Authors: Portia MacIntosh
‘Mia,’ she says, reinforcing my point that the women in this family are ice-cold.
I rack my brain for a topic of conversation that will fill the silence but I am saved from having to do so by my ten-year-old cousin, Josh.
‘Mia, Mia,’ he giddily shrieks as he runs towards me and throws his arms around me. Josh is member number two of my three-person fan club so I feel almost invincible having both him and my granddad in the same room. Although I have to admit, I’m pleased the third member of my fan club, Uncle Steve, hasn’t appeared yet. Sometimes fans can be too admiring…
‘Hey, turd,’ I greet my favourite cousin. ‘What’s up?’
‘Watch your language,’ my Auntie June warns me. ‘He’s only ten.’
‘Mum, I know the word “turd”,’ Josh whines.
‘There, look, you’ve only been here a matter of minutes and you’ve corrupted my only son,’ my auntie complains.
‘Come on, June, he probably already knew that one,’ my granddad says in my defence.
Belle looks put out by the fact that I am causing arguments already.
‘Come on, Mia,’ she insists. ‘Let’s get you to your room.’
‘Please can I show Mia the games room?’ Josh begs. ‘Please.’
‘Go on then,’ Belle agrees. ‘I’ll wait here.’
Josh grabs me by the hand and drags me down a flight of stairs.
‘The pool is through that door,’ he explains before dragging me through a different door. ‘This is the games room.’
The games room is packed full of funky furniture and fun things to do. There’s a bar, a pool table, a huge television, pinball machines and a variety of chairs and beanbags to get comfortable on.
I notice my other cousins, Hannah and Meg, are both playing with their phones. They both say hello to me but seem far too engrossed in what they are doing to get into proper conversation.
‘This is Max,’ Josh says, introducing me to a young boy who is playing on the game console. ‘He’s Dan’s cousin. He’s ten, too.’
‘That’s awesome,’ I say enthusiastically. ‘Hey, Max.’
Max smiles nervously and gives me a wave.
‘Well, I’d better get back up to Belle before she turns into Bridezilla and bites my head off,’ I joke. Josh and Max laugh, and so do the two men who are playing pool behind us.
‘OK, see you later, Mia,’ Josh says as he grabs a controller off the table and gets back to his game with Max.
‘Hello,’ I say to the two men by the pool table. ‘I’m Mia, Belle’s sister.’
‘Hi Mia, I’m Jason,’ the younger man says. ‘I’m Heather’s husband.’
I shrug my shoulders. ‘Oh right, I haven’t met your wife yet.’
They must be Belle and Dan’s dull couple friends, another pair of early twenty-somethings who thought it would be a brilliant idea to marry young.
The other guy at the pool table looks closer to my age. He’s tall and skinny with spiked, dyed black hair and he’s wearing a tatty jumper with a pair of baggy jeans. He looks stylish and handsome in a scruffy Robert Pattinson kind of way.
‘I’m Mike,’ he says, jokily grabbing my hand and kissing it. ‘I’m Dan’s much better-looking older brother. Did you say you were Belle’s younger sister?’
‘Very smooth,’ I laugh. ‘But no, on paper I am five years older than my sister.’
‘But not married?’ Mike asks.
‘No,’ I reply with an unimpressed look on my face.
‘Hey, I don’t care, I’m thirty and I’m not married either. I’m just letting you know what to expect because I’m getting loads of stick for it. We’ll have to stick together.’
Mike flashes me a cheeky smile. He isn’t my usual type but I can certainly imagine us spending a lot of time together while we’re here, especially if we’re both in the same boat.
‘Well, I’d better get back to Belle,’ I tell them. ‘I’ll see you both at dinner.’
Max, Jason and Mike all seem friendly enough so at least I won’t have to rely on my three-person fan club the whole time – I can have actual conversations with people outside my family.
‘I’m back,’ I announce as I enter the kitchen. Everyone is exactly as I left them and once again, only my granddad seems pleased to see me.
‘Right, let’s get you to your room,’ Belle says. ‘I don’t have time for this.’
I grab my case and follow my sister up the staircase.
‘I just met Max, he’s a little cutie,’ I tell my sister. ‘And I met Jason. Oh and I met Mike, Dan’s brother.’
My sister stops dead in front of me, causing me to walk into her back and drop my suitcase. She turns around slowly.
