The Sister Swap: the laugh-out-loud romantic comedy of the year!. Fiona Collins

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СКАЧАТЬ for two months, wish the time away and get back to work as soon as possible.

      ‘Well,’ said Sarah hesitantly. ‘I wanted to ask you a massive favour, actually.’

      ‘Oh?’ Meg set her just-dried toes on the floor. Historically, it had always been the other way round. Meg who wanted lifts into town, borrows of make-up, money, bottles of cider … and, further back in time: piggybacks, cuddles, a push round the garden on her trike … They had got on, a long, long time ago. So what did Sarah want from her? The last thing Sarah had ever asked from Meg had been twenty years ago and was for her to get out of her bedroom. Over the top, as usual. Meg had only been rooting around in Sarah’s jewellery box for something to pilfer. No big deal. Not long after, Meg had got fed up with it all, fled to London and changed her life. ‘Well, actually, that’s what I was calling you for!’

      Of course it was. After all these years, Sarah still lived in Tipperton Mallet, in the Suffolk countryside. In Orchard Cottage, their childhood home, with the three bedrooms and the attic room – and the orchard and the acres of fields behind it, leading to the village. Sarah no doubt baked cakes and had a well-stocked fridge; Sarah probably had a hammock and made her own jam. Ugh. It was not Meg’s scene at all, but it had to be done.

      ‘Well, you go first,’ offered Meg. ‘What’s the favour?’ She really couldn’t imagine what it could be. She could imagine her sister, though, standing in the hall by the brown potpourri. She thought of the cottage, its kitchen, its scrubbed oak kitchen table. Then a tiny speck surprised Meg by sidling into her brain. A distant speck of a thought that she and her sister could sit at that table in Orchard Cottage and talk until they liked each other again, like they had when Meg was small … before they’d got so angry with each other. God knows where that had come from! She shook her head, trying to dislodge it.

      Sarah started speaking really fast, her words tumbling over one another. ‘Well, I’ve been offered a job, in London, an eight-week contract. It starts on Monday morning …’

      ‘A job? What job?’ Meg’s brain started racing. What job could her sister possibly have been offered in London? She knew she worked in Events, a million years ago – that was the job she’d had to give up, after the coach crash, to come back to Tipperton and look after Meg. She didn’t think Sarah had ever mentioned it again.

      ‘My old job, actually,’ said Sarah. ‘In Events. It’s actually the same company I used to work for. Now the twins are nineteen and making their own way in life I decided it was time to do something totally for myself again … rather late, but, you know …’ Meg could almost see her sister shrugging; her sister used to shrug a lot. ‘So, it starts on Monday and I was wondering if I could come and stay with you? In your flat. Just Monday to Friday, obviously, well Sunday night – I’d go home at weekends – and I’d help you with rent. The trains here are up the spout, the commute would be terrible anyway, and if I was actually living in London, during the week, I think it could be the best plan. I’d be out most of the time, I promise.’

      Meg was surprised to hear her sister almost gabbling. Sarah never gabbled; she was always so precise, so organized. Meg was the one who prattled on and hurtled headfirst through life. At least, she had been like that, until she’d come to London and re-invented herself. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she said, incredulous. ‘I was calling to ask if I could stay with you.’

      ‘What? When?’ Meg could hear Sarah taking a deep breath.

      ‘Now? This weekend?’

      ‘Why? For how long?’

      ‘Same as you, eight weeks,’ said Meg, tapping anxiously at the big toenail on her right foot to see if the polish was dry. ‘I’ve been signed off work – it’s nothing really, just a spot of hypertension, and nothing two months in the country wouldn’t cure, apparently. I’ve been told to get out of London and relax. A complete break,’ she added, and an idea came to her. A rather big, brilliant idea. It was genius, if Sarah would be up for it. ‘I’ve just thought – could we swap?’ she ventured.

      ‘Swap?’

      ‘Yes! Swap! You come to my flat; I come to Orchard Cottage.’

      ‘Well, how would that work?’ asked Sarah. Meg could hear the hesitation in Sarah’s voice. If they swapped, was her elder sister calculating how much time she’d have to spend with her little sister, when she returned to Tipperton Mallet from London at the weekends?

      Luckily Meg’s brain was also calculating. ‘I’m thinking of a complete swap,’ she offered. ‘Maybe.’ Yes, this could work. If they swapped they wouldn’t have to be together at all. She was relieved at the thought of her sister not being there when she was, having the place to herself. Not having to share painful anecdotes, sad memories … The silly thought – the speck – of cosy chats at the kitchen table was flicked far, far away. ‘You could stay in London at the weekends, too. Think of all the art galleries, the museums … there’s no point trekking all the way back to the country every Friday night just to come back two days later. Not when there’s a summer of London to explore! And you’ll save a packet in train fares …’

      ‘I don’t know …’ Sarah hesitated. ‘There’s a lot of train strikes at the moment, so commuting back and forth could be a pain, but I was planning on the weekends to see the children, do things with them …’

      ‘Well, they can come up to you in London, trains permitting! Do some sightseeing. It could be a great opportunity for them.’

      ‘Maybe,’ said Sarah. ‘I would like to get to know London properly again … Show it to them, too. We never seemed to make it up there, in all these years …’

      ‘So, let’s do it!’ exclaimed Meg. ‘I think it’s a fabulous idea! Shall we?’

      ‘OK,’ said Sarah tentatively. ‘OK. It could maybe work.’

      ‘When would you like to come up?’ asked Meg. ‘Tomorrow? Today?’

      ‘Tomorrow would be better. Give me more time.’

      ‘Tomorrow’s fine with me. And don’t worry about paying me any rent and I won’t pay any to you. We’ll do it as a straight swap, and—’

      ‘Have you really got high blood pressure or are you running away from something?’

      ‘What?’ Meg was taken aback.

      ‘Are you running away?’

      ‘No!’ Meg did have form, she had to admit. Even before their parents died in the crash she used to do it; she’d assemble a little cardboard box of all her favourite possessions and march off down the road with it, to see how far she could get by teatime. When she and Sarah lived together she upped her game, although it was more running off than running away, and it usually occurred after half a bottle of vodka and sometimes some purloined Malibu. Her final running away had been when she fled to London at eighteen, but that had turned out to be a good thing, for all of them, hadn’t it? ‘I’m not running away. Why would I run away from a job that I love? The sooner I get back to it the better! No, this is a bona fide medical emergency. Hey, I could do things for you, at the cottage.’ Meg was already bored at the prospect of doing nothing in the country. She was just so busy in London – she couldn’t imagine not being so. It frightened her a little. ‘I could deep clean for you,’ she offered brightly. ‘Do some decorating?’

      ‘Deep СКАЧАТЬ