by Sarah Morgan
“Sparkling water,” Hannah said. “Thanks, Aidan.”
Posy stared moodily into the fire.
When exactly would Luke have told her the truth? Would he have told her before the expedition? Maybe they would have been sharing a tent one night and he would have turned to her and said, By the way—
She’d thought they were close.
She’d thought they had a special connection.
She was an idiot.
“We should talk about this,” Beth said, “instead of drowning our sorrows.”
“The sorrows are mine.” Posy slumped in her chair. “And right now the only thing I want to drown is Luke.”
Had the whole thing just been about sex? And if that was what it was, how did she feel about that?
It wasn’t as if either of them had made promises.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything at the table, but do you think it’s possible you’re transferring your anger with Luke onto me?”
“No. You’re getting the anger you deserve.”
Beth looked chastened. “In that case I’ll drown my sorrows, too.” She glanced at Hannah. “Why are you drinking water? Do you have to be a killjoy? Can you stop being perfect for five minutes?”
“I’m not perfect. And I’m not telling you what to drink, so I don’t see how I’m a killjoy.” Hannah unwrapped her scarf from her neck, sending snowflakes fluttering.
Posy wondered when she intended to tell Beth she was pregnant. At this rate the baby would be born before Hannah told anyone. On the other hand, given Beth’s tendency to blurt out secrets whenever she felt like it, she couldn’t exactly blame Hannah for keeping her news to herself.
Aidan arrived back at their table with a bottle of water and a glass filled with lemon and ice. “Do you ladies want to eat?”
“Thanks, but we’ve had dinner.”
“If you had any of that yummy sticky toffee pudding, I could probably choke it down.” Beth tucked her bag by her chair and gave her sister a defensive look. “Thanks to our little family crisis, I didn’t finish my meal. Of course, that could have been because of the olive oil mash, which, as my daughter pointed out, tasted funny.”
Hannah crossed one slender leg over the other. “Do you know what butter does to your arteries?”
“It sets them up ready for sticky toffee pudding. Bring it on, Aidan. Better bring three spoons.”
“Two spoons,” Hannah said. “I don’t eat carbs.”
Posy thought about her conversation with Adam. “You eat pizza.” She reached for her beer and took several large swallows. “You dance around pizza.”
Hannah stared at her. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Forget it.” She couldn’t focus on Hannah right now; she was too busy feeling sorry for herself.
Hannah leaned forward and removed the bottle from her hand.
“For once in our lives we need to have a serious, sensible conversation, and if you drink too fast, you won’t be able to walk.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m experiencing a crisis in my love life. I’m allowed whatever comfort I need, particularly as I’m not getting it from my sisters.”
Beth was frowning. “What did you mean about dancing round pizza?”
Posy shook her head. “Nothing. And can I just say that I’m not finding either of you particularly sympathetic to my plight.”
“I don’t see your plight.” Beth took a sip of her wine. “You’ve been having sex with a steaming-hot guy. And you said you didn’t want me to protect you.” But she leaned across and gave Posy a hug.
“Oh.” That hug threw Posy. “I thought you were mad.”
“Not with you. You weren’t to know he was a rat. There were no outward signs of ratlike behavior.”
“We don’t know he’s a rat.” Hannah twisted the top of her water and poured half of it into her glass. “He may genuinely care for Posy.”
“So why didn’t he tell her the truth?”
“Because life is never as simple as you seem to think it is.” Hannah put her gloves on the table, stacking one on top of the other so that the fingers matched up exactly and from the top it looked like a single glove. “I suppose we should brace ourselves for the fact that Suzanne will be upset when we go home. That conversation is going to have brought it all back. She didn’t look that great when we left.”
Posy hated the idea that Suzanne might be upset. She hated even more the thought that Luke might be the reason for it.
Aidan put a plate of sticky toffee pudding in front of Beth. “Can I get you ladies anything else?”
Posy took the spoons from him. “No, this is great. Thanks, Aidan.” She waited until he was out of earshot before speaking again. “I admit I’m pretty mad with Luke for not saying something right away. It’s a weird feeling knowing you’ve been intimate with a man who wasn’t who you thought he was. It feels as if I’ve been sleeping with two different people. Does that make me unfaithful?”
“How could you not know? Didn’t you do an internet search?” Beth removed the clip from her hair and then bent and pulled a lipstick out of her bag. She swiped it onto her lips.
Posy was momentarily distracted. “How can you do that without a mirror? And why isn’t it all over your face?”
“Because I know where my mouth is. Surely the first thing you do when you date a new man is an internet search. He could have been a serial killer.”
“Because serial killers generally post all their details on the internet so their victims are warned in advance. And I did a search. I searched for Luke Whittaker and it gave me information on Luke Whittaker. Oddly enough, there was no message there saying, Hey, Posy, Luke Whittaker is actually Luke Palmer and his parents were killed at the same time as yours. I guess the internet isn’t as reliable as people think. And, by the way, your job as my sister is to offer support, not make me feel like an idiot. I’m hurt, too, you know?”