‘Mia, don’t,’ she pleads.
‘Don’t what?’ I laugh.
‘Mia. Don’t. Don’t even think about it.’
‘Fucking hell, what do you think I am?’ I ask, not wanting or expecting an answer.
‘Mia,’ my sister says firmly, ‘don’t you dare.’
‘This looks intense,’ a familiar male voice says from behind me.
‘We’re fine, Uncle Steve, I’m just showing Mia to her bedroom.’
‘Here.’ My uncle stops to pick up my suitcase. ‘Allow me, that’s too heavy for a young lady to carry.’
As he smiles at me my skin crawls.
‘Cheers, Uncle Steve,’ Belle says brightly. ‘That’s Mia’s room over there. See you both at dinner – it will be ready at seven.’
Belle skips off back downstairs, safe in the knowledge she has warned me off Dan’s brother and that my Uncle Steve will take good care of me.
‘Shall we go to the bedroom?’ Steve says with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
I reluctantly nod my head and follow his lead.
My uncle opens the door and allows me to walk in first. I am in a bit of a rubbish mood but it instantly vanishes when I see where I’ll be sleeping. Everything in the room is lily-white, from the sheets on the king-size bed to the curtains that are blowing in the breeze coming in from the balcony. I walk across the room and step out onto the balcony where I take in the view. I have an ocean-facing room with a perfect view of the beach below and the sea which seems to go on for miles before meeting the skyline.
‘Wow,’ I say to myself.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ says my uncle, who I hadn’t realised had followed me. I was hoping he would just put my case down and piss off. ‘Almost as beautiful as you – how is it possible you get more beautiful every time I see you?’
Before my makeover, my uncle – like my Auntie June – never really spoke to me. No one really bothered with me, I was far too plain and boring. People were briefly interested in me when I hit the big-time with my writing, but that didn’t last long. Since my image transformation I have had to endure my uncle’s lecherous comments every time we’ve seen each other. For me, the fact that he is my uncle and that I have known him my entire life is enough to stop me entertaining the idea of us having a sexual relationship, but if that’s not enough reason then throw into the mix the fact that he is fifty-two, married and with a beer belly you could safely rest a pint on. His once dark hair is thinning and flecked with grey and years of smoking have caused his face to wrinkle something rotten. Like I said though, he could look like Gerard Butler and taste like chocolate, it wouldn’t change the fact he is my uncle and it’s weird that he hits on me. I may look like a different person to him but to me he is boring old Uncle Steve, the insurance salesman.
‘Well, I’m going to get in bed,’ I say, yawning for effect, but I am actually knackered so it didn’t take much faking.
‘I thought you’d never ask,’ my uncle jokes, kicking his shoes off as he runs back inside before throwing himself onto my bed, messing up the pristine sheets and causing me to throw up in my mouth a little.
I hover around the doorway to the balcony, convinced my only option will be to throw myself off it if I can’t get rid of my pervy uncle. Before I get around to it, my bedroom door is forcibly pushed open to reveal a very angry-looking Auntie June.
‘What the hell is going on in here?’ she bellows at the sight of her husband sprawled out across my bed.
For a few seconds no one says or does anything. No one moves, no one speaks, no one so much as breathes. Even if this doesn’t look bad, it certainly looks weird.
‘Well,’ my auntie snaps. ‘Explain yourselves.’
‘A spider,’ my uncle blurts out. ‘There was a spider in Mia’s bed, and she’s scared of them so I said I’d get rid of it for her.’
‘Uncle of the Year,’ I can’t help but say sarcastically.
‘So there was a spider on Mia’s bed and you killed it?’ my auntie repeats back to him, and it sounds even less believable the second time.
‘Well, no. It got away.’ My uncle shakes his fist at the pesky fictional spider.
‘Right. Well I want to go for a walk before dinner, so come on,’ my auntie says firmly. ‘And Steve….’
‘Yes dear?’ my uncle says attentively, quickly jumping to his feet.
‘Don’t forget your shoes,’ Auntie June says with a nod towards floor.
My uncle nods sheepishly before grabbing his shoes and scuffling out of the room.
‘I’m watching you, Mia,’ my auntie warns me.
I give her my friendliest smile as she leaves the room and closes the door behind her. Do I think my uncle actually fancies me? Of course not, but he does seem to get some sort of weird kick out of flirting with me. I think it’s weird for him, because we weren’t close before my image transformation, so it’s like he sees me as this entirely different person now – one he can be mates with, instead of playing uncle to.
