After a questionable morning, Pip makes for great company. He makes me laugh the whole way to the restaurant – he says it's a café called Megan's – and at moments like this I almost forget I'm not at home with an old friend... Except for when he opens his mouth and something undeniably upper class comes out.

As we drive up to the large windows of Megan's and he reverses into a spot right outside the quaint café, I ask him if their 'brunch' is any good.

"Oh yeah, it's class," he nods avidly, "best breakfast in the Cots, for sure. Except for the bloody £50 parking fee."

I almost choke. "Fifty quid? What the-" But when I peer into the rear-view mirror, the message on the ruby-red message board is clear: NO PARKING. PUNISHABLE BY A FINE OF £50.

"Pip, that's- that's a fine, not a fee. As in, you're not allowed to park here or else they charge you fifty quid."

He's already halfway to the door tucking his shades into his Polo pocket by the time I've finished my sentence.

"Come on, then!"

───

Megan's has an air of effortless 'la-di-da' perfection. With birdcage lanterns for lights, and pearlescent white velvet seats, it feels as though we're sat in the front cover of a Home & Lifestyle magazine.

"Hang on, so," Pip starts as he shakes off his jacket, picking up from where we left off in the car, "she actually said, word for word, that you and Aubs aren't fated to be together?"

"Yep," I nod. "Well, sort of. I mean, that's how I heard it at least."

"Okay, so you're not her pick for the golden boy – so what?"

"You know, I don't even think that was what got to me. It was like..." I ball my hand into a fist when I'm tempted to bite at my nail. "I don't know. Do you believe it? The whole 'being destined to be with your social equal' thing?" 

"Fuck, no," Pip says with certainty, "although, I don't believe in destiny at all so maybe I'm not the target audience for your question. But, regardless, Aubs is his own man. Yeah, there's pressure to 'be a Macklin' and schmooze with politicians and date Middletons," Pip deepens his voice for maximum hoity-toity effect, "but, I dunno, he's just not really like that."

I exhale and nod as I run a finger over the bright menu on the table. Okay... that's comforting.

"I think," he adds with a squint, nonchalant as he turns to his own menu. Huh?

"Wait, what do you mean?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean by what you just said?"
"It depends on what you mean when you ask what I meant by what I just said?"

"Pip."

His facetious grin softens,

"Alright, alright." He runs a hand through his hair, clearing the golden locks from his face. "The thing is: everyone here's a bit of a prick – as I'm sure you've noticed."

I mime zipping up my lips, but he's right, and he chuckles before continuing.

"And all the pretention and politics can be a lot. Especially when you scrub it off and avoid it for ages and then you get thrown into the thick of it, like Aubs.  When you're soaking in it, it's hard not to absorb a little bit."

Pip turns his attention back to the menu with a shrug, and I grab the opportunity to take a long look at him.

His bony cheeks are slightly flushed, still warm with his laughter. When I look at him, when I look at Eric, I see kindness; charm; sensitivity. But I'm not entirely naïve – I know what he means. People as materialistic as Freddie, or as calculating as Louisa and Kitty, far outnumber the Erics and Pips of their world. Although I can't imagine either of them anything like that, I can't deny that they fit here, in some ineffable way. Pip's truthful words make sense, and I'd be lying if I said they didn't scare me just a bit.

"Ready to order?" A pleasant bell-like voice pulls me from my thoughts, although when my gaze follows it and meets our chocolate-haired server, her eyes, eager and familiar, are fixed on Pip.

"Hiya, Mia," he says, and flashes her the winning smile it seems she was desperate for. "We'll do a shakshouka each, please, and some rostis for the table – you know how I like them," he winks, and 'Mia' almost melts as she writes on her little notepad, scribbling quickly so as to not miss a minute of precious facetime.

Pip's basking in it blissfully. "And I'll have a Megan's mint mix, but half the mint and throw in a shot of turmeric for me, would you?"

The girl smiles with an overzealous 'yeah, of course!', before pulling her eyes away from him with great reluctance to ask me what I want to drink.

I don't know the lingo as well as Pip, so I close the menu and go for a classic. "Could I have a lemonade, please?"

She stares blankly before looking to Pip as though I've spoken in another language. Looking rather amused, he translates,

"Cucumber elderflower spritzer."

"Oh, okay! Sure thing." She smiles, appearing to prefer it from his mouth, before she totters quickly off to the kitchen; although, not too quickly to cast a few glances over her shoulder at Pip on her way.

When I raise an eyebrow, Pip laughs, but his cheeks colour slightly,

"We had a thing in Turks and Caicos last Christmas – don't ask. In fact, what were we talking about?"

"Oh, you mean before you went all Don Juan? I believe you were warning me about Eric soaking in Macklin-ness."

"Right, right," he says, "I just think it's hard to stay 'good', here. You know, 'in this world but not of it'. For the majority it's sort of like, once a Macklin, always a Macklin."

I huff, dissatisfied. "Okay, but aren't there supposed to be a few who are all Princess Diana, and anti-status quo, and would give up all the riches to follow their passions and donate everything to charity?"

Pip throws his head back with a bout of laughter that goes on for a little too long for my liking.

