“In between tours, I’d go to the gallery and sit in front of Sunflowers, just taking it in—sometimes for an hour or more,” I said. “It was a way of stilling my mind, catching my breath after the intensity of the tour.” I smiled to myself. The gallery visit had started as a lie, but I wondered if I could talk Cat into stopping in that afternoon.

“So, kind of like your visits to the British Museum then?” he asked.

“Yes, in a way. Although, they served different purposes. I’d head to the museum if I was feeling homesick or just blue, whereas Sunflowers was more of a palate cleanser for my brain—a reset. Does that make sense?”

“I know just what you mean by that.” Maybe I had explained myself better than I thought. “And each time I see that painting—although, I haven’t been for a while and must go back sometime soon—I see something different in it. It’s remarkable.”

“Yes!” I exclaimed, “I do too. It’s both elegantly simple and compellingly complex.” We exchanged a quick smile and I had to bite my tongue, so I didn’t invite him to the gallery with us. I didn’t even know if we’d end up going, and I really couldn’t drag out our goodbye. It was hard enough as it was.

Not long after we discovered our shared love of Van Gogh, we pulled up outside Cat’s building. As promised, there she was, grinning like an annoying little sister.

“Uh, James?”

He parallel-parked the car—expertly of course—and looked at me. “Yes, Sarah.”

“Heads up. You’re about to meet my sister.”

“Oh? Really?”

“Yes. And I apologise in advance.” He laughed. I didn’t.

We both got out of the car and as James got my tote—sorry, Cat’s tote—out of the boot, I tried to cut Cat off at the pass. All I managed before she pushed past me was a quiet, but pointed, “Behave.” It came out like a growl.

“Hi, you must be James,” said my ridiculously infuriating but utterly charming sister. She held out her hand and James took it and then kissed her on the cheek.

“And you must be the much-loved sister, Cat.”

They stood there beaming at each other. I don’t know which one I wanted to slap more.

“Here, I’ll take that,” said Cat, signalling to the tote. Well, at least she was being helpful. “It is mine, after all.” Argh! Killing her would have been too kind. Torture came to mind.

James gave her the tote. “Well, thank you for loaning it to Sarah and for sparing her as much as you have this past week. I know this was supposed to be your time together.”

“It’s no problem at all, really. We’ve still got the rest of today and tomorrow morning.” Listening to them talk as though I wasn’t there was both fascinating and bloody maddening.

“Oh yes! Sarah said you’re thinking of going to the National Gallery.” I what? Oh crap. Lying was hard again.