“I brought a flask,” comes Jess’s voice behind me.
I turn round to see Jess taking a white plastic flask out of her rucksack.
“What?” I say faintly.
“We don’t want that overpriced coffee.” She jabs a thumb at the café. “The markup at those places is appalling.”
“But…”
“We can sit on this bench. I’ll just wipe it clean.”
I gaze at her in rising dismay. I cannot have my first-ever coffee with my long-lost sister sitting on some grotty old bench, swigging out of a flask.
“But I want to go into a nice coffee shop!” The words rush out before I can stop them. “And sit at a marble table, and have a proper cappuccino!”
Jess is surveying me with pained disapproval, as though she can’t believe anyone would be so shallow.
“Please?” I say plaintively.
“Oh,” says Jess. “Well, OK.” She closes up her flask. “But you should get into the habit of making your own. You could save hundreds of pounds a year. Just buy a secondhand flask. And you can use coffee grounds at least twice. The flavor’s fine… ”
“I’ll… bear that in mind,” I say, barely listening. “Come on!”
The coffee shop is all warm and aromatic, with a fabulous smell of coffee. There are spotlights dancing on the marble tables, and music playing, and a happy, cheerful buzz.
“You see?” I beam at Jess. “Isn’t this nice? A table for me and my sister, please,” I add happily to a waiter standing by the door.
I so love saying that! My sister.
We sit down and I put all my shopping bags on the floor — and feel myself start to relax. This is better. In fact, this is what we should have done first of all.
A waitress who looks about twelve and is wearing a badge saying it’s my first day! approaches our table.
“Hi!” I greet her. “I’d like a cappuccino, please. We should be having champagne, really,” I can’t resist adding. “We’re long-lost sisters!”
“Wow!” says the waitress. “Cool!”
“I’ll just have some plain tap water, thanks,” says Jess, closing her menu.
“Don’t you want a nice frothy coffee?” I say in surprise.
“I don’t want to pay vastly inflated prices to a global moneymaking corporation.” She gives the waitress a severe look. “Do you think a 400 percent profit margin is ethical?”
“Um…” The waitress looks stumped. “Did you want ice in your water?” she says at last.
“Have a coffee too,” I say quickly. “Go on.” I look at the waitress. “She’ll have a cappuccino.” I turn to Jess. “You get a free chocolate in the saucer!”
As the waitress scuttles away, Jess frowns.
“Do you know the real cost of making a cappuccino? It’s a few pence. And we’re being charged nearly two pounds.”
God, Jess has a bit of a thing about coffee, doesn’t she? But never mind. I’ll just change the subject.
“So!” I lean back and spread my arms. “Tell me all about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?” says Jess.
“Everything!” I say enthusiastically. “Like… what are your hobbies, apart from walking?”
She ponders for a few moments.
“I like caving,” she says at last, as the waitress puts two cappuccinos down in front of us.
“Caving!” I echo. “Is that where you… go into caves?”
Jess gives me a look over her cup.
“That’s basically it, yes.”
“Wow! That’s really…”
I’m struggling for words. What can I say about caves? Apart from they’re all dark and cold and slimy.
“That’s really interesting!” I say at last. “I’d love to go in a cave!”
“And of course rocks,” Jess adds. “That’s my main interest.”
“Me too! Especially great big shiny rocks from Tiffany’s!” I laugh, to show I’m joking, but Jess doesn’t react. I’m not entirely sure she got it.
“My Ph.D. is on the petrogenesis and geochemistry of fluorite-hematite deposits,” she says, showing more animation than she has all day.
I don’t think I understood one bit of that.
“Er… great!” I say. “So… how come you decided to study rocks?”
“My father got me into it,” says Jess, and her face relaxes into a smile. “It’s his passion too.”
“Dad?” I say in amazement. “I never knew he was into rocks!”
“Not your dad.” She gives me a scathing look. “My dad. My stepfather. The man who brought me up.”
Right.
Of course she didn’t mean Dad. That was really stupid.
Suddenly my head is full of questions.
“So… did your dad… did he always know that you…” I trail off, not quite knowing how to put it.
“My dad knew I wasn’t his, pretty much from the word go.” Jess is turning a spoon over and over in her fingers. “But he raised me all the same. He never treated me any different from my brothers.”
I dart a look at her averted face.
