Free Something Only We Know by Kate Long Page B

already!’
    ‘Honestly, you don’t need to stress about her,’ he said, taking two bottles of lager off the waitress and pouring them into glasses. ‘She’s just an annoying limpet.
One good shove and you’ll dislodge her from her rock. Things are going OK with you and Owen otherwise, aren’t they? You’ve managed to win half a mattress. Which is
progress.’
    ‘For one night a week.’
    ‘Yeah, well. Don’t knock it. Some of us don’t even get that.’
    It was true enough. Mum and Dad would have been cool with Ned staying over – they’ve known him for years, his mum’s a friend of the family, they think he’s all-round
wonderful. They’d have been fine, too, with Hel spending nights at his flat: she is thirty. The problem lies with Hel and her insanely territorial attitude to both her personal space and her
routines. She loves Ned, but she always has to draw this line between herself and other people. Everything has to be done on her terms. That means no nights away from her own bed, and no one using
or moving her personal possessions. She once told me that even the thought of being away from her stuff makes her panicky, and also she hates the idea of being watched while she’s asleep. So
you see, Owen’s not the only one who has issues with sharing a duvet.
    I said, ‘It’s just my sister’s way.’
    ‘You think I don’t know that?’
    Our toasties arrived and I tucked in. Ned smiled approvingly. ‘You look as if you were ready for that.’
    I nodded, my mouth too full to answer. The cheese was stringy and salty on my tongue, the bread fresh and crunchy. Later I was planning to have a slice of apple pie with cream. I love eating. I
celebrate the social and individual joy it brings. I could never turn food into an enemy, the way my sister has.
    ‘Is yours OK?’ I asked after a few minutes. Ned had taken a few half-hearted bites, then put his toastie down on the plate. He glanced up at me, back to the table, at me again. I
thought, Here it comes, whatever’s been bothering him.
    The question, when it landed, took me by surprise. ‘Jen, I have to ask you. Do you think Helen’s getting ill again?’
    ‘Christ, I hope not. What makes you ask?’
    ‘She’s been kind of secretive, lately. More than she normally is. Like, if I walk into her room when she’s not expecting me she’s really twitchy and tries to cover up her
laptop. Last week she had a sheaf of printouts she shoved under the bed and then claimed was a list of RSPCA addresses. It might have been, except why did she hide them?’
    My heart began to thud uncomfortably. ‘Did you check when she wasn’t around?’
    ‘No! I’d never go poking into her things. Not least because if she saw me, she’d go berserk. But I wouldn’t anyway. That’s not my style.’
    ‘Hiding papers isn’t a sign of an eating disorder.’
    ‘Not on its own, no.’
    ‘What else?’
    ‘Ah – she’s – she doesn’t – she won’t, you know. We’re not as close as we were. Physically.’
    God. He was trying to say they’d stopped having sex. ‘Are you quite sure you want to share this with me, Ned?’
    ‘Sorry. Only, I thought it might be because she’d lost weight and didn’t want me to see her body.’
    ‘I don’t think she’s lost weight.’
    ‘Is she eating?’
    ‘Far as I can tell.’
    We both knew Helen was a past master at appearing to consume normal meals. Her food-avoidance strategies were many and devious. They’d fooled us all at some point or other. Another problem
is that, although she’s officially recovered, anorexic-thinking for Hel’s become a permanent mindset that she has to manage daily, whatever weight she is. She still puts huge amounts of
effort into setting and maintaining the various mealtime rules that make her feel safe; she still weighs herself every morning and at the same time, and woe betide anyone who’s in the
bathroom when she needs to get in.
    Ned took a long breath. ‘It’s probably