Lauren touches my arm.

‘I know you don’t trust me, ever, with anything, but I promise, I do know what I’m talking about when I say, this cut will be fine if we clean it and then bandage it, and I don’t need stitches. It barely even hurts! You don’t need to look after me.’

‘It doesn’t hurt because you’re drunk,’ I say.

‘Brooke,’ she says. ‘Just. Trust me.’

I stare into her drunk, mascara-smudged blue eyes.

‘Okay,’ I sigh. ‘But if you bleed to death overnight, you are not allowed to come back and haunt me.’

‘Don’t worry, you are way too boring for me to even consider it,’ she says, poking my cheek with her finger.

I start to bandage her hand when she stops me.

‘Wait! We need to get some photos first, with all the blood.’

‘Do we though?’ I say.

‘Photoshoot!’ Penny yells, overhearing her.

‘No, no, no more photoshoots,’ I say, but it’s too late. They’re getting props.

29

29

Hours later, I walk into my room, and find Lauren asleep, lying diagonally across my bed. I slip under the covers, gently pushing her. She opens her eyes, snuggles closer to me.

‘Your breath is in my face,’ I say.

‘If I turn the other way, my hair will be in your face.’

‘I would rather hair than breath,’ I say. Lauren sighs and rolls over. Her long hair is in my face, it’s all over me, and it’s incredibly annoying, but I don’t say anything. It smells nice, fruity and floral and musky all at once.

‘Thank you,’ she says after a minute.

‘What for?’

‘For looking after me.’

‘It’s my job.’ I don’t know why I say this. If I was the older sister, it might make more sense to say it and pretend I mean that society has decreed it my job, but no one expects anything of the younger sister, not really.

‘Wow, do you put me on your resume?’

I can hear the edge in Lauren’s voice. ‘Not like that. You know what I mean.’

‘Is that how you think of me? As a job, an obligation?’

‘No. I think of you as my sister. We’re family. We look after each other.’

‘I would do the same for you.’

I could let the words sit. I could just say goodnight and be done with it. But Lauren triggers my need to pick, to scratch, to push, to not let things go.

‘Except you’ve never had to,’ I say.

‘What does that mean?’