Beth slid her lipstick back into her bag. Her cheeks were flushed. She looked awkward and guilty. “We didn’t mean to hurt you, but you needed to know the truth. You were the one who said that sisters are supposed to tell each other the truth.”
“If the truth is so important to you, why didn’t you talk to me about the phone calls?”
“We didn’t talk to each other, either.” Hannah, ever logical, tried to defuse the situation. “We never talk about the accident.”
Posy knew she was probably overreacting, but she felt attacked and, yes, a little stupid.
She dug her spoon into Beth’s pudding. Talking like this with her sisters was new to her. She wasn’t sure what she thought of it. Right now, she didn’t feel so great. On the other hand, it was good to know her sisters were in her corner even if they had gone about it the wrong way.
“We didn’t know he was going to show up here,” Beth said. “We thought by ignoring his call, the whole thing would go away. This time of year makes me tense.”
Hannah sipped her water. “It makes us all tense. Why do you think I skipped it last year?”
“You said it was because you had a pressing need to be somewhere else on business.”
“I lied.” Hannah put the glass back down. “I was going to come. Right up until check-in opened for the flight, and then I chickened out.”
Posy wondered why a trip home would require courage. “What happened?”
Hannah dipped her head and her silver earrings gleamed in the firelight. “I couldn’t face everyone working so hard to pretend they love Christmas.”
“I love Christmas,” Posy said. “I genuinely love Christmas. I love the smell of fir trees, and cinnamon cookies, kids being excited—”
“If you love Christmas so much, why are you always so stressed about everything?”
“I’m not always stressed. I know how difficult this time of year is for Mom,
and she always tries so hard to make Christmas special, so I always want Christmas to be perfect, too. But it’s harder than all the magazines and TV ads make it look, and I end up feeling like a failure. No one on TV has a five-mile-long to-do list. My turkey is never as glossy looking as the ones in the adverts, and no one in our house sits around with dopey smiles on their face, watching indulgently while perfectly behaved children poke Christmas gifts. And while we’re talking about it, why is it that on TV the needles never fall off the Christmas tree?”
Hannah topped up her water. “Because those images are fake. The turkey has probably been sprayed with something, and the needles have been glued on the damn tree. Those ads are the result of overpaid advertising executives sitting in a room trying to work out how to persuade gullible people like you that a perfect Christmas can be bought for the right amount of money.”
“Excuse me,” Posy said, “but I am not gullible.”
“Excuse me,” Beth said. “Are you saying my advertising executive husband is overpaid? And before you answer, you should probably think about your own salary.”
“I’m not paid to dupe someone into thinking a certain lifestyle is possible if particular products are purchased. It’s a particular type of dishonesty.”
“Oh please.” Beth turned to Posy. “Stop eating my pudding! There’s only a mouthful left.”
“I’m saving you from yourself. And how did we get onto the subject of Jason’s salary? We were talking about Christmas.”
“Mom wants it to be perfect because she’s overcompensating,” Beth said, “but I don’t know what your excuse is.”
“I don’t need an excuse. I’m naturally a very Christmassy sort of person.”
“Prickly you mean? Like holly?”
“I do not mean that. For me, Christmas is about warmth, coziness and family time.” Posy reflected on what Beth had said. It was true that their mother tried too hard to make Christmas perfect. Also true that overcompensating played a significant part.
“For me, Christmas is about the kids.” Beth put her spoon down. “I want to make perfect memories for them. I want them to associate it with sleigh bells and sparkly lights and all those extra trappings that unscrupulous ad people like my husband flash in our direction.”
Hannah stared into the fire. “For me, Christmas is all about the accident. Suzanne overcompensates, but given the choice, I’d avoid it altogether. Every year I just want it to be over.”
Posy saw the agony in her eyes and suddenly she forgot all about Luke and her worry about what would happen next.
Hannah had been older. Of the three of them, she’d been the most affected by their parents’ death.
She’d never thought of Hannah as vulnerable, and yet over the past few days she’d discovered how wrong she was. She thought of Hannah with red eyes, Hannah anxious that she’d be a terrible mother, Hannah with wet hair, wondering why Adam had called.
And now Hannah admitting how difficult she found this time of year.
Posy had never heard her sister talk like this before. She knew it was a huge thing for her and wanted to acknowledge that somehow, but she was afraid of saying the wrong thing.
For once, Beth was silent, too.
Remembering how it had felt when Beth had hugged her, Posy reached across and rubbed Hannah’s hand. “How can we help?”
Hannah seemed to pull herself together. “You can’t. I’ll deal with it. I always do.”
“But you deal with it alone,” Posy said, “and I don’t like the thought of that.”
Beth nodded. “I don’t like it, either. We’re a team. A unit. And right now it feels good. We should do this more often.” She glanced round the pub, soaking up the atmosphere. “I’m almost glad Mom threw us out. A roaring log fire, a big, warm Scottish welcome and family. We don’t often get to talk like this. Why don’t we?”
“Because we’re only ever together at Christmas.”
