“And you always have to get what you want,” she says. “Don’t you, Becky?”

I feel my face flame.

“Wh-What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re spoiled!” Her harsh voice cuts like a knife. “What you want, you get! Everything’s handed to you on a plate. If you get into trouble your parents bail you out, and if they don’t, Luke does! Your whole life makes me sick.” She gestures with her book. “It’s empty! You’re shallow and materialistic… and I’ve never met anyone so obsessed with their own appearance and shopping—”

“Talk about obsessed!” I shriek. “Talk about obsessed! You’re obsessed with saving money! I’ve never met anyone so bloody miserly! You’ve got thirty grand in the bank and you go around like you’re penniless! Getting free bubble wrap and horrible bruised bananas! Who cares if washing powder costs forty pence less?”

“You’d care if you’d been buying your own washing powder since the age of fourteen,” Jess snaps back. “Maybe if you took a little more care of the forty pence here and there you wouldn’t get into trouble. I heard about how you nearly ruined Luke in New York. I just don’t understand you!”

“Well, I don’t understand you!” I yell, in tears. “I was so excited when I heard I had a sister, I thought we’d bond and be friends. I thought we could go shopping, and have fun… and eat peppermint creams on each other’s beds… ”

“Peppermint creams?” Jess looks at me as though I’m crazy. “Why would we want to eat peppermint creams?”

“Because!” I flail my arms in frustration. “Because it would be fun! You know, ‘fun’?”

“I know how to have fun,” she snaps.

“Reading about rocks?” I grab Petrography of British Igneous Rocks. “How can rocks be interesting? They’re just… rocks! They’re the most boring hobby in the world! Which just about suits you!”

Jess gasps. “Rocks are… not boring!” she lashes back, grabbing her book. “They’re a lot more interesting than peppermint creams and mindless shopping and getting yourself into debt!”

“Did you have a fun bypass operation or something?”

“Did you have a responsibility bypass operation?” yells Jess. “Or were you just born a spoiled brat?”

We glare at each other, both trying to collect ourselves. The kitchen is silent apart from the whir of the fridge-freezer.

I’m not entirely sure what the Gracious Hostess is supposed to do in this situation.

Jess’s chin tightens. “Well… I don’t think there’s any point in my sticking around. I can catch a coach back to Cumbria if I leave now.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll get my stuff.”

“You do that.”

She turns on her heel and leaves the kitchen, and I take another swig of wine. My head is pounding.

She can’t be my sister. She can’t be. She’s a miserable, tightwad, sanctimonious cow, and I never want to see her again.

Never.


The Cindy Blaine Show

Cindy Blaine TV Productions

43 Hammersmith Bridge Road

London W6 8TH


Mrs Rebecca Brandon

37 Maida Vale Mansions

Maida Vale

London NW6 0YF


22 May 2003


Dear Mrs Brandon:

Thank you for your message.

We are sorry to hear you will no longer be able to appear on the Cindy Blaine show “I Found a Sister and a Soul Mate.”

May we suggest that you appear instead on our upcoming show “My Sister Is a Bitch!!!” Please give me a call if this idea appeals to you.

Very best wishes,


Kayleigh Stuart

Assistant Producer

(mobile: 077878 3456789)



FINERMAN WALLSTEIN

Attorneys-at-Law

Finerman House

1398 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10105


Mrs. Rebecca Brandon

37 Maida Vale Mansions

Maida Vale

London NW6 0YF


May 27, 2003


Dear Mrs. Brandon:

Thank you for your message. I have altered your will according to your instructions. Clause 5, section (f) now reads:

“And nothing at all to Jess, since she’s so mean. And anyway, she’s got heaps of money.”

With kind regards,


Jane Cardozo


Fifteen


I DON’T CARE. Who needs a sister? Not me.

I never wanted one in the first place. I never asked for one. I’m fine on my own.

And anyway, I’m not on my own. I’ve got a strong and loving marriage. I don’t need some crummy sister!

“Stupid sister,” I say aloud, wrenching the lid off a pot of jam. It’s nearly two weeks since Jess left. Luke’s got a late meeting in town, and Mum and Dad are coming over on their way to the airport, so I’m making breakfast for everyone.

“Sorry?” says Luke, coming into the kitchen. He looks pale and tense, as he has for the last few days. The Arcodas Group are making their decision about the pitch and now all he can do is wait. And Luke’s not that good at waiting. Plus, he’s stressing about this pitch more than usual, because it’s the first mainstream account he’s gone for. I heard him talking to Gary on the phone last night, saying if they didn’t get it, what kind of message would it send out?

The trouble with Luke is, he always has to succeed straightaway. Maybe I should tell him the story about the plucky little spider trying to build its web over and over again.

On second thought, maybe not.

“I was just thinking about Jess,” I say. “You were absolutely right about her. We were never going to get on in a million years! I’ve never met such a misery-guts!”

“Mmm,” says Luke absently, pouring himself some orange juice.

He could be a little more supportive.

“Next time I’ll take your advice,” I say, trying to engage his attention. “I should never even have invited her here. I can’t believe we’re actually supposed to be related!”

“I thought she was all right in the end,” says Luke. “But I can see why you two wouldn’t get on.”

He wasn’t supposed to say “I thought she was all right.” He was supposed to say “What a total bitch, I can’t believe you put up with her for even a minute!”

“Becky… what are you doing?” Luke’s gaze lands on the crumbs and plastic packaging littering the granite work-top.

“Making waffles!”

