‘Maybe he’s just busy at work.’ Some of us actually do some work, Cat thought, taking a long, slow drink. The beer was ice-cold and tasted heavenly.
‘Not too busy to buy new clothes, though?’ Ginny stubbed out her cigarette, crushing it hard into the metal ashtray. ‘He used to always ask me to help choose his clothes.’ Ginny pouted like the spoilt child that she had always been. ‘God, you’re so lucky with Paul. He’d never cheat on you, would he? The two of you are so bloody perfect.’
Cat kept a poker face. Ginny knew nothing about her relationship. She was far too self-absorbed to care. A classic Daddy’s Little Princess, her sister had grown up to be the ultimate city boy’s trophy wife. The fact that she was supposed to have an actual job helping Cat run her events company barely registered on her radar, especially over the last few months. Ginny’s life was all about looking pretty and searching for the perfect recipe to wow Tristan with every night, despite the fact that he usually got home late, half-pissed, having already eaten out with clients at a posh restaurant. It was no wonder that Tristan had got bored and gone looking for some fun.
At least Paul was always home for dinner. He usually cooked it, in fact. Things had changed a lot since he’d started his new job. Since he’d been forced to start his new job. He was making an effort, but it was mostly in vain because Cat couldn’t bear to have him near her most of the time. Even the thought of his hands on her when she knew they’d been all over someone else was enough to turn her stomach. Just one of the many things that this weekend would fix, once and for all.
Cat had zoned out of her sister’s chat. It was The Ginny Show, as always. Her photos did look good on Instagram though. Festooned with her humble-bragging captions about how she knew it wasn’t as good as the original, but she’d tried her best, hashtag blessed. Cat wondered what her Keto-diet yoga-bunny Insta devotees would think if they could see her now – carb-laden beer and a second cigarette on the go. Cat took another large drink. The beer was nearly gone already. Her sister’s moaning was in danger of ruining her mood.
‘How about we forget all that for the weekend, eh? We’re meant to be here to relax and enjoy ourselves. The four of us haven’t seen each other properly since your birthday party.’ Cat clocked the change in Ginny’s expression and smiled inwardly. Oh yes. We will be discussing that, dear sister, along with some other very important things. But not right now. She signalled to the waiter for two more beers, then spotted the men heading towards them from across the street, and called him back for another two.
Ginny frowned, making her nose wrinkle – but not her forehead, because it was Botoxed to the max. ‘I hope this hike you’ve planned isn’t too strenuous. I really fancy a mooch around the shops and a long soak in the hot tub.’
Tristan stood behind Ginny and placed his hands on his wife’s shoulders. He gave Cat a wink. ‘Au revoir, ladies! Mange tout?’ he said, in an awful Del Boy from Only Fools and Horses accent, the words making no sense in the context, but turning Ginny’s frown into a smile. She really did love Tristan, didn’t she? The poor cow. Tristan reached over and took a swig of Ginny’s beer. ‘Hope you’re not trying to weasel your way out of my carefully planned hike, Wife.’
Ginny wriggled her shoulders, shaking him off. ‘What do you mean your hike. I thought Cat was arranging it all?’
Cat shrugged. ‘He offered to help. I was busy with all the rearranged event bookings, so . . .’
Ginny pulled herself completely away from Tristan, turning awkwardly to address him. ‘Nice of you to find some time for my sister, when you barely find time for me.’ She turned back to face Cat, crossing her arms tightly. ‘You don’t even like each other—’
‘I could’ve helped,’ Paul cut in, his face falling as he pulled out the chair next to Cat. ‘I’ve got far more time than any of you.’
‘That’s because you don’t have a job, mate,’ Tristan said, punching him on the arm. He pulled out the chair opposite and took a handful of peanuts from the bowl, tipping them into his mouth and crunching noisily.
Paul took a breath. Cat could see from the flush rising up the neck of his t-shirt that Tristan’s barbs were getting to him.
Good.
The waiter arrived, depositing the four beers, and more peanuts, on the table. The moment passed.
Paul did have a job, of course. For the last six months he’d been a part-time delivery driver, and he loved it. But Cat knew that all Tristan could see was a city boy who’d burned out, and he refused to let him forget it. Cat had agreed to keep the real reason behind Paul’s career change a secret, and she had no plans to reveal it, even over this weekend. She had other things in mind to deal with that.