One in a Million

‘Arsing about on the internet?’ I repeated, almost sure he must be joking. ‘Paid-for opinions of kids? Is that really what you think we do?’

Charlie picked up a pink wafer biscuit and bit into it while responding to me with a very, very brave shrug.

‘Annie is a goddess,’ Miranda hurled a tea towel in Charlie’s general direction as Martin winced. ‘She could take any old man or woman off the street and turn them into a superstar. Or any tiny brand or business. She can get a million eyes on you without even trying, you write bad jingles and rip off movies to make shitty adverts for crap cars.’

Ooh, that one had to hurt. Fired-up Miranda wasn’t always very kind and throwing a hangover and a bad bank manager meeting into the mix, was just asking for trouble.

‘We had the idea for the talking raccoon first and you know it!’ Charlie said, turning beetroot red. ‘The only people who get famous online are either rich, fit or related to someone else who is rich and fit. Bonus points if you’re rich and fit and can afford to have lots of photos taken on sandy beaches while standing in a yoga pose so people can crank one out over your feed at bedtime.’

Miranda gagged as I wrinkled my nose.

‘Good to know what we’ll find when the police go through your search history,’ I muttered. ‘Tell me you clear it every single night, please.’

Charlie looked unimpressed, Martin looked as though he would like to be literally anywhere else on earth and Miranda was ready to draw blood. I couldn’t quite work out how things had escalated so quickly.

‘You can make anyone famous, can you?’ Charlie asked, steely eyed.

‘Yes,’ I said with all the confidence in the world. ‘We can.’

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Prove it. Make me famous.’

‘I could,’ I replied. ‘But even the internet doesn’t deserve that.’

’Yeah, yeah, whatever,’ he answered with a not-so-friendly chuckle. ‘You talk a good game, I’ll give you that.’

I pressed my lips into a tight thin line and planted my hands on my hips, fighting the urge to knock him out of the window. Charlie leaned against the fridge, a cocky smile on his handsome face that was seemingly designed to get me worked up in all the wrong ways.

‘Is it me,’ Martin muttered, breaking the silence, ‘or did things just get very tense in here?’

‘Oh, Annie, ignore them,’ Miranda said, tugging on my shirt sleeve. ‘Come on, you’re going to be late.’

‘I’m not done with this,’ I warned them as I abandoned my cup of tea. ‘Just so you know.’

Charlie threw me a thumbs-up as we left and my heart pounded in my chest. I couldn’t work out if I felt more insulted, furiously angry, incredibly turned on, or all three.

Life could be so confusing.

‘I know, I’m sorry, I’m late. I’ve had the most ridiculous day,’ I said, barrelling through the door without knocking. It was already ten past one, I’d lost ten minutes of my time, we could manage without the usual pleasantries.

Rebecca held out her arms for my jacket as I threw myself on her chaise longue.

‘We’ll get it out of the way,’ I said as I stretched out. ‘You’ve heard about Matthew, obviously.’

She nodded.

‘Of course I’m happy for him,’ I said, lying back and focusing on the same crack in the ceiling as always. One day, I was going to have to bring some Polyfilla with me. ‘For both of them. Not that I know Karine at all, but she seems nice enough and Matthew is a good person. An OK person.’

I glanced over at Rebecca, who looked back in her steady, measured way with her notebook in her lap.

‘Matthew is a person,’ I said.

She pulled the cap from her pen and scribbled something down.

‘I’m not jealous,’ I insisted, running the pendant of my necklace up and down its chain. ‘Just because she’s younger than me and littler than me and she’s got the most perfect nose I’ve ever seen in my life. It doesn’t mean anything, my life is going brilliantly. I own my own company, I have amazing friends, I’m up for three big awards and what’s she? She’s engaged. Bravo, Karine.’

I rubbed the bare third finger on my left hand, I gave a very heavy sigh and counted all the framed certificates on the wall. Bachelor’s degrees, master’s degree, certificate of this, certificate of that. Everything you’d want to see on the wall of a therapist’s office.

‘Did I tell you we’ve been nominated for three awards? Three! I think it’s a record for a new company. I’m definitely doing so much better than when I was with Matthew. Don’t you think?’

Rebecca made a non-committal sound across the room.

‘Well? You’re the therapist.’ I sat up so I could see the expression on her face. ‘What do you think? In your professional opinion?’

‘In my professional opinion,’ Rebecca replied. ‘I thought you were bringing me lunch.’

I blinked at my sister before pulling two Prêt a Manger sandwiches out of my handbag.

‘They were out of hoisin duck, sorry,’ I said, chucking one of them in her general direction and unwrapping my own cheese-and-pickle baguette. ‘Got you this instead.’

‘They were out of duck so you got tuna?’ my big sister wrinkled her nose and abandoned the sandwich. ‘I can’t eat that, you dickhead. I’ve got patients all afternoon and no one wants to share their innermost thoughts and feelings with a woman who smells like Flipper.’

‘Sorry,’ I replied, trading her for my cheese and pickle. ‘I know you like tuna, I just didn’t think.’

‘Colour me shocked.’ She unwrapped the sandwich and took a big bite. ‘How many times do I have to tell you I am a therapist, not your therapist. You can’t treat your little sister, no matter how big a nutcase she’s turning out to be.’

‘But you’re so good at giving advice,’ I said, covering my mouth with my hand. A courtesy not extended by my elder sister, who I knew for a fact was not raised in a barn. ‘You’re trained in it. You’re a professional advice-giver. Advise me, please.’

‘That’s a lovely way to describe an agonizing five-year psychology degree,’ Rebecca muttered. ‘But since you asked, my professional opinion would be a diagnosis of FOMO. Get over yourself immediately.’

I swallowed and shook my head slowly. Becks loved to remind me her degree was far more advanced than mine. Me and my piffling BA in Psychology and English. Her with her fabulous doctorate.

‘Six years at uni and the best you can come up with is FOMO?’ I said, grinning when she finally cracked a smile. ‘Becks, you’re not even trying.’

‘I don’t even have to,’ she reminded me. ‘You’re not my patient.’

‘No, but I am your little sister and you’re stuck with me, so help.’ I gave her my best attempt at eyelash fluttering as I finished my sandwich. ‘Why do you think no one has ever delayed the start of a massive sporting event to propose to me?’

‘Oh dear god.’ She picked a fleck of mascara from her cheek and sighed.

As big sisters went, Rebecca was far from the worst. Too clever for her own good, obviously, but there wasn’t much I could do about that. She was five when I was born and she did not take the news of a little sister well. Apparently, she’d expressly requested a guinea pig. Instead, I came along to ruin everything. According to her.

‘I haven’t had sex in so long, I no longer own nice underwear,’ I said. ‘Shaving my legs above the knee does not occur to me. If I was confronted with a penis, I wouldn’t know what to do with it.’

‘If you are confronted with a penis, you should call the police,’ Rebecca advised. ‘And for your information, I have sex and I don’t shave my legs above the knee.’

I pulled a face and spared a thought for her poor husband.

‘Annie, if you really wanted to be in a relationship, you’d be out looking for one,’ she said. ‘I have never known you to fail at anything you set your mind to. Which isn’t necessarily a compliment, by the way.’