the whole glittering city, which opens out before us. Except it’s not the city I’m taking on, it’s my pint-sized sister. She’s flapping about in the pool with Tristan Banks.
Her jaw drops when she sees me. ‘Caroline!’
Good God, she’s inebriated.
‘Whashyou doin’ here? I didn’t know you were a member of Sawdish House.’
‘I’m not. I’m your sister and I’ve come to collect you. Now get the fuck out of that swimming pool and get dressed. We’re going home.’
‘What?’ She’s intermittently treading water and occasionally going under. I spot two large cocktails by the side of the pool. ‘Why? We’re having the best time. Sherious. Tristan’s in A&R. Tell ’em about all the people you’ve signed, Trisht. Hey, tell ’em about that night with the Kills and Kate Moss in that hotel in Miami. That was
sick
.’
‘Lexi, get out of the pool.’
‘Hey guys!’ Tristan (American, obviously) who’s been avoiding eye contact until now, swims to the side and lifts himself out in one slick move. He’s six foot three at least, lean, extremely hairy, and wearing a thick, silver chain around his neck. He gives a staged flick of his hair so that it lands, rock-and-roll style, across his forehead. He is very good looking, I’ll give her that.
‘I’m Tristan Banks,’ he drawls. ‘Like, is everything cool or do we have a problem here?’
‘We have a problem and it’s you,’ I say.
Behind me, Martin emerges, hands on hips, with three inches of beer belly sticking out.
‘Oh God, it’s you!’ says Lexi. ‘I don’t know who you think you are, what right
you
have—’
‘Lexi,’ I cut in, worried she’s about to start going on about the engagement thing. ‘I’d prefer it if you were
not
rude to Martin.’
I turn to Martin. ‘Look, I think I’m okay here. I’ll handle this. Thanks so much for coming, but I think, you know …’ I reach out and squeeze his hand.
‘Cool, sure,’ he says, backing towards the glass doors. ‘Well, you know where I am if you need me. I’ll just, er …’
‘Great,’ I nod, urging him to go.
‘Go home then. Call me if you …’
‘Course I will. Thanks, Martin.’
‘You know your problem? You’re frigid. You’re anally retentive. You wouldn’t know fun if it poked you up the arse!’
We’re standing on the corner outside Shoreditch House now, and Lexi is incredibly, dirtily, horribly drunk.
‘Wayne says that people who are obsessed with trying to control their surroundings are often just crying inside …’ Her voice teeters off as she stumbles over her own feet and nearly falls flat on her face.
‘Lexi, just get in the cab, please?’ What the hell had she been feeding this Wayne?
The driver has eyebags like elephant skin. He’s leaning against the bonnet, smoking, knowing he’s in for the long haul.
‘No, I won’t!’ She’s stumbling all over the place on her high heels. ‘I won’t have you tell me what to do, crashing my date. Tristan was a really nice bloke, actually.’
‘He was old enough to be your dad and stone cold sober whilst you were pissed out of your head. Don’t you know what that says?’
‘He doesn’t need alcohol to have a good time?’
‘Wrong. He’s a total wanker, taking advantage of you.’
‘Oh, stop being such a drama queen! So I’m pissed, so WHAT?’ she shouts as I put my hand on her head and bundle her into the car.
‘Pissed in a swimming pool, Lexi. Have you any idea how dangerous that is? What sort of person would allow that to happen to you?’ I ask as I fasten her seatbelt.
‘You don’t know how to live you don’t. So fucking BORING!’
‘No, Lex. You’re the one who’s getting boring.’
We’re speeding over London Bridge now. Lexi’s sunk down in the seat, glaring at me, antagonistically.
‘Just be quiet now, please,’ I sigh. ‘It’s 10.30 p.m. and I’m knackered.’
‘I just wanted to come to London and have a laugh for the summer – a laugh!’ she
Her jaw drops when she sees me. ‘Caroline!’
Good God, she’s inebriated.
‘Whashyou doin’ here? I didn’t know you were a member of Sawdish House.’
‘I’m not. I’m your sister and I’ve come to collect you. Now get the fuck out of that swimming pool and get dressed. We’re going home.’
‘What?’ She’s intermittently treading water and occasionally going under. I spot two large cocktails by the side of the pool. ‘Why? We’re having the best time. Sherious. Tristan’s in A&R. Tell ’em about all the people you’ve signed, Trisht. Hey, tell ’em about that night with the Kills and Kate Moss in that hotel in Miami. That was
sick
.’
‘Lexi, get out of the pool.’
‘Hey guys!’ Tristan (American, obviously) who’s been avoiding eye contact until now, swims to the side and lifts himself out in one slick move. He’s six foot three at least, lean, extremely hairy, and wearing a thick, silver chain around his neck. He gives a staged flick of his hair so that it lands, rock-and-roll style, across his forehead. He is very good looking, I’ll give her that.
‘I’m Tristan Banks,’ he drawls. ‘Like, is everything cool or do we have a problem here?’
‘We have a problem and it’s you,’ I say.
Behind me, Martin emerges, hands on hips, with three inches of beer belly sticking out.
‘Oh God, it’s you!’ says Lexi. ‘I don’t know who you think you are, what right
you
have—’
‘Lexi,’ I cut in, worried she’s about to start going on about the engagement thing. ‘I’d prefer it if you were
not
rude to Martin.’
I turn to Martin. ‘Look, I think I’m okay here. I’ll handle this. Thanks so much for coming, but I think, you know …’ I reach out and squeeze his hand.
‘Cool, sure,’ he says, backing towards the glass doors. ‘Well, you know where I am if you need me. I’ll just, er …’
‘Great,’ I nod, urging him to go.
‘Go home then. Call me if you …’
‘Course I will. Thanks, Martin.’
‘You know your problem? You’re frigid. You’re anally retentive. You wouldn’t know fun if it poked you up the arse!’
We’re standing on the corner outside Shoreditch House now, and Lexi is incredibly, dirtily, horribly drunk.
‘Wayne says that people who are obsessed with trying to control their surroundings are often just crying inside …’ Her voice teeters off as she stumbles over her own feet and nearly falls flat on her face.
‘Lexi, just get in the cab, please?’ What the hell had she been feeding this Wayne?
The driver has eyebags like elephant skin. He’s leaning against the bonnet, smoking, knowing he’s in for the long haul.
‘No, I won’t!’ She’s stumbling all over the place on her high heels. ‘I won’t have you tell me what to do, crashing my date. Tristan was a really nice bloke, actually.’
‘He was old enough to be your dad and stone cold sober whilst you were pissed out of your head. Don’t you know what that says?’
‘He doesn’t need alcohol to have a good time?’
‘Wrong. He’s a total wanker, taking advantage of you.’
‘Oh, stop being such a drama queen! So I’m pissed, so WHAT?’ she shouts as I put my hand on her head and bundle her into the car.
‘Pissed in a swimming pool, Lexi. Have you any idea how dangerous that is? What sort of person would allow that to happen to you?’ I ask as I fasten her seatbelt.
‘You don’t know how to live you don’t. So fucking BORING!’
‘No, Lex. You’re the one who’s getting boring.’
We’re speeding over London Bridge now. Lexi’s sunk down in the seat, glaring at me, antagonistically.
‘Just be quiet now, please,’ I sigh. ‘It’s 10.30 p.m. and I’m knackered.’
‘I just wanted to come to London and have a laugh for the summer – a laugh!’ she
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