"That's cute," he says, dabbing his eyes, "yeah um, sorry, we haven't got many Lady Diana types about. That's Auby, I guess, but I don't know how many more of him you'll find."

I don't know if he means here in the Cotswolds, or in life, but something about Eric being the odd-one-out makes me smile. Since last night, I'm clinging to any and all hope that Eric is who I know him to be – and this fragment of hope seems as good as any.

With a tilt of my head, I ask,

"Hang on, what about you? You seem like a pretty good egg yourself."

He shakes his head, and his eyes spirited and playful. "That, dear Evangeline, is a mere deception. I'm on good behaviour because I want you to stick around, but I am in fact, pure prick."

His expression paired with his matter-of-fact manner of speech tickles me, but his straight brows tell he means it.

"Well, I think you're lovely."

"Ah, then my deceit succeeds."

I laugh. "Come on, Pip, you can't be all bad – where's your faith?"

Instead of tossing me some cheeky retort, Pip looks out of the window we're sat by, and his smile is a weak upward tug with one side of his thin lips. Did I say something wrong? Shit, did I say Faith?

"Shit," I curse aloud, my smile dropping too, "Pip, I'm sorry."

He shakes his head vehemently, a poor impression of indifference to reassure me that I needn't worry, but I feel terrible. Then, I wonder what it's like to be so broken by something that the slightest slip of the tongue can call to mind one of the darkest moments of your life.

I'm not sure what to say next, or if I'm supposed to say anything at all, but luckily, he speaks first, beginning with a deep sigh. His gaze is still fixed outside.

"You know, I think she was the Princess Diana type you're talking about. Massive heart. Gave everything in her pockets to buskers and beggars. Mum would always get so pissed off, but she'd shrug it off; we both knew our family had more than enough to give away."

Without his teasing eyes or bright smile on, Pip looks somewhat haggard. It's only now, in his moment of artless honesty, that I notice his cadaverous complexion – pasty skin, and beige bags under his eyes. He shakes his head.

"She was so different from everyone here – from any of us." He says, spitting out 'us' with a tinge of bitterness, his tired features screwing uncharacteristically.

"She wasn't even like me, despite the whole twin thing," he scoffs lightly, "she didn't have a single materialistic bone in her body; never judged anyone. You can't tell the colour of a heart from the outside." He doesn't break his distant stare, but from the sweet levity in his voice for that phrase alone, I know he's quoting her.

"That's beautiful," I say, so quietly that hoarse my voice cracks. Pip nods solemnly.

"She was so fucking... human. She had weaknesses, obviously, everyone does, but she didn't fake some deep brokenness and pretend it was something else, you know? When she got drunk it was because she wanted to. When she smoked, she said she did it because it kept her slim." He laughs with trembling recollection. "That was my sister – the most honest person in the world."

But following the sweet words, his expression sobers as he looks to me, and it's as though he's just returned to this dimension.

"She was pure good. And if God or whoever made the world made it the right way, and everything was the way it was supposed to be, someone like Moonie never should have even looked in my direction. I didn't deserve her; none of us did. But the cosmos joined us at the hip."

I don't know the first thing about the cosmos or fate, but when Pip goes quiet, I say what I think, and hope to God that it's not wrong.

"Good doesn't look like one thing, Pip. You're good. I think..." I pause and hesitate, but go on when he looks at me, a sliver of hope in his eyes. "I think you deserved your wonderful sister as much as she deserved you."

When the water wells up in his eyes, he doesn't turn away, or try to hide his face. He smiles, letting his grateful gaze bore right into mine. He swallows toughly before he speaks.

"I just... I miss the way things were. The little shit, you know? Just staying up talking, laughing at each other, telling each other everything. Normal. I miss normal."

His words remind me of home – train journeys with Caz and Babe; late-night ice cream runs with Mum and Auggie. I suppose I never thought about it, not consciously, at least, but I'm so lucky to have a 'normal'. I can miss my normal and know that it's just one long drive away, but Pip's is gone forever, and instead of living every second grateful for my normal, all I've done is chase something, anything else. My precious, priceless normal is at home waiting for me, wrapped in a baby blue bow, and I feel a pang in my chest – gratitude; empathy – that almost moves me to tears.

"Yeah," I clear my throat, staring down at my lap, "I get that."

───

The mood has lifted (and soared) by the time we get back home. After Pip shared how he felt, how he really felt, since Faith's death, we were suddenly that much closer. A few frank tears fell, and he'd let me see him at his most vulnerable; and God only knows how many times he'd already seen me that way out here.

I tease him on the walk back into the house when he calls me 'Auby's girlfriend.'

"I'd say I qualify as your friend now, no?"

He rolls his eyes as he turns his key in the lock,

"Yeah, yeah, I suppose. Don't go getting over-excited about it."

His admission makes me grin instantly. "Sure thing... friend."

Eric's on the balcony with his dad and Freddie, with his back turned to us, but at the sound of Pip's laughter, he turns around, and casts me a soft smile. The others turn too, and I feel the strange heat of a spotlight. Eric turns back around to the discussion, tense-shouldered and slightly hunched. I wonder for an instant if I should pop out and see if everything is alright, but whatever they're discussing looks serious enough that I settle on checking up on him later and, presently, taking a shower.