"That's not fair-I mean, Bev, he can't do that to you. That's just not cool."
"Who?" I question as I type down my reply for an email I received yesterday. Good thing it's the last one I have to entertain for today because if I have to do this for another hour, I might actually go mental.
I've been replying one after another email since I return to my office from my lunch break and it's difficult to focus on it whilst also talking to my sister. But since I am on the verge of losing my mind, I welcome the distraction even if it comes in the form of a phone call from my sister who only calls if she needs something.
So far she hasn't mentioned anything.
"Zayn, of course!" She exclaims and I consider turning off the loud speaker, afraid that my co-workers can hear our conversation. They like to eavesdrop but because I've never been a big fan of replying emails using only one hand, I resort to placing my mobile next to my computer with the speaker on. "As much as it upsets me that the two of you didn't work out, I realise now that he's a, well, he's a dick."
My fingers freeze and they linger above the keyboard as a gasp escapes my lips. Surely I've heard her wrong; my sister has always been a fan of Zayn. Said he's a mighty fine guy and all that. "Are you, for once, siding with me, Indie?"
"Sod off," she replies which is followed by a loud scoff that she thinks is necessary. "And this Harry Styles bloke, I've googled him."
It's not in my intention to tell my sister about Harry but in the midst of talking – whining, more like – about Zayn, I accidentally told her about Harry, about how he came to the bar whilst I moped over Zayn and how he had the audacity to tell me that he didn't like Freya. I didn't tell Indie that Harry and I had sex a few months ago, of course, because I'm not that daft.
Not yet, at least.
"And?" I ask as I continue typing my email, though I know very well what's about to come next. "What did you find?"
"And he's bloody rich, Bev," she continues and I can imagine her pacing back and forth in her room. "He's like one of the richest men in London," she tells me as if I'm not aware of that. I've googled him too, but Indie doesn't need to know that. In fact, no one needs to know that; it's supposed to be something that I keep to myself. "And he's single. I mean, well of course he is, yeah?"
I frown at the screen of my mobile, wishing that she could see it. "What do you mean of course he is?"
"I take it you two have slept together or something?"
My frown deepens and quickly I grab my mobile phone and turn off the speaker. I press the device against my ear. "Wha-No. Of course not. Slept together? Are you kidding me? N-No absolutely not!"
"Bev, I know you," comes a stern voice that shuts me up. This is why to strangers, they think Indie's the older sister even though she has made it abundantly clear that she doesn't like it when people compare her to me, let alone mistake her for the older one. It bothers her somehow, but then again, it's not anyone's fault that she's an uptight person – more than I am.
"So what?" I roll my eyes and scoff, sounding more and more like her as I try my best to conceal the truth. I know it's pointless because for reasons beyond my knowledge, Indie always finds a way to know what she wants to know. Doesn't stop me from trying, though. "That doesn't mean I've slept with him. What makes you think I've slept with him?"
"Oh come off it!" She exasperates, probably throwing her hand up in the air and dropping it to her side at the moment. As much as she refuses to admit it, she does inherit our mother's dramatic gene. In fact, the two of us do – I've made peace with that already. "You have, haven't you, Bev? S'he good? Bet you can't keep your hands off him. I wouldn't blame you, though, I mean he's fit."
