Page 19 of Under Your Spell

Ingrid makes another note in her book. Presumably about how insightful I’m being.

‘Do you want to talk about the funeral?’ she asks. ‘I know you were anxious about possibly seeing your father.’

‘Seeing him is always hard. He acts like everything is fine between us when we have no relationship at all. It makes me feel like I’m going mad – like I imagined everything, all the different ways he let me down.’

I slump down in my chair. ‘What is there to say? The man is a terrible person. Being related to him is a nightmare and I wish I never had to see him again.’ Now there’s a wish I should have been making.

Ingrid’s pen scratches against the page.

I suppose it’s possible I’m not the best at therapy after all.

Chapter Seven

Any belief that we have unleashed the decades-dormant power of the breakup spell is quite firmly quashed by the events of the next few weeks.

First, there is no more hot sex. As predicted, Serena and Lil were delighted about Edward and demanded many more details than I was comfortable with giving. Since that night there has been no communication between the two of us, obviously. And while that was the plan, and it’s not like we knew much about each other, I can’t help but think that if Edward really wanted to he could have tracked me down. After all, how many Clementines were at Carl’s funeral?

Second, my job comes to an incredibly anticlimactic end.

Third, there is certainly no big love/soulmate on the horizon. Nor is there likely to be seeing as I have basically retreated to my flat (which I have had to give notice on), where I am living like a grumpy, unwashed hermit subsisting on packets of ramen and share-size bars of Dairy Milk.

And fourth, and the real low point of low points: Len appears to be flourishing in a thoroughly uncursed-like way.

‘I don’t know why you keep looking at it,’ Lil says as I drape myself dramatically across her sofa. ‘Who cares what that idiot is doing?’

I stare at the photo on Instagram – Len and Jenny are on a beach, he has his arm around her, their faces squished together, close to the camera, beaming. Her hand is held up, showing off her diamond ring.

‘Len hates the beach,’ I grumble, sitting up to better show Lil the picture. ‘He tells people he’s allergic to sand. Remember when I tried to get him to go on that all-inclusive holiday to Menorca and he acted like I’d suggested a romantic escape to Mordor?’

‘What’s Mordor?’ Lil asks.

‘Never mind.’ I sigh.

‘It’s irrelevant, anyway,’ Lil says, striding back and forth from her bedroom to the living room with armfuls of shiny, colourful fabric which she dumps beside me. ‘This is just further evidence of what we already know: Len is the worst. What I want to know is why you’re still following him on Instagram anyway?’

This is quite a good point, so I decide to ignore it.

‘It’s not like I want to be with Len,’ I say, ‘but it’s very galling to have my life fall so spectacularly apart while he waltzes off into the Instagram-filtered sunset with another woman.’

‘And I get that,’ Lil replies soothingly, ‘but I can’t let you waste your time dwelling on Len, when we have a fabulous party to go to.’

I moan, flopping back on the sofa. ‘I’m not really in the fabulous party mood.’ It’s been a rough few months and I think I’m entitled to a bit of dwelling, a good old sulk. I didn’t even tell my sisters about my run-in with Sam at the funeral, reluctant to open up that can of worms, and they haven’t mentioned him either so it’s possible their paths didn’t cross. I’d love to say that the encounter didn’t throw me, but it did, and I’ve spent quite a bit of time thinking about exactly what I should have said to him. It’s been a really fun little addition to the running list of regrets that plays on a loop while I try to go to sleep.

Lil ducks down beside me, her face close to mine. ‘Clemmie,’ she says in the voice of someone talking to a small, truculent child. ‘Do you think Serena is going to let you miss her birthday party? Is that something you think our sister would be very calm and accepting about? Or do you think she would be very, very angry and make the lives of both you and your entirely innocent younger sister a total misery?’

‘The second one,’ I say flatly. ‘The misery.’

We all tend to celebrate our birthdays in different ways. Serena’s way involves a big party, and has made a natural progression from the Powerpuff Girls and ice cream sundaes to nightclubs and themed cocktails. (Although she did still make us dress up as the Powerpuff Girls for a Halloween party last year.) Attendance is absolutely mandatory, as are presents.

‘Correct.’ Lil is brisk now, standing up and gesturing to the piles of clothing. ‘The misery. So stop sulking and help me choose something to wear because I’ve invited Henry tonight, and I need to look spectacular.’

‘Henry would think you looked spectacular if you were wearing a black sack and a ridiculous veil, because that is literally what you were wearing when you met him, and you spent the night superglued to his mouth.’

Lil smiles coyly. ‘I know, but I haven’t seen him all week and I want to wow him.’

Lil and Henry have been pretty inseparable since the funeral, and it would be easy to hate them if they weren’t so adorable. ‘You really like him, don’t you?’ I ask.

Lil fiddles with the dress in her hands. Her smile is shy, like she’s keeping a secret. ‘Yeah,’ she says softly. ‘I mean, it’s early days, but I really do.’