Finally alone, I pounce onto my bed in a way not too dissimilar to the way my uncle did, only my intentions are far purer. The plan is to have a quick nap, have a shower and then dress in something pretty for dinner, ready to make a good impression in front of the group.
Lying face down and horizontally across my bed, I struggle to find the energy to move. I need to though, if only to remove my dress and my face-full of makeup before I fall asleep on these white sheets. Just five more minutes and then I’ll sort myself out.
After hours of sitting still, first on a plane and then on a train, my entire body feels tense. I arch my back and stretch my arms and legs out as far I can but with no relief. I’ll probably feel better when I get this dress off, and if I have a bath after my nap that will probably help to ease my stiff muscles too – that’s if I have time.
Still face down on my bed, I grab my phone. I check the time to make sure I can fit in everything I have planned before the family dinner at seven o’clock, but something isn’t right. I rub my weary eyes and look again – that can’t be right. My phone seems to think it is quarter past seven already.
I jump to my feet with the intention of finding another clock, but I am halted by the state of my bed. Foundation, bronzer, black eye makeup and red lipstick stains are smeared all over the top of my previously beautiful white quilt cover.
I glance around the room for a clock, convinced something has screwed up my iPhone clock when it tried to change itself to UK time, but I can’t find one. I step out onto the balcony and look for the sun, deluded in thinking I’ll be able to figure out the time from its position in the sky. I humour the idea for about five seconds before accepting that I’m no Girl Scout. It is then that I spot a man walking his dog along the beach.
‘Excuse me,’ I call out at the top of my lungs.
‘Yes?’ the puzzled-looking man calls back.
‘Do you have the time, please?’
The man, still confused, does as he is told and looks at his watch.
‘It’s twenty past seven,’ he shouts.
‘Is that in the p.m.?’ I ask.
The man laughs at me and replies, ‘Yes, that’s in the p.m.’
I shout a quick thank you before running back into my bedroom and plucking up the courage to look in the mirror. My beautiful curls are all messy and flat, my dress appears to have twisted three hundred and sixty degrees around my body, and my makeup is so crazy and smudged all over my face it looks like I’ve been getting off with an evil clown.
I spend thirty seconds that I don’t have trying to figure out what will make Belle the angriest: I could smarten myself up and be even later for dinner (that I was supposed to be down for twenty minutes ago) or I can hurry downstairs now, looking like this. There’s only one thing for it – I grab my face wipes from my bag and begin taking off some of my makeup – but not all of it, because I won’t have time to apply any more and there’s no way I’m going down without it.
As I hurry down the stairs I try and fluff up my hair a little before yanking my dress back into place, just seconds before I burst into the dining room. As I enter the room everyone stops eating and stares at me in total silence.
‘Hello,’ I say cheerily.
‘We thought you weren’t coming so we started without you,’ my mother informs me.
‘Sorry, I must have fallen asleep,’ I explain, although anyone with half a brain can probably figure that out just by looking at me.
‘We were going to just shove you on the kids’ table,’ my sister says, like it’s some kind of punishment. The truth is I would much rather sit with the kids than the adults. ‘Anyway,’ she continues, ‘someone injured my fiancée’s back and he’s in bed indefinitely, so you can sit here next to me.’
While my sister didn’t straight up announce to the room that it was me who broke her prince, judging by the unimpressed faces surrounding me I can hazard a guess that she has already filled them in.
I take a seat at the table and begin eating the spaghetti bolognese that is laid out for me. Normally I wouldn’t eat something like this, but now doesn’t seem like the right kind of time for a conversation about carbohydrates. I’ll eat enough to be polite and make sure I work it off tomorrow.
‘So you’re the movie maker,’ Dan’s mum says, and judging by the tone of her voice she is either seriously unimpressed with my line of work or she believes I intentionally tried to harm her son.
‘I am. I write romantic comedies,’ I admit, just in case anyone in the room doesn’t know or believe that I am capable of such a thing.
‘Anything we might have heard of?’ a woman who I have not yet been introduced to asks.
‘The Unhappy Couple, Battle of the Bridesmaids, Nate From Next Door…’ I start reeling off a list of the most well-known films I have worked on. ‘I have a film in the cinema at the moment called For Better, For Worse.’