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DELILAH

What the hell happened there?

It was the weirdest thing. The moment Jem whipped off his shirt, after I accidentally showered him with hot tea, my whole nervous system went into overdrive and I lost the ability to control my speech.

I have no idea why the sight of him half naked fried my brain like it did, but I was suddenly reduced to the mental state of an inexperienced thirteen-year-old girl.

Not that having a hot bod makes Jem any less annoying. He’s got a knack of knowing exactly how to cause me maximum pain and humiliation and he uses it to full effect whenever he can.

The guy’s a pain in my butt.

Unfortunately, this thought only leads me to wonder what his butt looks like naked, which I really, really don’t want to be thinking about right now. Not when I’m in this state.

He’s annoying and frustrating and I absolutely do not care what he looks like naked.

I’ve no idea why I’m thinking about him like this. He’s nothing like the cool, fun guys I usually date. He’s totally not my type.

I lower myself carefully onto Bea’s bed and prop my foot back up on the cushions, then lie down, making sure my swollen ankle is above my heart.

Bloody know-it-all Jem.

Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, which is difficult because I’m lying on it, I open one of my social apps and blindly scroll through it. To my annoyance, all I can see is the vision of Jem’s honed chest and muscular arms in front of my eyes.

Grrr!

Why am I feeling like this? It must be a delayed reaction to the shock of hurting myself and having to go to hospital earlier. That has to be the explanation. That’s why my heart is racing and my whole body feels hot and kind of fizzy, like there’s static under my skin.

I need a distraction. If only Jem had given me something to do. I’m going to be so bored lying here on my own and I’m in too much pain to sleep.

I stare around the room, taking in the characteristic neatness of my sister’s domain. Everything is in its place and scrupulously clean. It’s the complete opposite of my own bedroom.

Ugh. How the hell am I going to get up all those stairs to my attic flat with one leg out of action? I wonder whether Bea would mind me crashing here for a couple of days, just till I’m a bit more mobile.

I’m sure she won’t. She’s a good un’ like that. Always looking out for me.

Unlike my bloody parents.

In fact, I think landing the job at the hotel provoked the first compliment I can remember ever getting from my dad.

After a godawful row that I had with him over a restaurant dinner a while ago, he’d stopped my allowance, which was covering my living expenses while I was between jobs, till I ‘grew up a bit’, so being able to wave getting the events role in his face was satisfaction personified.

It was weird, and gratifying, to see a look of almost humbled approval on his face.

I actually went home and cried happy tears after seeing him, for once.

Which is why I can’t lose this job now and why I begged Bea so hard to step in for me today. I don’t want that one sweet memory of my father’s admiration to be obliterated by his subsequent return to disappointment.

Hence all the subterfuge.

But it’s all part of growing up, right? Becoming an adult? Learning how to turn opportunities to your advantage.

You have to have agency these days to get anywhere in life, as I’ve come to discover after struggling to hold on to a permanent position after graduating from art college.

You see, I’m actually an artist – at least an aspiring one.

I’ve yet to make it to the big time and actually start to sell my art – so the opportunity to be in a position to persuade Jonah to hang some of my paintings in the hotel, where wealthy people are bound to see them, felt like a gift from the gods.

Another worrying thought suddenly occurs to me.

How am I going to get around at the hotel all day tomorrow with my leg out of action?

I can sometimes cover a lot of ground on a day-to-day basis as I move about the place doing my job.

Jonah is not going to be happy with me if I’m not up to my usual speed – which, to be fair, isn’t exactly speedy.

But I’ve not been working there very long and I’m still winding up to top gear.

Hmm. No point in panicking right now though when there’s nothing I can practically do about the situation. I need to find out how it went today first, anyway.

Maybe I should watch a movie to while away some time, just till Bea gets home.

* * *

I’ve watched one and a half movies and started the first episode of a new series before I hear Bea finally coming in through the front door to the flat.

I sit up against the pillows, wincing as pain shoots through my ankle when I shift it on the cushions. I’m desperate to hear how she’s done at my work today, so I’m staring at the door in anticipation when she walks through it with a smile on her face and colour on her cheeks.

‘So? How did it go? Did the event run okay?’ I ask her, feeling tension twanging in my shoulders. If not, there’s a good chance I’ll be out of a job and back to square one with my life plan.

