The Wish List by Jane Costello Read Free Book Online

economy drive.
    Cally has decided to mark her thirtieth birthday in Alma de Cuba, a place overflowing with atmosphere, where Latin dancers whirl under Gothic chandeliers, petals are strewn from a balcony and
two-hundred-year-old frescoes can be seen above enormous palm trees.
    It is a fantastic evening – even if, four hours into the celebrations, something has happened to Cally.
Something
being two rounds of cocktails, a couple of G&Ts and an
unspecified amount of rum and Coke.
    ‘Do you think we ought to wake her up?’ Asha asks, nodding at Cally.
    Not so long ago, Cally would’ve been surrounded by admirers and batting her eyelids like she was trying to give them a blow dry.
    Today, she is propped up on a bench in her chic sage-green dress, with her face slumped on the table in front of her, her mouth contorted into a concave polygon. She looks like a shooting victim
in
The Sopranos
.
    ‘I don’t think she’d forgive us,’ I reply. ‘She was up at five thirty with Zachary and will welcome all the sleep she can get.’ I suddenly realise I’m
slurring my words – and have hit the four-drink limit I’ve stuck to since a hideous vomiting incident at a bus stop in my first year at university. People often ask me if I find it
difficult to stick to, but the memory of my guts emptying in front of an audience of commuter traffic has meant it genuinely has not been a challenge.
    ‘Does it count as sleep?’ Marianne asks, frowning at Cally. ‘I’m not sure she’s conscious.’
    My sister is home for the weekend to retrieve some of her effects from Dad’s loft – which is why she’s out with my friends and me again. Her own circle of friends, although
large, has spread far wider than mine over the years, so she’s always happy to have a drink or two with us when she’s back. Judging by how she looks tonight, I can’t deny
Edinburgh life agrees with her. Her skin is luminous and the couple of pounds she’s gained since leaving London suit her.
    I’m about to tell her as much when Asha’s phone rings. She takes it out of her bag, sees Toby’s number and gestures that she’s taking it outside.
    ‘What’s all this about a one-night stand?’ Marianne asks when we’re alone.
    ‘Oh . . . did they mention that?’ I mumble.
    ‘You’re not going through with it, I hope.’
    ‘I wasn’t, no.’ The truth is, I’ve thought a lot about that particular item on the list and, despite the fact that I have for the first time in my life put a Durex in my
clutch bag, it
isn’t
going to happen. It’s just not me.
    ‘Good.’ Her expression is somewhere between smug and matronly.
    I frown. ‘Why
good
?’
    ‘I don’t want any little sister of mine throwing herself around like the last tart in the bordello.’
    Indignation rises up in me. ‘As if you’ve been an angel!’
    ‘I’m serious. If you’d said yes, I’d have dragged you out of here and bundled you into a taxi.’
    I cross my arms. ‘Marianne, I am twenty-nine years old. If I choose to hone my fellatio skills on half the British athletics squad, that’s up to me.’
    ‘You’d regret it.’
    ‘I may or may not. That’s up to me.’
    She shakes her head, prompting a reminder – a small but perfectly vivid one – of the fury she would arouse in me when we were teenagers.
    ‘Maybe the more I think about that one, the more I think it epitomises my failure to have done most of the things on that list,’ I continue casually, enjoying winding her up.
‘Or indeed
anything
on that list.’
    ‘What are you talking about?’
    ‘I’ve been risk averse.’
    ‘You’re not a pension fund,’ she tuts.
    ‘I’ve spent my entire life firmly within my comfort zone.’
    She puts her hands on her hips. ‘Emma, don’t you
dare
have a one-night stand. I mean it.’
    Suddenly, this is about more than winding her up. ‘Marianne, I am a grown woman and I can think for myself.’
    ‘Don’t be so pathetic. Honestly.’
    I hesitate, thinking of a