‘Hello, Mrs Dereborn. Sorry to turn up unannounced but Tom has been an absolute hero and rescued me after I had the most terrible accident.’ There’s a newly acquired plumminess to her voice, which amuses the hell out of me. Lydia has well and truly sussed my parents.
Mum glances at me, clearly not sure what to make of this. Should she be gracious and hospitable, claiming pride in me, or berate me for being thoughtless and not thinking of her carefully planned catering portions? I want to laugh again at her blatant indecision.
Before she can say anything, my brother, William, saunters in, wearing a pair of suit trousers, a shirt and a tie.
‘Tom! Look what the cat dragged in. I hear you forgot Mama’s birthday. Naughty. What do you look like?’ He grins maliciously. Of course he does. We’ve spent our formative years playing one-upmanship against each other, vying for our parents’ approval.
‘We’ve come straight here,’ I say, my voice tight keeping things vague.
‘New girlfriend?’ he asks me, deliberately not addressing Lydia.
I want to punch him for being so rude.
‘This is Lydia,’ I say. ‘And it’s none of your business. Mum, will you excuse us while we go and get cleaned up?’
Just as I’m hoping to escape, my sister Rosie arrives wearing a suitably garden-party style dress that I know from her Instagram account she wouldn’t normally been seen dead in. Real-life Rosie wears chunky leather boots, tight jeans and low cut T-shirts.
‘You’re here,’ she says without enthusiasm.
‘Rosie, do you think you could lend Tom’s … friend something a little more appropriate?’ my mother requests. ‘And William, find Tom a shirt and some clean trousers.’ With that we’re dismissed and in silence I lead Lydia upstairs to my old room, bitterly regretting that I’ve brought her here.
‘Nice house,’ says Lydia, wandering to the window of my bedroom and looking out over the back garden.
‘Yeah, shame about the people.’ I sink onto the edge of the king-sized bed, realising that I’ve never brought a woman in here before.
She doesn’t say anything but comes to stand in front of me. She takes my face in her hands and leans down to kiss me.
At that moment my sister barges in without knocking, holding out a beige dress.
‘Here you go. I think this will fit you.’ Even on the hanger it looks like a brown paper bag and will drown Lydia’s petite form, which I now realise is probably due to malnutrition as a child. This thought fills me with fury.
‘Fuck off, Rosie. Stop being a cow.’ Rosie steps back, surprise on her face. ‘If you’re not going to lend Lydia something nice, don’t bother. In fact, fuck the lot of you. We’re leaving.’
I stand up, pushing my hand through my hair, just as surprised as anyone else by my loss of control. Normally my siblings and I are coolly contemptuous of each other, and we never call each other out on our behaviour, but I’m incensed that Rosie thinks it’s okay to drag Lydia into our competitive awfulness.
‘Don’t leave. I’m sorry,’ says Rosie desperately. ‘Please don’t go.’
Now I’m surprised. She actually sounds genuine.
‘Why not? What do you care?’
‘Because…’ She glances at Lydia. ‘Welcome to the vipers’ nest. Sure you want to stay? You could still leave while there’s time.’
‘Why, Rosie?’ I persist.
‘Because if you’re here it dilutes the attention. If you go, it will be my fault or William’s. There’ll be a scene behind the scenes. You know what it’s like.’ Her eyes are pleading.
She’s right but Lydia doesn’t have to deal with this shit. I look at her but as if she’s read my mind, she says, ‘We can stay, Tom,’ and tucks her hand through my arm and squeezing my bicep gently, letting me know she’s in this with me.
‘No, Lydia. We don’t need to stay. We’ll go.’
Rosie swallows and looks close to tears. ‘Sorry, Tom. Why don’t you come with me, Lydia, and choose something from my wardrobe?’
Lydia looks from me to Rosie and back. She gives me a sad smile and squeezes my arm again. ‘I think we should stay.’
‘See,’ says Rosie, seizing on this.
‘Let’s stay a while,’ Lydia repeats, looking at me rather than my sister this time. ‘We’ve got time.’ She gives me a reassuring, we’ve-got-this nod. I smile back at her because how can I not? This woman has got my back. With her I can do this. We can stay for an hour or so, do our duty and then go into London and win our prize.
‘Okay,’ I say, giving Lydia a quick kiss. ‘Thank you.’
‘No problem,’ says Lydia and follows Rosie out of the room before I can stop her. She’s back two minutes later with a floaty blue number on a hanger and a hair dryer. She lays both on the bed.
I force myself not to take her in my arms. I wish I hadn’t brought her here, exposed her to the family. I know she didn’t have things easy but she’s estranged from her parents. I’m the coward who still very much conditioned by mine, still seeking their approval. I feel very ashamed of myself. Compared to her, I’ve had it easy and I’ve not had the strength to rebel, to stand up for what I really want. I don’t deserve someone like her.
‘You don’t have to stay, Lydia,’ I say softly. ‘If I were you I’d get straight on a train and get away from this shit show. We could arrange to meet up later and then go on to Trafalgar Square.’
She shakes her head, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. ‘And miss all this fun? I don’t think so.’ Her eyes bore into mine. ‘You need me. I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.’
Could I love her any more in that second?
She steps forward, sliding her arms around my waist, a determined glint shining in her eyes. I realise I’ve said the words out loud.
‘Show me,’ she says lifting her mouth for a kiss.
The kiss isn’t enough. I need more, more of her. I need her to eclipse the ugliness of the environment of this house. To stamp her presence here so that it will always be here for ever more. I feel raw inside and it makes me hungry. I kiss her like my life depends on it, open-mouthed, demanding. Lydia meets me head on, just like she always does. She doesn’t submit, she comes out fighting, matching me in passion.
It’s her that backs me up until I’m against the en-suite bathroom door. Her mouth fused to mine. I pull her tight against me, her soft breasts pressed against my chest, my hands kneading her backside. Suddenly we’ve gone from nought to flammable in seconds. She’s tugging at my T-shirt, raking her hands restlessly up and down my back.
