Free Christmas at Claridge's by Karen Swan

that I should know about?’
    ‘Never trust Sagittarians or men with long nails.’
    There was a short silence. ‘Interesting man your father,’ Clem said finally.
    ‘I know! Right?’ Stella laughed, waving her arms so wildly that she inadvertently flagged down a cab. A look of pure longing crossing her face.
    ‘Oh, get in, then!’ Clem grinned, opening the door and smacking her on the bum. ‘This can be
my
treat.’

Chapter Six
    The low winter sun skated through the sitting-room window at a sharp angle, and at first Clem thought she was home alone as she opened the doors to the flat and blinked into
the light-drenched room. But the honeyed aroma of white jasmine wood-scented sticks told her Clover was in the house. She kept them on a high shelf in Tom’s wardrobe, knowing that neither Tom
nor Clem would ever bother to retrieve them for themselves, even though they both agreed they smelled heavenly and added a layer not just of sophistication but comfort to the flat. Their message was
clear: Clover could make a home for Tom, more so than his slatternly sister.
    ‘I’m back!’ Clem shouted, feeling cheerier after hers and Stella’s carb-loading at the greasy spoon caff on the corner of Lonsdale Road.
    ‘So we hear,’ Clover’s soft voice replied from the far corner. Clem peered through the slanting light to find Clover standing by the worktop in one of Tom’s rugby shirts,
boxers and hooped socks. ‘Lapsang?’
    Clem pulled a face and tried not to retch. ‘Hell no. Where’s Tom?’
    ‘In bed, trying to catch up on his sleep. Leave him. He’s not slept for more than a few hours a night all week, poor thing.’ Her voice was so soft Clem half-wondered whether
she had meditated herself into a trance.
    Clem pulled her muddy trainers off her feet and crossed the room, wondering why Clover always made her brother sound so fragile, as though he were some delicate creature that needed protecting
(from her, doubtless).
    ‘I’m bloody well awake now,’ Tom croaked from the bedroom. ‘I’d need dopamine to sleep through that foghorn voice.’
    Clem loped through to the bedroom. ‘Hey, bro! Why so lazy?’
    Tom groaned as she did a flying leap through the air and landed on the bed so heavily that it rolled several inches across the room on its castors. ‘Some of us have already been up and
running, you know,’ she said virtuously, throwing herself widthways across the bed. ‘My body is a temple.’
    ‘Temple of doom, maybe,’ Tom muttered, pulling the duvet up to his waist and folding his arms behind his head, watching her. ‘Where were you last night? Josh’s
again?’
    ‘Not exactly,’ she grinned, overjoyed that he was talking to her again.
    Tom’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t say . . .’
    ‘I’m
not saying anything, big brother. I’m the very soul of discretion.’ She gave a cheeky wink.
    Clover wafted into the room carrying a tray of lapsang souchong tea and freshly toasted waffles, topped with chopped bananas, hazelnuts and maple syrup. Both Clem and Tom’s eyes widened at
the sight and smell as she gracefully pushed the bed back into the wall with her legs.
    ‘I’d have made one for you, but you’ve already eaten so . . .’ Clover sat lightly on the bed and fed Tom a bite of waffle.
    ‘No I haven’t,’ Clem protested, watching as her brother’s eyes closed happily.
    Clover tipped her head to the side. ‘So then, the ketchup on your chin . . .?’
    Tom chuckled quietly as Clem put a finger to her face and it came back red. She jumped up and peered at her reflection in the mirror. Excellent. A huge gob of ketchup was smeared from lip to
jaw.
    ‘Shamblesshambles,’ Shambles squawked loudly in her ear from the cage beside her.
    ‘Thanks, Sham,’ Clem moaned. ‘Cos
you’ve
got such great table manners.’
    ‘Shamblesshamblesshambles.’
    ‘Am not.’
    ‘How many times have I told you not to argue with the parrot?’ Tom asked with a full mouth from the bed. ‘It makes