“Did you know?” I ask hesitantly. “That he wasn’t really your dad?”
“Yes. But we didn’t talk about it. He was my real dad, as far as I was concerned. Still is.”
“Didn’t you ever want to go looking for your… biological father?”
“I might have done.” She stops rotating the spoon. “Once. But then Mum died and Dad was all I had left. I didn’t need another dad. It was only when I found out about this blood disorder. I realized there could be people related to me, not knowing they were at risk. I felt responsible. It would have preyed on my mind.” She looks up. “You should get yourself tested, Becky.”
“Oh, I’m going to,” I say quickly. “Dad already has been, but he’s OK. And… er… thanks.”
“No problem.”
“So… what’s your dad like?”
Jess deliberates for a while. “He’s great,” she says at last.
I wait for more details… but there don’t seem to be any. I don’t quite dare ask about her mum. Not until I know her better.
Jess sips her water and I fiddle with my chocolate wrapper, wondering what to talk about next. I’m slightly at a loss, which is ridiculous. This is my sister! Come on!
“So, are you going on holiday this year?” I ask at last. God, I must be desperate. I sound like a hairdresser.
“I don’t know yet,” says Jess. “It all depends.”
Suddenly I have the most marvelous idea.
“We could go on holiday together!” I say in excitement. “Wouldn’t that be great? We could get a villa in Italy or something… really get to know each other—”
“Rebecca, listen,” Jess interrupts flatly. “I’m not looking for another family.”
My face is suddenly hot.
“I–I know,” I stammer. “I didn’t mean…”
“I don’t need another family,” she presses on. “I said this to Jane and Graham in the summer. That’s not why I tracked you down. It was my duty to contact you about the medical situation. That’s all.”
“What do you mean by ‘that’s all’?” I falter.
“I mean it’s nice to meet you. And your mum and dad are great. But you’ve got your life”—she pauses—“and I’ve got mine.”
Is she saying she doesn’t want to get to know me?
Her own sister?
“But we’ve only just found each other!” I say in a rush. “After all these years! Don’t you find it amazing?” I lean forward and put my hand next to hers. “Look! We have the same blood!”
“So what?” Jess looks unmoved. “It’s just a biological fact.”
“But… haven’t you always wanted a sister? Haven’t you always wondered what it would be like?”
“Not particularly.” She must see the hurt on my face. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s been interesting to meet you.”
Interesting? It’s been interesting?
I push the froth around the cappuccino with my spoon. She doesn’t want to get to know me. My own sister doesn’t want to get to know me. What’s wrong with me?
Nothing’s going the way I planned. I thought today would be one of the best days of my life. I thought shopping with my sister would be fun. I thought we’d be bonded by now. I thought we’d be having coffee, surrounded by all our fab new things, laughing and teasing each other…
“So, shall we go back to your mum’s?” says Jess, draining her cup.
“What… already?” I say, startled. “But… we’ve got hours left. You haven’t even bought anything yet!”
Jess sighs impatiently.
“Look, Becky. I wanted to be polite, so I came along today. But the truth is, I really can’t stand shopping.”
My heart sinks. I knew she wasn’t having a good time. I knew she hated my taste. I have to salvage this.
“I know we haven’t found the right shops yet.” I lean forward eagerly. “But there are more. We can go into different ones—”
“No,” Jess interrupts. “You don’t get it. I don’t like shopping. Full stop.”
“Catalogs!” I say, suddenly inspired. “We could go home, get a load of catalogs… it’d be fun!”
“Can’t you get this through your head?” Jess exclaims in exasperation. “Read my lips very carefully. I. Hate. Shopping.”
When we arrive home, Luke is in the front garden, talking to Dad. As he sees us pulling into the drive he looks stunned.
“What are you doing back so soon?” he says, hurrying over to the car. “Is anything wrong?”
“Everything’s fine!” I say. My brain still feels like it’s short-circuited. “We were just… quicker than I thought we’d be.”
“Thanks,” says Jess, getting out.
“It was a pleasure.”
As Jess heads toward Dad, Luke gets into the car beside me and closes the door.
“Becky, are you OK?”
“I’m… fine. I think.”
I can’t quite get my head round the day. My mind keeps replaying the way I fantasized it would be. The two of us sauntering along, swinging our bags, laughing happily… trying on each other’s things… buying each other friendship bracelets… calling each other by little nicknames…
“So? How was it?”
