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

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СКАЧАТЬ he bizarrely loved, despite the hairnet and the white Crocs.

      ‘I’m not sure I can, either,’ replied Sarah, as she rifled through the bags. Egg mayonnaise with cucumber, on thick white sliced. About twenty packs of them. Yuk. ‘We can freeze them, or something,’ she said. ‘Eat them next week for your lunches.’

      She wouldn’t be here next week, thought Sarah. And she was almost knocked for six by a massive wave of guilt. She was leaving her children, leaving them for two whole months. She felt terrible and wondered how to tell them without just blurting it out and risking their dumbstruck and stricken faces – perhaps a little grubby, too, like Victorian street urchins. Where was Olivia, anyway?

      ‘Do you know what time Olivia’s coming home?’ she asked. Connor had slouched over to the fridge and was helping himself to a carton of orange juice. He had honed his foraging skills by watching American teen movies – taking great bites out of things, swigging juice straight from the carton and never putting the lids back on anything so when Sarah picked up jars the bottom fell away and the contents went all over the kitchen floor.

      ‘No idea,’ he said, between slugs. ‘I think she’s got a new boyfriend.’

      ‘Has she?’

      Sarah wouldn’t know; Olivia was always out. She would be glad when autumn rolled around and Olivia headed off to Durham University. Her daughter was coming to the end of a gap year she’d done nothing with except mooch around the village.

      ‘Yeah. Apparently he’s a playwright.’

      ‘A playwright? Really?’ Sarah hoped he wasn’t a very good one. She didn’t see the point in Olivia getting a boyfriend when she’d be off to Durham in three months and leaving Tipperton Mallet far behind. Thank goodness her daughter was going places. She wished Connor was. Perhaps Sarah going up to London to do a proper, exciting job now would stir him up a bit, and encourage Olivia to do something vaguely useful for the remainder of the summer? She hadn’t been a great role model for them, Sarah realized; she had done nothing for years except play Pocahontas at those parties and run the art class and the library. Perhaps now she was a go-getter, working in London, it would inspire her offspring. If it wasn’t for the overwhelming guilt about abandoning the twins, she might almost be excited to tell them. As soon as Olivia got home she’d do it …

      ‘I don’t suppose you saw Monty on your travels, did you?’ she asked.

      Their cat hadn’t been seen by anyone for four or five days. Clearly, he was surviving on birds and the occasional wild rabbit, but Sarah was getting a little concerned. She adored that cat; her children teased her relentlessly about how soppy she was over him. Would she have to leave with him still missing? That would be awful.

      As she flung the sandwiches in the freezer, guilt gripped her again.

      Oh god, how could she leave any of them?

      *

      ‘I’m going to London,’ Sarah said brightly. To avoid seeing her children’s reaction she reached for the suitcase which was sleeping under a layer of dust on top of her bedroom wardrobe. Olivia had just sat down on the bed – her honey-coloured hair in beachy loose waves over a floaty dress and DMs she was supposed to have taken off when she came in the house. Connor was leaning against the doorframe. The unusual scenario of their mother noisily dragging items of clothing out of the wardrobe and onto her bed had brought them into her room, as planned. She’d chickened out of telling them when Olivia first got home, about nine o’clock. She thought if she got on with her packing she could tell them in context.

      ‘What? When?’ asked Olivia.

      Sarah turned back to the bed to dump the suitcase on it, catching sight of herself in the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door as she did so. She looked awful. Shapeless shorts, an equally uninspiring pale-pink T-shirt and a cheap bra she knew had been a mistake. It made her boobs look like a uni-sausage. Perhaps she’d take a trip to Agent Provocateur in Soho, when she got to London … if they let frumpy people who hadn’t had sex for eleven years in there …

      ‘What do you mean you’re going up to London?’ asked Connor, his long fringe now released from the bandana and halfway through an exaggerated flick.

      ‘I’ve got a job there,’ said Sarah, almost gulping as the words came out. She ran suddenly sticky hands down her thighs. ‘An eight-week contract. I’m going up there tomorrow – Auntie Meg’s coming down to stay with you, and I’m going to stay in her flat.’ There, she’d said it. It was out there. A hideous twangy pang of motherly guilt flicked viciously at her stomach. She was abandoning her children to selfishly take a job she was far too greedy to have applied for, and to visit sexy lingerie shops. What a terrible mother.

      She sat down on the bed between Olivia and the dusty suitcase.

      ‘What sort of a job?’ asked Olivia, incredulous. She tossed her wavy hair over one shoulder and gave a little pout. She looked gorgeous; Sarah felt like a galumphing troll next to her.

      ‘Who’s Auntie Meg?’ asked Connor. He’d suddenly got a chocolate bar from somewhere and was languidly chewing at the end of it, like a cowboy.

      ‘My sister,’ said Sarah. ‘You remember I’ve got one, don’t you?’

      ‘Barely.’ Connor sniffed. He was always sniffing. ‘And does she have to come, whoever she is? We can look after ourselves. We’re nineteen!’

      ‘I know, but I’ll be staying in her flat and she’s been ordered to come to the country by her doctor. It makes sense for us to do a swap. And she can keep an eye on you.’

      Connor rolled his eyes. ‘We don’t need it,’ he said. ‘It’s ridiculous. Anyway, what sort of job could you do up in London? You’ve spent the last few years dressing up as Jess from Postman Pat!’

      ‘Among others,’ muttered Sarah. ‘And plenty of jobs!’ She got up from the bed and started further appraising the contents of her wardrobe for anything not too hideous. ‘I’m not so old I couldn’t try something new.’ She caught the scathing look between them but chose to ignore it. ‘But actually, I’m going back to my old industry.’

      ‘And what was that again?’ said Connor, chewing like John Wayne. ‘I can’t remember. Chimney sweep, down the coal mines—?’

      ‘—Dinner lady in a Victorian workhouse?’ joined in Sarah with a wry smile. She pulled out a ratty navy T-shirt with ‘Bonjour’ on it then quickly shoved it to the back of the wardrobe in disgust. ‘Ha ha, very funny. None of the above – events organizing.’

      ‘Oh yeah,’ said Olivia, examining her nails. ‘That.’ She sounded bored. Unimpressed. And Connor’s expression didn’t change either. They had never been interested when Sarah had told them semi-glamorous tales of working in London before they were born; in fact, brilliant anecdotes from one’s past never impressed one’s offspring, Sarah noted. She bet even Madonna’s kids rolled their eyes and huffed, ‘Yes, you’ve already told me,’ when she started waffling on about going to the Oscars with Michael Jackson or whatever. ‘Events organizing sounds a bit too swanky for you, these days,’ Olivia added.

      Sarah looked past the green fleece she was holding up against her and down to her comedy socks – rainbow stripes with a grinning sheep on each foot. ‘I can be swanky, you know,’ she protested, vowing to dump anything frumpy in the Thames СКАЧАТЬ