in since I wasborn.

‘No probs,’ I say, grabbing the cutlery out of the drawer and laying three places at the kitchen table. ‘How was your day atwork?’

Donna sighs wearily, opening the oven door to check on her authentic lasagna. She’s an Information Strategy Manager at a supermarket head office in Chester and pretty high up in the pecking order, by all (her own) accounts. ‘Busy and exhausting as usual,’ she answers, closing the oven. ‘My brain is fried!’ She gives me an envious glance. ‘Gosh, it must be so relaxing to not have to think too much at your job, Olive!’

‘Um…’

I go to protest, but she’s right. My job doesn’t take a whole lot of thinking. Mega knife skills, extensive crab knowledge, expert de-scaling abilities? Absoutely. But brain-frying levels of thinking? Not somuch.

‘Well,’ Donna continues. ‘I suppose when my candle venture takes off things will get better. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is, Olive, doing a corporate job when your soul is as deeply artistic asmine.’

‘Mmhhmm!’ I say, sitting down at the table and nibbling at one of the breadsticks that have been laid out in a shabby chicjar.

‘Napkins!’ Donna says with a smile. ‘Don’t forget the napkins, Olive.’

Alex and I never used napkins before Donna moved in last year. If we were eating messy food, we’d use a bit of kitchen towel or, sometimes in a pinch, toilet roll. But Donna insists on actual cloth napkins, which she starches and irons and everything.

‘What’s up, guys!’ Alex strides into the kitchen, setting down his briefcase by the tumble dryer and heading over to give Donna a kiss on the cheek. His gentle round face is pink-cheeked and beaming, his usually neat auburn hair a little sweaty at the front. ‘Big Bang Theory night! I can’twait!’

‘Me too!’ Donna says, clapping her hands together so that a cloud of flour poofs up around her. Her face breaks into a genuinely excited smile. ‘Bazinga!’

‘Bazinga!’ Alexadds.

The pair of them turn to me expectantly.

‘Bazinga,’ I say with a smile that attempts to be as psyched as theirs.

‘Oh, Sheldon,’ Donna laughs, shaking her head as if she’s recalling a fond personal memory. ‘What a stand-out character!’

‘We’re living in a golden age of sitcoms, for sure!’ Alex adds, loosening his tie and grabbing a bottle of beer from the fridge.

I lay out the napkins on the table and wonder how many more episodes of The Big Bang Theory there will be until the season ends and we can finally watch a new boxset.

* * *

‘The great thingabout this business idea is that some candles have inspirational quotes on them and some are scented. But mine? Mine will be inspirational… andscented!’

‘It’s going to be great!’ Alex says, finishing the last mouthfuls of his lasagna and patting his gently rounded tummy in satisfaction. ‘Have you thought of any more quotes you canuse?’

Donna nods, using her napkin to dab neatly at the corners of her mouth. ‘I actually wrote some myself.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘Your love burns like a flame!’ she announces triumphantly. ‘Isn’t it très romantic?’

I snort over my water glass until I realise that she’s not joking. She’s serious. Your love burns like a flame? That’s not romantic. That’s anSTD.

‘I like it!’ Alex says tactfully, ever the people pleaser. ‘We should come up with a bunch more over the weekend, darling. And did you get your final list of scents decided?’

‘I’ve got lemon, of course, and vanilla and freshly cut grass.’ Donna counts off on her fingers. ‘I can’t decide on the last two though… Maybe lavender for a candle that says “Dream, Sleep, Love, Live”. Or maybe a rose-scented one for my “Live every moment of your life!” one.’

‘What do you think, Olive?’ Alex asks, sweetly bringing me in to the conversation. Even he can see Donna’s tendency to completely overtake all dinner chat. I wonder if he’s ever brought it up with her? Hmm. Probably not. Alex likes an easy life and criticising Donna in any way would likely bring him a world of hassle.

I shrug. ‘Why don’t you do one or two wildcard scents?’ I say. ‘Like maybe a candle scent that no one has ever come up with before? Like… your high school crush’s leather jacket? Or the cold side of the pillow? Or maybe even long grass instead of freshly cut grass? So many candles are freshly cut grass. But long grass smells delicious! Especially if there are daisies in there. Long grass is so underrated.’

Now it’s Donna’s turn to snort… ‘A leather jacket candle? Thanks for your input, Olive, but I think I’llpass.’

Before I can say anything else Donna turns back to Alex and launches into a speech about different types of wax moulds, which I can already tell is going to be long and extra detailed. At that point I decide to make my excuses and take off tobed.

‘But… It’s The Big Bang Theory in twenty minutes!’ Alex pointsout.

‘It’s cool, I’ll catch up tomorrow!’

‘If Olive wants to miss out on Sheldon’s hilarious antics, that’s her choice,’ Donna says, patting Alex on the shoulder.

‘Are you sure?’ Alex asks me as I back away towards the stairs.

‘Definitely! I need an early night anyway. I’m visiting Birdie tomorrow.’

The pair of them bow their heads, nodding super sympathetically like they do each time I mention Birdie. I take the opportunity to quickly wave goodnight and leg it up the stairs two at atime.

After a quick scroll through Instagram and an episode of Fawlty Towers on my laptop, I lay my head on the pillow and close my eyes. But as I try to fall to sleep I can think of only two things: that bloody library scene in Atonement and Norris’ out of the blue change to seabass…