“But we don’t usually do it even then. This should be a new tradition. Every Christmas the three McBride sisters will go to the pub and speak the truth about their lives. I’m loving the honesty. We are the Christmas Sisters. Forget Santa sweaters, I’m ordering matching T-shirts for us to wear on Christmas Day.”
“As long as you don’t expect me to wear it.” Hannah stroked her hand over her soft cashmere sweater, as if she was afraid Beth might be about to rip it off.
Posy wondered how far this new honesty stretched. Did she dare ask about Adam? From what he’d said to her on the phone, Hannah was a different woman with him and she wanted to know that person.
She decided to risk it. “Tell us about Adam with the sexy voice.”
“Adam is a colleague.” Hannah glanced at them and must have seen something in their faces, because she sighed. “All right, I admit he’s a little more than a colleague. We’ve been seeing each other.”
Beth fiddled with her spoon. “He was the guy in the photo?”
“Yes.”
“Why does he call you ‘dancing pizza girl’?” Posy ignored Beth’s look of surprise.
“Sometimes we work late and he orders pizza and, yes, there may have been the odd occasion when I may have eaten a slice. And once, we were messing around and he taught me to tango.”
Her sister messed around? She knew how to dance a tango?
Beth blinked. “Are you in love?”
“I’m not in love.” Hannah stared into the fire. “I don’t have those feelings.”
“If he got you dancing round a pizza box, you’re definitely feeling something.” Posy looked at Beth. “By the way, I blame you. Why didn’t you tell us she was seeing someone?”
“Because I didn’t know. She makes excuses rather than meet up, presumably because I’m boring.”
Hannah frowned. “You’re not boring.”
“I am boring. All I talk about is the kids.”
“Because you love them, and you’re proud of them. And why wouldn’t you be? You’re a great mom, Beth. I don’t see the problem.”
“The problem is that you don’t like them.”
Posy froze. Oops. Beth had said the same thing that night in the car on their way from the airport, but Posy had assumed it was because she’d overindulged on the champagne.
Hannah looked astonished. “That is ridiculous.”
“You never come to the apartment. You make excuses so that you don’t have to meet up, and when we do, you insist on meeting in restaurants. I try not to be hurt because I know kids aren’t your thing, but they’re your nieces and the truth is you find them difficult to be around.”
Posy had an uneasy feeling their sisterly bonding moment might have tipped over the edge into something infinitely more dangerous.
“Maybe we should—”
“That isn’t true.” Hannah was pale.
“You don’t avoid coming to my apartment?”
“That part might be true, but it isn’t because I don’t love the girls. I can’t believe you’d think that.”
“You left them alone this afternoon.”
“That’s because I’m inept, not because I don’t love them.”
There was something about Hannah’s unflinching honesty that made Posy’s heart ache, but she also felt for Beth because she knew this was a sensitive issue for her.
“Do you think we could go back to—”
“No,” Beth said. “If we’re having a sister night where we’re all honest, then we’re going to be honest.”
“We weren’t really having a sister night,” Posy said. “Mom threw us out, and—”
“It’s turned into a sister night. And this has been on my mind for a while, so I’d like to talk about it if that’s all right with you. Tell me the truth, Hannah.”
Posy wondered whether she should try to shut this down. Seeing her sisters hurting was harder to handle
than the situation with Luke.
Hannah sat very still. “The truth is that I find it hard being with the kids because Ruby reminds me of Posy.”
Posy stared at her. “This is my fault?”
“It takes me right back to the night they were killed. When they died, you were devastated. You kept saying Mommy, want Mommy, where’s Mommy? and I didn’t know how to comfort you.” There was a sheen in Hannah’s eyes and Posy could actually feel her distress.
It was uncomfortable to witness.
She shifted in her seat.
The surrounding pub noise faded to an indistinct blur. “I don’t remember it.”
“But I do remember it, and it was awful. I felt inadequate and hopeless. Your pain was so huge it swallowed me up. Watching you howling for our parents, and knowing I could do nothing to ease your pain was like having my insides removed with a blunt object. From that night onward, every night you cried, I almost had an anxiety attack.” Hannah drew in a steadying breath, as if reminding herself it was in the past. “Then somehow it became any child crying. I saw a therapist a couple of times, but that didn’t work for me. So instead I avoided children.”
“Including Ruby.” Beth spoke quietly, all traces of defensiveness gone.
Hannah rubbed her fingers across her forehead. “Yes. Anyway, you asked the question and I answered.”
Posy swallowed. “You’re saying I put you off love?” She felt responsible, even though she knew it was ridiculous to feel that way.
“I don’t know. I’m not a psychiatrist.”
“What about me?” Beth leaned forward. “Where was I in all this?”
“You clung to Stewart. You were always a daddy’s girl.”
“I clung to Suzanne,” Posy said. “That’s my earliest memory. I was in bed all warm and safe and being cuddled. She was amazing.”
“That wasn’t Suzanne.” Hannah fiddled with her glass. “That was me.”
“No, it was Suzanne. I remember her reading to me in bed. That’s my earliest memory.”
“I was the one who read to you in bed. You slept with me every night after they died. You and your rabbit, whose name I have forgotten but whose lumpy form has stayed with me.”
