Dusk had descended by the time Rose and I got back to Peter’s house, so we spent the remainder of the day indulging in the traditional post-Brunch activities of drinking coffee and staring blearily at old films on television. Rose had vetoed It’s a Wonderful Life, calling it the single most depressing film ever made—“I mean, seriously, he has this completely shit life never getting to do anything he wants to, and it’s supposed to be uplifting?”—so we were currently watching Goldfinger.
Rose sipped thoughtfully at her coffee. “Sean Connery, Roger Moore and George Lazenby. Shag, marry or shove ’em off a cliff?”
I rolled my eyes “Easy. Shag Sean, marry George, shove Roger.”
“You sure about that? George hasn’t got a good record with getting married. Look what happened to Diana Rigg. And anyway, what’s wrong with Roger? If, you know, he was about a hundred years younger.”
I stared at her, nonplussed. “What’s right with him?”
She stared back, then shook her head. “All right, Timothy Dalton, Pierce Brosnan and Daniel Craig.”
“Again, pitifully easy. Shag Tim, marry Dan, and shove Pierce.”
“Weirdo.”
“Why? What would you go for?”
“Shag Dan, marry Pierce, and shove Tim so far off that bloody cliff he’d end up in France. Ugh. Just something about that face.” She shuddered, while I looked on, bemused. “Right. Time for a tougher one. Pussy Galore, Solitaire or Whatserface Onatopp?”
“Is run screaming from all of them an option?”
“Nope. Rules of the game. You’ve got to choose.”
“Well…wasn’t Solitaire the one with the tarot cards, who had to stay a virgin so she could keep her powers of prophecy? And Ms. Onatopp was the madwoman who killed men with her thighs?”
“Think so.”
“Then I’d enjoy a chaste marriage with Solitaire and hire a professional to shove Ms. Onatopp, ahem, off the top.” I sniggered. “So I suppose I’ll have to shag Pussy.”
There was a startled noise behind the sofa. “I’m sure that sounded entirely different in context,” Mother said, regaining her composure. “Now, I just came in to ask if you’d like any Christmas cake?”
“Um, no, thank you,” I said, my face no doubt doing a sterling impersonation of one of the bright red baubles on the Christmas tree.
Rose, having descended into helpless giggles, simply shook her head.
“How would you feel about not staying until New Year?” I asked Rose some time later. “I’m not sure I can wait any longer to try and sort things out with Sean.”
We were sitting in our pyjamas by the fireplace and attempting to toast marshmallows, because apparently that had been a lifelong ambition of hers, goodness knows why.
“Gutted. I’m hoping if I hang around here long enough your stepdad will adopt me too.” Rose shrugged. “Nah, it’s okay. Whenever you want to get going. I was running out of Titty-based digs anyway.”
“Oh, I’m sure you could think of a few more if you put your mind to it. But wouldn’t your parents have something to say about the adoption thing? Oh, and watch it, your marshmallow’s caught fire.”
“Bugger.” She blew on it until the flames expired, then grinned. “What, like offer him my brother on BOGOF?”
“Bogoff?” I queried, baffled. I took a cautious bite of my blackened marshmallow. “Are they supposed to taste of charcoal?”
“Don’t ask me. And, just when I think you’re starting to live in the real world… BOGOF’s short for buy-one-get-one-free.”
Oh. “I knew that really. I was just distracted by the idea of having you for a sister.” It was curiously attractive, in a masochistic sort of way. Laetitia had certainly been a lot less voluble in my direction since Rose’s arrival. I popped a thoughtful marshmallow in my mouth straight from the bag. They were a lot nicer this way.
“I make a brilliant sister. I never forget an embarrassing incident.”
I gulped, swallowed my marshmallow in one and stared at her in theatrical horror. “Pack your bags. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
Rose cackled and lit up another marshmallow.
Mother proved to be surprisingly relaxed about me leaving the next day, although I suspected that might have been because I would be taking Rose with me. Rose, regrettably, wasn’t really Mother’s sort of people, although Peter had quite taken to her. Fortunately, I felt reasonably certain she wouldn’t have a similar problem with Sean. If, that was, I managed to straighten things out between us. Mother always got on well with men; women, less so. It was just one of those things.
“Are you going to ring him before we go?” Rose asked as I hauled her perplexingly large suitcase down the stairs.
I put the case down on the hall carpet and flexed my fingers. “Um, no?”
“But you are going to ring him when you get back, yeah?”
“Probably?” I wanted to talk things out with Sean. It was just that the thought of actually doing it was rather daunting. “But what do you think I should say?”
“Just get him to come and see you. Or meet you somewhere. Probably best not to go round to his. You want a bit of privacy, not the twins jumping up and down on top of you.”
Not to mention Debs glaring at me like I was the anti-boyfriend.
“What if he doesn’t want to?”
“Trust me. He wants to.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “Look, he’s at least going to give you a chance to explain, isn’t he? He’s that sort of bloke. Now are we going to get a shift on, or are you waiting for that case to sprout legs and carry itself to the car?”
“Slave driver. I could leave you to get a taxi and take the train, you know, rather than driving you back home.”
“No, you couldn’t. It’d offend all your gentlemanly instincts. You’d come out in a rash or something.”
Sadly, she was probably right. I sighed and picked up her case once more.