Come Away With Me: The hilarious feel-good romantic comedy you need to read in 2018. Maddie Please

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СКАЧАТЬ colour schemes, bouquets and sparkly shoes. These days India couldn’t be in a room for longer than five minutes without saying, ‘Of course, when I’m married …’ And I was struggling to handle being around her when all she talked about was her wedding day, or Jerry, or both.

      Because, like the gilded child she’d always been, India was the one with the wedding coming up and the respectable fiancé and the trendy lifestyle in the cool, loft-style apartment near the river. Conversely, my attempts at independence had failed so spectacularly that when my flatmate had an early midlife crisis and decided to go travelling for a year, I couldn’t afford to live on my own any longer. I had to move back home to the end of my parents’ garden to ‘stay’ in their granny annexe. It was supposed to be a short-term thing. So far it’d been over six months.

      As I dumped the rubbish into the bin I got a text from Mum.

       ‘India wants pale blue for the tablecloths and pink for the bridesmaid’s dress. Do you think you could get into a size twelve by December? The one she especially likes is on sale right now but there’s limited stock. And the big sizes have sold out.’

      The wedding. Again. I didn’t bother replying (They’d changed the colour scheme and dress colour at least three times in the last week. Big sizes? Bloody cheek.) and decided to throw the towel in. It was time for a long bath and a big glass of wine. And maybe an hour without being asked about the stupid wedding … Was that too much to ask?

      *

      ‘Do you know we’re known as SKI-ers?’ Dad said proudly over Sunday lunch that weekend. ‘I read about it in The Oldie. We are Spending our Kids’ Inheritance – get it?’

      ‘Yes, we get it,’ India said, opening the drinks cabinet and pulling out a new bottle of Sipsmith gin. ‘Can I take this?’

      India and Jerry were visiting for Sunday lunch and we had all enjoyed one of my mother’s justly famous roast dinners, but I knew it was only a matter of time before India started raiding the fridge. Old habits are hard to break.

      Mum sighed. ‘Well, yes, India, but why don’t you just buy your own gin?’

      Good question.

      ‘I keep getting ID’d,’ India said with a pout that fooled no one.

      ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous – you’re twenty-six,’ Mum said, before her butterfly mind darted off to a more enjoyable subject. ‘And getting married in four months!’

      ‘Seventeen weeks yesterday,’ India said, beaming from ear to ear.

      Next they’d be back on the colour scheme and place settings.

      India sent a fond smile across to where her fiancé, Jerry, was sitting happily working his way through a slab of brie.

      He looked up and winked. ‘Well, I for one can’t wait!’

      ‘Poor deluded fool,’ Dad said, noticing India trying to slip a bottle of Angostura bitters in her bag. ‘India, are you going to leave us any alcohol, or are you planning on stealing all of it?’

      India went and dropped a kiss on top of his bald head.

      ‘Oh, Daddy, you can always restock in duty free,’ she said, ‘when you go to Australia.’

      ‘That’s not for a while,’ he said, taking the Angostura bitters back.

      ‘So how are the August figures looking, Alexa?’ Mum said.

      Right. That just about summed up my life at the moment.

      My younger sister had infuriated me all week with her untidiness, her inability to use spellchecker and her cavalier attitude to the appointment book, and now here she was again, dominating the occasion, raiding the drinks cabinet and probably the freezer. We’d spend the rest of the day discussing her wedding dress fitting, the flowers, the cake, the bloody flower girls; but I got asked about the sales figures for the family business.

      I felt a noble pang of self-pity. Mum had to talk to me about something, I suppose, and at the moment it certainly wasn’t going to be my boyfriend or dazzling social life. I had neither. I had loads of friends but in the last few years they’d all been getting engaged or married; now they were busy having children.

      ‘Oh, you know, okay,’ I said, feeling a little proud despite myself. ‘The three properties on the Bainbridge estate have gone and there’s an asking price offer in on Walton House.’

      ‘Excellent, well done, it’s been a good year despite all the doom-mongers. I was talking to John Thingy at the golf club yesterday. You know, the tall, thin chap from Countryside Property, and he said they’re doing awfully well. He was asking after you. Don’t you think you could fancy him just a bit?’ Mum said airily. ‘You don’t want to be living at the end of our garden for ever, do you?’

      I thought of John Foster with his damp hands and the irritating way he wound his legs around like pipe cleaners when he sat down.

      ‘No,’ I said, ‘I couldn’t.’

      ‘Well, it’s a shame. India will be off in no time,’ she said, ‘and then who will introduce you to people?’

      I couldn’t remember the last time India had introduced me to anyone significant.

      ‘I’m quite able to look after myself, you know,’ I said, ‘and I don’t need to be palmed off on John Foster just to tidy things up.’

      ‘No, I suppose not. What about that nice Ben with the curly hair? You don’t think he might do? Oh well.’ Evidently the subject had begun to bore her and she waved a hand at my father to attract his attention. ‘Do you know, Simon, I think I fancy a cherry brandy with my cheese.’

      ‘They make a liqueur in Australia from liquorice and chocolate,’ Dad said as he went to find some clean glasses. ‘I was reading about it earlier.’

      ‘Sounds vile,’ Mum said. ‘We must try it.’

      A mobile phone rang somewhere and we all patted our pockets and looked under things on the dining table to find out whose it was.

      ‘Oooh, it’s me,’ Mum said and prodded at her phone, standing up to take the call and get away from the noise we were all making. ‘Really? Really? Well, that’s fantastic! When? When? Really?’

      She wandered off through the patio doors into the garden, still talking, and we went back to the cheeseboard on the table. India wrestled the biscuits away from Jerry and loaded one up with a pyramid of Boursin, which she then pushed on to his nose. Honestly, they were like a couple of babies.

      I tutted and rolled my eyes at Dad but he was busy reading the Angostura bitters label and didn’t notice.

      ‘There’s a flat coming up on the Park you would like,’ I said to my father. He might have nearly retired from the estate agency but he still liked to keep a finger on the pulse.

      Dad looked blank. ‘I’m not thinking of moving. Am I?’

      ‘You could always downsize, have a nice simple place to look after,’ I said. ‘Less housework for Mum.’

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