never been very good at. Demi knew about make-up and clothes. She knew how to walk into a room, how to start a conversation with a stranger. Whenever Imogen went out with Demi, she always came back with a raging hangover, five new Facebook friends and the numbers of people she didn’t remember in her phone. That didn’t happen when it was just her. You had it or you didn’t. She liked to think she had talents her younger cousin didn’t, but pulling a perfect pint or being able to excellently reference your essays suddenly didn’t seem very relevant any more. She was the sensible one, the hard worker, the serious face. The one who stopped Demi running away, and comforted her aunt, and made sure her dad ate vegetables. Yet when Demi turned up, she got to be fun. But the payoff never seemed to be worth it. It was like the universe knew she was an impostor.
When they crashed into her flat at three a.m., desperately gnawing on the kebabs they’d cradled close to their chests on every night bus home, Imogen knew that she should have seen it coming. The realisation hit her harder than that sixth shot of Jaegermeister.
‘I have to be at work in three hours,’ she yelped, then ran to the bathroom to throw up.
*****
‘All right, sunshine?’ That lilt, while soft, was still painful to hear. And she couldn’t wear her sunglasses inside the store.
‘Why are you here?’ she asked Declan, realising as soon as she said it that it sounded a bit rude. ‘I mean, you don’t normally sub full shifts.’
‘Agnes apparently has something resembling a friend, and that friend is in hospital. And we couldn’t contact Emanuel to switch,’ he shrugged, unlocking the front doors.
‘Probably off stalking some hipster girl who has no idea he exists,’ Imogen snorted, then winced.
‘And I guess you’re not going to be much use to me today, either.’ He raised an eyebrow and held open the door so she had to walk under his arm.
‘Give me a couple of large iced coffees and don’t make me talk to anyone for the first hour, and I’ll be just fine.’
‘Drink making and floor cleaning it is, sunshine,’ Declan chirruped. ‘Good night then, I assume?’
‘My cousin visited unexpectedly. She kind of brings the party, whether you want to attend or not.’
‘Kinda seems like you didn’t mind attending,’ Declan said lightly.
‘What makes you say that?’ Imogen chucked back the first shot of espresso with ice and thumped her chest. It hit her tender stomach and she paused, bracing herself for trouble. Nope, all clear.
‘Well, the combination of the lovebites on your neck and what I guess is a fella’s number on your hand.’ He smirked. ‘Shame it smudged; you could have had a real connection.’
‘Maybe we already had our connection and I disappeared into the night,’ she bit back, entirely too tired to be embarrassed and making it damn clear she was not about to be slut-shamed by some guy.
‘And leave your cousin to fend for herself? No way, not buying it.’ He shook his head and grinned.
‘You don’t know that about me.’
He shrugged. ‘Just a feeling. Intuition. Let me make you a drink to cure the hangover?’
Imogen raised her hands in defeat, and went to double-check her till before the day started. She focused on counting the money, breathing deeply and trying to ignore the pounding in her temples.
‘Here.’ A plastic cup was plonked before her on the desk, followed by a plate with a bacon roll. ‘Perfect balance of sugar, fat, salt, caffeine and hydration.’
She smiled up at him, shocked at how dangerously attractive he was when he was solving all her problems. ‘Thank you.’
‘Take five minutes and then come out and get on the bar. I’ll tell everyone you lost your voice so you can’t talk to them.’
‘Are they already banging on the windows?’
‘Yep.’ Declan grimaced. ‘One of them started yelling “Open this door, I can see you in there, you know!” I was tempted to reply, “Yeah, but you clearly can’t see the sign that says we open at seven, ya twat!”’
He growled a little, then laughed. ‘Sorry, madam doesn’t have sensitivities when it comes to bad language?’
‘What bad language?’ Imogen asked honestly, brow furrowed.
Declan grinned. ‘Good woman. Go on, sort yourself out and let’s get on with this bastarding day.’
She saluted. ‘Yes, sir, Captain Sunshine.’
*****
The thing Imogen was most annoyed about was that she had a whole day with Declan, and she was wasting it being a hungover mess. The only advantage was Demi arriving in the afternoon, dark circles under her eyes, croaking out for a large black Americano … and an orange juice, a sparkling water, a strawberry milkshake and a herbal tea.
‘I can give you a discount, but it’s still going to come to a fair bit, you know,’ Imogen warned her.
‘I would give my kidney for anything that would make me feel better right now.’
Imogen started making the drinks, Declan looking at the order and silently making things she had yet to start. It felt like synchronicity, perfect and normal and yet massively comforting.
‘You know, I feel a lot better, seeing you feeling so shit.’ Imogen stuck out her tongue at Demi, waiting for her drinks.
‘Well, fuck you very much.’
‘No, it means I’m not the older boring cousin who’s lost her ability to hold her drink. It just means we’re both bloody idiots.’
‘Ah, you must be the super-fun cousin,’ Declan boomed, handing over the milkshake.
Demi raised an eyebrow, arching perfectly.
‘No, most definitely not me,’ she winced. ‘No fun, not ever, never again.’
‘I thought you youngsters were meant to be unstoppable. These are your golden drinking years.’
‘Nope, my golden years are definitely behind me, Grandpa.’ Imogen laughed and pointed at Demi. ‘And she looks like a wild child, but it’s all an act.’
‘I’d argue, but I feel too crappy to bother. If you want to cast me as Maria from The Sound of Music, you can, as long as you do it quietly.’ Demi grumbled, clutching her Americano like a lifeline, while Imogen assembled the other drinks on a tray.
‘Sass runs in the family,’ Declan commented, Cheshire cat grin in place.
‘Along with quick wit, great hair and an inability to deal with bullshit,’ Demi said sharply.
‘The blatant hostility, however, is all her.’ Imogen rolled her eyes. ‘Go sit down before you fall down.’
Demi shuffled off, holding her tray of drinks desperately, with both Declan and Imogen watching her in fear, until she finally reached the comfy chair across the room, gently lowered the tray and collapsed into the seat.
‘Sorry about her. She doesn’t deal with hangovers well.’
Declan shrugged. ‘You actually seem really perky.’
Imogen tilted her head. ‘As perky as I can be, working here.’
‘Aw come on, this place? It’s not that bad! There’s that guy who always parks his huge car across the bus lane, and then the bus driver gets out and loses his shit and the guy says –’
‘I pay my taxes! If I want to park in a bus lane, I can!’ Imogen finished. ‘And where else would we see St Francis Apocalypto?’
‘With the plastic bottles?’ Declan snorted.
‘Yes,