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Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008370565
For Vix, my brave friend.
Contents
‘Be careful what you wish for, you may receive it.’
THE SORT OF THING YOUR GRANDMOTHER SAID BUT, ACTUALLY, IT’S ANONYMOUS.
THE LIST
LIKES CATS.
INTERESTING JOB. NOT GOLF-PLAYING INSURANCE BORE LIKE HUGO.
BOTTOM AND SEXUAL ATHLETICISM OF JAMES BOND.
NICE MOTHER.
NO POINTY SHOES.
NO HAWAIIAN SHIRTS.
NO UMBRELLAS.
READS BOOKS. NOT JUST SPORTS BIOGRAPHIES.
NO REVOLTING BATHROOM HABITS. E.G. SKID MARKS.
AMBITIOUS.
ADVENTUROUS.
GOOD MANNERS. E.G. SAYS THANK YOU IF SOMEONE HOLDS THE DOOR OPEN FOR HIM.
ISN’T OBSESSED WITH INSTAGRAM OR HIS PHONE.
FUNNY.
ACTUALLY TEXTS ME BACK.
DOESN’T MIND ABOUT MY COUNTING.
‘TWO, FOUR, SIX, EIGHT, ten …’ I muttered, taking the steps two at a time. Shit. Eleven steps. An odd number meant that dinner was going to be bad.
That absurd evening at Claridge’s was where it started. That was how the list came about. As the quietest member of my loud, combative family, I often dreaded dinner with them. But I suspected this evening would be especially painful, which was why I counted the steps from the Hyde Park underpass into the evening sunlight. It was a game I called Consequences. If there’d been an even number of steps, the dinner would be all right. It would pass without drama and prove my family could behave normally. But no, eleven bastard steps. That dinner was always going to be tricky.
Technically, it was a celebratory evening because Mia had become engaged to Hugo. My half-sister had agreed to marry a man with all the intelligence and sensitivity of a spatula and everyone was meant to be excited. Patricia, my stepmother, had almost spontaneously combusted with joy at the idea of her daughter marrying a man who wore a signet ring, drove a Mercedes, belonged to a Surrey golf club and earned over £200,000 a year working for an insurance firm called Wolf &
