Chapter 73

‘He’s a fucking loser,’ Sigrid Smeed says, leaning forward and peering out through the windscreen.

I should have changed the damn wiper blades a long time ago, she grumbles and adjusts the hands-free chafing in her ear.

‘Are you saying you broke up?’

Alba Harding is unable to hide the slight hint of hopefulness in her voice.

‘I don’t know,’ Sigrid says. ‘But I certainly don’t want to be with a guy who thinks he’s my dad. I already have one too many of those.’

‘Yeah . . .’ Alba says, dragging the word out to signal some kind of doubt. ‘Look, Keris is quite a bit older than you . . . so . . . Well, I kind of figured from the start that—’

‘He’s not that old.’

‘Isn’t he, like, twenty-seven? Seriously, Sigrid, that’s ancient.’

Her phone beeps to let her know there’s another call waiting and for a moment, Sigrid contemplates answering it, just to get rid of Alba. She’s already starting to regret calling her, but the visibility is so poor now, she’s afraid to take her eyes off the road.

Besides, she needs to vent. For a bit longer.

‘How is it any of his bloody business if I study or work?’ she says. ‘It’s not like he went to uni, and he did fine. But I have to—’

‘Hold on, is he telling you you have to keep going?’ Alba breaks in, sounding outraged. ‘Even though you don’t want to? What a fucking . . .’

Her upset tone makes Sigrid blink.

‘Have to?’ she says in surprise. ‘No, of course he didn’t say I have to. But he sticks his nose in. Nags about giving it a chance, at least finishing the term. Blah, blah, blah . . . I couldn’t take it anymore, so I left.’

‘But weren’t you going over to Lucius tonight to see TBD play?’

‘Yes, but he had to work. One of the chefs threw his back out or whatever, so Keris had to cover for him.’

‘That suuucks. Couldn’t he just have said no?’

‘Apparently it’s not as easy as all that,’ Sigrid says and feels a tiny pang of guilt. ‘The restaurant world is pretty competitive, I guess, and people are lined up to take his job at P27.’

‘OK, but still,’ Alba says. ‘Seriously, Sigrid, if you want to break up, I get it. Like, totally. And seriously . . . a chef? That’s not exactly, you know . . . a career.’

She doesn’t know why she says it, where the idea comes from. It’s not even true, but she can’t resist:

‘I’ve actually thought about becoming a chef myself. That’s why I’m dropping out of law school.’