If You Don't Know Me By Now

‘You would have left before then, Saint Imogen,’ Demi laughed.

Imogen shrugged, honestly unsure. At the time it felt fated: Babs moving in, hitting her savings target, the promise of the job. It was like the stars had aligned … except that she should have know better than to believe in fairy tales.

‘If it hadn’t been now, it would have been three months from now when I woke up to Chico biting my face. Or over dinner listening to Babs giving me a life lesson on the importance of intimacy in lovemaking.’

Demi choked on her drink, and Imogen just nodded, grinning. As irritated as she was that her cousin had arrived uninvited, it was nice to have family. She hadn’t realised how lonely it had been without the bustling noise of all the cousins, and second-cousins, and third-cousins at their get-togethers.

‘Did you go to Kristina’s baby’s christening?’ she asked Demi, thinking of the hilarious invite she’d received where the child had been photoshopped into a variety of unlikely scenarios. One of them being on board the Death Star.

‘Yup, it looked like a dragon had vomited blue and gold everywhere.’

‘Oh, stop it.’

Demi raised an eyebrow and smirked around her pint. ‘The baby screamed blue murder, then shat in the font.’

Imogen pressed her lips together. ‘… Holy crap?’

Demi’s shoulders shook. ‘Cheap shot.’

‘But quick,’ Imogen grinned. ‘So, then what happened? The priest declared that the devil was inside little … ’

‘Frank.’

‘Excuse me?’ Imogen dribbled her drink down her chin. ‘What?’

‘The baby. He’s called Frank.’

‘Why?’

‘Who the fuck knows? But there was this big hoohaa about the priest refusing to christen him unless he had a Greek name –’

‘– yep, I remember those arguments.’

‘So when the baby shat in God’s magical paddling pool, it was of course because he didn’t have a strong Greek name.’ She put on a thick accent.

‘So what happened?’

‘They donated a hundred quid to the church and the baby’s middle name is Apollo.’

‘You’re shitting me?’ Imogen shook her head, grinning.

‘Nope, talk to Frank for that.’

The afternoon passed into evening, full of laughter and ridiculousness.

‘Please, come on! Big city! Lots of things to do!’ Demi cajoled. ‘There’s this band I love playing in Camden tonight. Let’s go?’

Imogen’s usual excuses – ‘I’m broke, I’m exhausted, I’m lonely’ – suddenly seemed flat and empty. She needed Demi to bring life, get her motivated, but Imogen wasn’t sure what she brought to the equation. She tried not to think about it.

‘Sure, why not?’

‘Good, I knew you were still fun really.’ Demi sipped the cocktail that she had convinced Keith to make, which was an alcoholic disaster, and winked.

Demi had always been one to make things happen, one who would turn up unannounced with train tickets to a random destination and a massive grin. More often than not, they ended up at a tiny station in the middle of a field and spent most of their time waiting for the return train. But occasionally they’d find a great pub, or a sweet lake, or hidden garden, and return feeling like something new had been discovered. She had life. The indefinable thing that Imogen had never been very good at. Demi knew about make-up and clothes. She knew how to walk into a room, how to start a conversation with a stranger. Whenever Imogen went out with Demi, she always came back with a raging hangover, five new Facebook friends and the numbers of people she didn’t remember in her phone. That didn’t happen when it was just her. You had it or you didn’t. She liked to think she had talents her younger cousin didn’t, but pulling a perfect pint or being able to excellently reference your essays suddenly didn’t seem very relevant any more. She was the sensible one, the hard worker, the serious face. The one who stopped Demi running away, and comforted her aunt, and made sure her dad ate vegetables. Yet when Demi turned up, she got to be fun. But the payoff never seemed to be worth it. It was like the universe knew she was an impostor.

When they crashed into her flat at three a.m., desperately gnawing on the kebabs they’d cradled close to their chests on every night bus home, Imogen knew that she should have seen it coming. The realisation hit her harder than that sixth shot of Jaegermeister.

‘I have to be at work in three hours,’ she yelped, then ran to the bathroom to throw up.

*****

‘All right, sunshine?’ That lilt, while soft, was still painful to hear. And she couldn’t wear her sunglasses inside the store.

‘Why are you here?’ she asked Declan, realising as soon as she said it that it sounded a bit rude. ‘I mean, you don’t normally sub full shifts.’

‘Agnes apparently has something resembling a friend, and that friend is in hospital. And we couldn’t contact Emanuel to switch,’ he shrugged, unlocking the front doors.

‘Probably off stalking some hipster girl who has no idea he exists,’ Imogen snorted, then winced.

‘And I guess you’re not going to be much use to me today, either.’ He raised an eyebrow and held open the door so she had to walk under his arm.

‘Give me a couple of large iced coffees and don’t make me talk to anyone for the first hour, and I’ll be just fine.’

‘Drink making and floor cleaning it is, sunshine,’ Declan chirruped. ‘Good night then, I assume?’

‘My cousin visited unexpectedly. She kind of brings the party, whether you want to attend or not.’

‘Kinda seems like you didn’t mind attending,’ Declan said lightly.

‘What makes you say that?’ Imogen chucked back the first shot of espresso with ice and thumped her chest. It hit her tender stomach and she paused, bracing herself for trouble. Nope, all clear.

‘Well, the combination of the lovebites on your neck and what I guess is a fella’s number on your hand.’ He smirked. ‘Shame it smudged; you could have had a real connection.’

‘Maybe we already had our connection and I disappeared into the night,’ she bit back, entirely too tired to be embarrassed and making it damn clear she was not about to be slut-shamed by some guy.

‘And leave your cousin to fend for herself? No way, not buying it.’ He shook his head and grinned.

‘You don’t know that about me.’

He shrugged. ‘Just a feeling. Intuition. Let me make you a drink to cure the hangover?’

Imogen raised her hands in defeat, and went to double-check her till before the day started. She focused on counting the money, breathing deeply and trying to ignore the pounding in her temples.

‘Here.’ A plastic cup was plonked before her on the desk, followed by a plate with a bacon roll. ‘Perfect balance of sugar, fat, salt, caffeine and hydration.’

She smiled up at him, shocked at how dangerously attractive he was when he was solving all her problems. ‘Thank you.’

‘Take five minutes and then come out and get on the bar. I’ll tell everyone you lost your voice so you can’t talk to them.’