Where Have All the Boys Gone?(72)

Katie had put off phoning their mother, who would get awkward and antsy and not know what to do, but she really had to. If there were two of them around who didn’t know what to do, surely that would make things a little easier. At least her mother had been through childbirth, though you wouldn’t necessarily think to look at her that she’d approve of something that messy.

It went without saying that Clara’s hippy, on-the-road friends had vanished completely. Presumably someone in Clara’s circumstances who was not overjoyed and planning on calling the baby Rainbow Sugardrop was just too much of a bummer, man.

So it was just the two of them, and, oddly, although it was much more work, and the future looked vaguely threatening, as sisters, they were getting on better than they ever had before.

THE HEAT ROLLED on into July. London was suffocating now. Old people were dying in their homes. Dogs were getting trapped in cars. People, suffering from the lack of sleep at nights, were becoming snappish, fraught. The roads were melting, cars were overheating. Clara, lugging about another person, was finding it very difficult, and spent most of the day drinking frappuccinos underneath the electric fan, a habit Katie was finding a little expensive. It occurred to her that Clara had never had a job more complicated than massage or making rubbish little pieces of jewellery to sell at music festivals, but she didn’t feel able to bring that up—after all, she could hardly ask her to get her feet on the career ladder now. She couldn’t even see her feet.

At a deeper level, though, she couldn’t stop fretting. Was this it now? Would they stay together, sharing this flat, and she’d help bring up her sister’s child? She’d feel responsible—she couldn’t just bring some chap home when she felt like it, or stay up playing music all night, or disappear for the weekend if there was babysitting to be done. Clara seemed perfectly wedded to the fact that Katie was going to be the provider for this baby, and there didn’t seem to be anything Katie could do about it. And of course, she didn’t want to, did she?—this baby was family. She was going to love it to distraction. Of course she was.

It was in this anxious frame of mind that she picked the phone up early one Saturday morning. She’d been out late at some promotion and wasn’t really with it. Clara wasn’t stirring that she could hear. She’d better get up and fix breakfast for them.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, hi?” said Katie, trying to pull on her pyjama bottoms, which had somehow come off in the heat of the night.

“Katie?”

“Who is this?”

“Oh, come on . . . please, please. Hasn’t this gone on long enough?”

Katie recognised Harry’s Highland burr and found herself running her fingers through her tangled hair. She’d planned this for ages; how she would be icy, and self-contained and pretend it didn’t matter that he had made a complete idiot out of her, but look what he’d lost, and they’d be absolutely desperate of course, and Iain had been crying himself to sleep and would she please reconsider . . .

But under the circumstances, she realised it really didn’t matter. That, compared to family, it genuinely wasn’t that important.

“Oh, Harry, right?”

But it didn’t mean a part of her wasn’t immediately pleased to hear his voice.

“Well, of course it’s me. Are you still in a massive snit with me?”

Katie’s voice softened. “God, no, of course not. I’d forgotten all about it. Especially after that girl’s tits were everywhere, you know . . .”

Star Mackintosh, Katie couldn’t help noticing, had gone from strength to strength since accidentally exposing herself on the show. At particularly bad moments, Katie wondered if she should have done it herself.

There was a pause.

“Hello?” said Katie.

“Well, as long as it’s forgotten,” said Harry, coughing slightly. “I have a shocking temper. As, er, you may have noticed.”

“It was a stupid thing to do and I was really insulted,” said Katie. “But in the wider scheme of things, it really doesn’t matter, does it?”

Again, Harry paused. He’d been prepared for fights, tears, faked disdain . . . anything but this, in fact. She genuinely sounded not bothered. His pre-prepared speech sounded a bit rubbish now. “Well, here’s the thing,” he said. “I know I seem to spend my life saying this, but we need you back.”

“No, you don’t,” said Katie. “I’ve finished. We’ve done our bit—started your campaign, got you local and national coverage. I’d be very surprised if they go ahead after the ball; we’ve made far too much fuss for it to be worth their while. You should be pleased. I heard from Olivia that Pluto Enterprises are absolutely spitting.”

“Yes, but . . . we still need you back.”

“Well, you should have thought of that before you insulted me on national television.” Katie started giving the conversation her full attention. “Don’t you think?”

“Yes,” said Harry contritely. “I panicked under the stage lighting.”

“That is bullshit!”

“Plus, Francis really misses you.”

“That’s just emotional blackmail. Francis is anyone’s for half a sandwich. Why are you calling, really?”

“Well, this ball thing you thought of . . . we’re going ahead with it, but it’s getting a bit out of hand.”