And that just proves another thing. Jess was totally wrong. I’ve used the waffle-maker practically every day. So there! I almost wish she were here to see it.

The only tiny thing is, I’m not very good at making the mixture. So my method is: buy ready-made waffles, cut them into heart shapes, and put them in the waffle-maker to heat up.

But what’s wrong with that? I’m using it, aren’t I? We’re eating waffles, aren’t we?

“Waffles… again?” says Luke, with the tiniest of grimaces. “I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Oh,” I say, discomfited. “Well, how about some toast? Or eggs? Or… muffins?”

“I’m fine on coffee.”

“But you have to have something!” I say, regarding him with sudden alarm. He’s definitely gotten thinner, worrying about this pitch. I need to feed him up.

“I’ll make you some pancakes!” I say eagerly. “Or an omelette!”

“Becky, leave it!” he snaps. “I’m fine.” He strides out of the kitchen, snapping open his mobile phone. “Any news?” I hear him say before the study door closes.

I look down at the broken waffle in my hand, trying to keep my spirits up.

I know Luke’s really tense about work. And that’s probably why he’s being a bit short-tempered with me at the moment. It doesn’t mean there’s any bigger problem or anything.

But deep down inside, I keep remembering what I heard him say to Jess that night. That he finds it difficult to live with me. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it for the last two weeks, trying to make sense of it.

How can I be difficult to live with? I mean… what do I do wrong?

Abruptly I reach for a pencil and paper. OK. I’ll look deep down inside myself and be really, really honest. Becky Bloomwood: Difficulties of Living With1.

My mind is blank. I cannot think of a single thing.

Come on. Be truthful and unsparing. There must be something. What are the fundamental problems between us? What are the real issues?

Suddenly it hits me. I always mix and match my shampoos in the shower, and Luke complains I leave all the lids off and he steps on them. Becky Bloomwood: Difficulties of Living With1. Leaves shampoo lids off

Yes. And I’m scatty. I’m always forgetting the number for the burglar alarm. There was the time I had to phone the police and ask them, and they sent two squad cars round. Becky Bloomwood: Difficulties of Living With1. Leaves shampoo lids off2. Forgets alarm number

I consider the list uncertainly. There must be more to it. There must be something really significant and profound.

Suddenly I gasp and clap my hand to my mouth.

The CDs. Luke always complains that I take them out and don’t put them back in their cases.

Which I know doesn’t sound that profound — but maybe it was the last straw in the haystack. And besides, I read an article in Marie Claire yesterday which said it’s the little, niggling things which count in a relationship.

I hurry to the sitting room and head straight for the jumbled pile of CDs by the music system. As I sort them out I feel a kind of lightness. A liberation. This will be the turning point in our marriage.

I stack them neatly and wait till Luke walks past the door on his way to the bedroom.

“Look!” I call out with a note of pride in my voice. “I’ve organized the CDs! They’re all back in their proper boxes!”

Luke glances into the room.

“Great,” he says with an absent nod, and carries on walking.

Is that all he can say?

Here I am, mending our troubled marriage, and he hasn’t even noticed.

Suddenly the buzzer goes in the hall, and I leap to my feet. This must be Mum and Dad. I’ll have to get back to our marriage later.



I knew that Mum and Dad had really got into their counseling, but somehow I wasn’t expecting them to turn up with slogans on their sweatshirts. Mum’s reads I AM WOMAN, I AM GODDESS and Dad’s says DON’T LET THE PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE BASTARDS GET YOU DOWN.

“Wow!” I say, trying to hide my surprise. “Those are great!”

“We got them at the center,” says Mum, beaming. “Aren’t they fun?”

“So you must be really enjoying your therapy.”

“It’s marvelous!” exclaims Mum. “So much more interesting than bridge. And so sociable! We did a group session the other day and who do you think should have turned up? Marjorie Davis, who used to live across the road!”

“Really?” I say in surprise. “Did she get married, then?”

“Oh no!” Mum lowers her voice tactfully. “She has boundary issues, poor thing.”

I can’t quite get my head round all this. What on earth are boundary issues?

“So… er… do you have issues?” I say as we go into the kitchen. “Has it all been really hard going?”

“Oh, we’ve been to the abyss and back,” says Mum, nodding. “Haven’t we, Graham?”

“Right to the edge,” says Dad agreeably.

“But the rage and guilt are behind us now. We’re both empowered to live and love.” She beams at me and roots around in her holdall. “I brought a nice Swiss roll. Shall we put the kettle on?”

“Mum’s found her inner goddess,” says Dad proudly. “She walked on hot coals, you know!”

I gape at her.

“You walked on hot coals? Oh my God! I did that in Sri Lanka! Did it hurt?”

“Not at all! It was painless!” says Mum. “I kept my gardening shoes on, of course,” she adds as an afterthought.

“Wow!” I say. “That’s brilliant.” I watch as Mum briskly slices the Swiss roll. “So what kind of things do you talk about?”

“Everything!” She starts arranging the slices on a plate. “I had resentment issues, of course…”

“You were in denial,” Dad chimes in.

“Oh, I found it hard at first.” Mum nods. “The fact that Daddy had another woman in his life. And a daughter, no less. But then… it was all before he met me. And the truth is, a man as handsome as your father was bound to have a few escapades.” Mum looks at Dad with a coquettish smile. “I could never resist him… so why should other women?”

Is Mum fluttering her eyelashes?

“I could never resist you,” Dad replies with a flirty lift to his voice.