corners. What about Shimmi – and Nathalie?’
‘Well, Nathalie doesn’t really want to get involved, and that’s cool – I kind of knew that would be the case. With Shimmi, I already know that her birthday works – her chart doesn’t resonate with ours as strongly as yours does, but she’s fine. I need to do some more research on it, but I’m pretty sure it’s all going to fall into place. Fate, you know what I mean?’
‘Yeah, fate…’ I murmur.
I suddenly notice that, while we’ve been talking and cautiously inching our way along the river, we’re quite a long way from the house and a thin blue light has started to break all around us. It’s almost daytime again.
Elyse laughs and puts her arm around me as we run back along the towpath to the house.
‘By the way, you can keep that jumper if you want. It suits you. Besides, we’re sisters now.’
It’s official. My first real, full-on hangover. I feel really pukey and my head is actually pounding, but it’s sort of worth it for this weird sense of abated curiosity. Like – oh, so
this
is what a hangover’s like.
Up until now, I’ve always stopped. I’m not sure what’s been holding me back all these years; being around the twins is doing me a world of good. Perhaps it
is
meant to be, just as Elyse says.
So, even though I am feeling crap beyond belief, it makes me feel quite sophisticated to down two Nurofen with a sugary black coffee on Saturday morning. Then we all set about making a huge mess of the kitchen as we knock up some eggy bread.
Being drunk last night was fun, but hanging about this big house being hungover is maybe even better. I am left with the vague impression that I dreamed the whole scene of walking along the river with Elyse in the middle of the night – either that or I was still slightly drunk. The memory of it is a shifting, unclear thing that I can’t pin down. I huddle in Elyse’s gossamer-fine black mohair sweater, reluctant ever to take it off again, clinging to it like it’s proof. Of what, I don’t know.
Anyway, it’s nice to have nothing to do all day on a Saturday, and nobody to tell you otherwise. At my house, if I sit still for longer than thirty seconds, my mum starts saying things like, ‘Well, if you’re not doing anything, you can come to the supermarket with me/clean your room/unload the dishwasher/help Pete wash the car’, to the power of infinity. At the twins’ house, Saturdays are an entirely different experience. It’s only us, with the run of the whole house and the knowledge that we’re clear until Sunday. I have never realised before how nice it is just to be left alone, to feel like you can do as much or as little as you like.
By the time it gets dark, with the candles once again blazing and rain pouring outside, it’s cosy in Elyse’s room. We hole up, with a pile of blankets and a load of snacks; none of us feels like drinking as crazily as the night before, but Elyse has retrieved a dusty old bottle of her dad’s red wine from the cellar, and I’m rather enjoying feeling all fancy and French as I sip at it. Elyse shrugs that her dad won’t mind, but even I can tell that it tastes expensive compared to what my mum drinks from out of a box at home – Chateau Neuf de Something.
‘There’s nothing good on TV. Anyone want to watch a film?’ Elyse asks, to general murmuring assent.
She has an ancient little TV in her room – a step up on me, as of course I’m not allowed a television in my room at all because it would be ‘antisocial’ – plus, of all things, a VCR and stacks of dusty, antiquated videotapes.
‘It belonged to my parents years ago, and I wanted to keep it ‘cause I’ve got loads of cool films on video,’ she explains. ‘Old school!’
So, we end up staying awake nearly all night, watching weird retro films that I’ve never heard of, but quickly fall in love with –
The Crow, The Craft, Heathers
. Awesome – my head filling up with teenage witches
‘Well, Nathalie doesn’t really want to get involved, and that’s cool – I kind of knew that would be the case. With Shimmi, I already know that her birthday works – her chart doesn’t resonate with ours as strongly as yours does, but she’s fine. I need to do some more research on it, but I’m pretty sure it’s all going to fall into place. Fate, you know what I mean?’
‘Yeah, fate…’ I murmur.
I suddenly notice that, while we’ve been talking and cautiously inching our way along the river, we’re quite a long way from the house and a thin blue light has started to break all around us. It’s almost daytime again.
Elyse laughs and puts her arm around me as we run back along the towpath to the house.
‘By the way, you can keep that jumper if you want. It suits you. Besides, we’re sisters now.’
It’s official. My first real, full-on hangover. I feel really pukey and my head is actually pounding, but it’s sort of worth it for this weird sense of abated curiosity. Like – oh, so
this
is what a hangover’s like.
Up until now, I’ve always stopped. I’m not sure what’s been holding me back all these years; being around the twins is doing me a world of good. Perhaps it
is
meant to be, just as Elyse says.
So, even though I am feeling crap beyond belief, it makes me feel quite sophisticated to down two Nurofen with a sugary black coffee on Saturday morning. Then we all set about making a huge mess of the kitchen as we knock up some eggy bread.
Being drunk last night was fun, but hanging about this big house being hungover is maybe even better. I am left with the vague impression that I dreamed the whole scene of walking along the river with Elyse in the middle of the night – either that or I was still slightly drunk. The memory of it is a shifting, unclear thing that I can’t pin down. I huddle in Elyse’s gossamer-fine black mohair sweater, reluctant ever to take it off again, clinging to it like it’s proof. Of what, I don’t know.
Anyway, it’s nice to have nothing to do all day on a Saturday, and nobody to tell you otherwise. At my house, if I sit still for longer than thirty seconds, my mum starts saying things like, ‘Well, if you’re not doing anything, you can come to the supermarket with me/clean your room/unload the dishwasher/help Pete wash the car’, to the power of infinity. At the twins’ house, Saturdays are an entirely different experience. It’s only us, with the run of the whole house and the knowledge that we’re clear until Sunday. I have never realised before how nice it is just to be left alone, to feel like you can do as much or as little as you like.
By the time it gets dark, with the candles once again blazing and rain pouring outside, it’s cosy in Elyse’s room. We hole up, with a pile of blankets and a load of snacks; none of us feels like drinking as crazily as the night before, but Elyse has retrieved a dusty old bottle of her dad’s red wine from the cellar, and I’m rather enjoying feeling all fancy and French as I sip at it. Elyse shrugs that her dad won’t mind, but even I can tell that it tastes expensive compared to what my mum drinks from out of a box at home – Chateau Neuf de Something.
‘There’s nothing good on TV. Anyone want to watch a film?’ Elyse asks, to general murmuring assent.
She has an ancient little TV in her room – a step up on me, as of course I’m not allowed a television in my room at all because it would be ‘antisocial’ – plus, of all things, a VCR and stacks of dusty, antiquated videotapes.
‘It belonged to my parents years ago, and I wanted to keep it ‘cause I’ve got loads of cool films on video,’ she explains. ‘Old school!’
So, we end up staying awake nearly all night, watching weird retro films that I’ve never heard of, but quickly fall in love with –
The Crow, The Craft, Heathers
. Awesome – my head filling up with teenage witches
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