But of course, my practically perfect sister’s not about to let that happen.

‘It went really well,’ she says breathlessly.

I relax in increments as she runs me through how brilliant she’s been today.

Then she drops the bombshell that my boss is still thinking about firing me. He hates my marketing plan, or what I’ve been able to scrabble together of it so far, at least.

Ah, hell.

I guess I was kind of expecting it. I’ve not exactly been smashing it at work recently.

What I’m not expecting is for my sister to announce she’s going to save my bacon by holding one of her friend’s festivals at the hotel this coming weekend. And that she’s happy to keep going in as me to make sure it runs okay.

‘I just need to clear it with Jem, but otherwise I’m good for it,’ she says, but I can see from the expression on her face that she’s going to make sure he agrees, whether he wants to or not.

She’s excited about doing it.

Huh.

I’m really surprised by this. I expected her to be desperate to get back to her business here with Jem, but it seems like she’s actually fired up about getting the hotel back on its feet.

Which, I guess, is a great outcome for me.

‘Okay then, let’s go for it,’ I say, ignoring a niggle of worry about how bored I’m going to be for the next few days, sitting alone here in her flat while I recover. Perhaps I can use her desk and work on the marketing plan while she’s at the hotel.

If Jem doesn’t lock me out of the office, that is.

There’s a freaky squeezing sensation in my chest at the idea of being around him for the next few days. It’s probably just irritation though, so I push all thoughts of him away. He’s of no significance right now.

Unlike Jonah. I wonder whether he was in any way aware that he was around my sister today instead of me.

It’s unsettling to think we’re so easily interchangeable.

We’re very different in so many ways, but then with only cursory attention paid, it would be easy to mix us up, I guess. Apart from us having different hair.

‘So how did you get away with your new hairstyle?’ I ask her, pointing at her long curtain of blonde hair that she’s had since we were little.

I, on the other hand, chopped mine into a sleek bob ages ago, via a few other hairstyles.

Partly because I like to change up my appearance on a regular basis, but also to set me apart from my sister.

We’ve grown more distant since we were little kids, but I’ve always needed to have my own identity, outside of being an identical twin.

Especially since my counterpart is as shit-hot as Bea is.

Comparison breeds the mother of all insecurity.

‘I’ll need you to cut it off for me,’ Bea states, to my utter amazement. It seems she’s going all in with this ruse and is even prepared to change her appearance for it. While I’m grateful for her dedication to help me keep my job, I’m shocked that she’s willing to do something so radical.

And, if I’m honest, I’m not entirely happy about her aping my style.

But who am I to complain right now? She’s doing this for me, so my qualms need to shut the hell up.

So I say, ‘Ok-ay. Grab the kitchen scissors and I’ll chop it off for you.’

* * *

Which is why, when Jem pokes his head around Bea’s bedroom door to let her know he’s heading off home, we’re sitting side by side, staring at ourselves in the mirror and marvelling at exactly how alike we look.

‘Whoa!’ he says, looking between us, then fixing his gaze on Bea. ‘What happened to your hair?’

So, I guess there must still be something different enough about us if Jem can tell us apart on first glance.

I experience a swell of hurt as he completely ignores me to hold a conversation with Bea, as if I’m just her pale reflection.

Looking away from them, I stare down at the screen of my phone as they discuss business, relieved when Bea gets off the bed to go and conduct her conversation with him outside the room, so I don’t have to studiously keep my eyes off his fit body under that fitted gym t-shirt, the naked image of which I now can’t unsee.

It’s been burned onto my vision, like a ghostly echo after you’ve looked at something that’s too bright.

As I predicted, when Bea comes back into the room, she suggests I stay here in her flat and that she goes to stay in mine till my ankle’s recovered enough to get up the steep, narrow stairs to my attic-level floor.

It’s a no-brainer, of course. And the best thing all round for both of us – this room’s not really big enough for two very independent sisters to share – so I make no attempt to protest. It would be useless, anyway. When my sister wants something, she bloody well gets it.

So that’s that, then. I’m staying here for the next few days. In a flat with a man that makes my blood boil, coming and going as he pleases.

Well, I guess I’m just going to have to tough it out. And so is he.

I can’t imagine he was too pleased to be told he’d be treated to my company all this week either.

Oh well. It’s only for a finite amount of time.

What’s the worst that could happen?