“It was…” I force a bright smile. “It was really good fun. We both had a great time.”
“What did you buy?”
“A couple of tops… a really nice skirt… some shoes…”
“Mmm-hmm.” Luke nods. “And what did Jess buy?”
For a moment I can’t speak.
“Nothing,” I whisper at last.
“Oh, Becky.” Luke sighs and puts his arm round me. “I know you wanted to find a soul mate. I know you wanted Jess to be your new best friend. But maybe you’ll have to accept that you’re just… too different.”
“We’re not too different,” I say stubbornly. “We’re sisters.”
“Sweetheart, it’s OK,” says Luke. “You can admit it if you don’t get along. No one will think you’ve failed.”
Failed?
“We do get along!” I say, stung. “We do! We just need to find a bit more… common ground. So she doesn’t like shopping. But that doesn’t matter! I like things other than shopping!”
Luke is shaking his head.
“Accept it. You’re different people and there’s no reason why you should get on.”
“But we’ve got the same blood! We can’t be that different! We can’t be!”
“Becky—”
“I’m not going to give up, just like that! This is my long-lost sister we’re talking about!”
“Sweetheart—”
I cut him off. “I know we can be friends. I know we can.”
With sudden determination I wrench open the car door and get out.
“Hey, Jess!” I call, hurrying across the lawn. “After your conference, do you want to come and stay for the weekend? I promise we’ll have a good time.”
“That’s a nice idea, love!” says Dad, his face lighting up.
“I’m not sure,” says Jess. “I really have to get back home… ”
“Please. Just one weekend. We don’t need to go shopping!” The words come tumbling out of me. “It won’t be like today. We can do whatever you like. Just have a really low-key, easy time. What do you think?”
My fingers are twisting into knots. Jess glances at Dad’s hopeful face.
“OK,” she says at last. “That would be nice. Thanks.”
PGNI FIRST BANK VISA
7 CAMEL SQUARE
LIVERPOOL L1 5NP
Mrs Rebecca Brandon
37 Maida Vale Mansions
Maida Vale
London NW6 0YF
12 May 2003
Dear Mrs Brandon:
Thank you for your prompt response to my letter of 20 April.
We are glad to inform you that you have been successful in your application for the High Status Golden Credit Card.
In answer to your questions, the card will be delivered to your home address and will resemble a credit card. It cannot be “disguised as a cake” as you suggest. Nor can we provide a distraction outside as it arrives.
If you have any further questions please do not hesitate to contact me, and we hope you enjoy the benefits of your new card.
Yours sincerely,
Peter Johnson
Customer Accounts Executive
PGNI FIRST BANK VISA
7 CAMEL SQUARE
LIVERPOOL L1 5NP
Ms Jessica Bertram
12 Hill Rise
Scully
Cumbria CA19 1BD
12 May 2003
Dear Ms Bertram:
Thank you for your prompt response to my letter of 20 April.
I apologize for approaching you with the offer of a High Status Golden Credit Card. I did not mean to cause any offence.
By saying you had been personally handpicked for a £20,000 credit limit, I was not intending to imply that you are “debt-ridden and irresponsible” nor to defame your character.
As a gesture of goodwill I enclose a gift voucher of £25, and look forward to being of service should you change your mind on the issue of credit cards.
Yours sincerely,
Peter Johnson
Customer Accounts Executive
Twelve
I’M NOT GIVING up.
So maybe my first meeting with Jess didn’t go quite as I planned. But this weekend will be better, I just know it will. I mean, in hindsight, the first meeting was bound to be a bit awkward. But this time we’ll have gotten through that first hurdle and will be far more relaxed and easy with each other. Plus, I’m far more prepared than I was last time. After Jess left on Saturday, Mum and Dad could see I was a bit down, so they made a pot of tea and we had a good old chat. And we all agreed it’s impossible to get on with someone straightaway if you don’t know anything about her. So Mum and Dad racked their brains for all the details they knew about Jess and wrote them all down. And I’ve been learning them all week.
Like, for instance: she did nine GCSE exams and got As in all of them. She never eats avocados. As well as caving and walking, she does something called potholing. She likes poetry. And her favorite dog is a…
Fuck.
I grab the crib sheet and scan down.
Oh yes. A border collie.
It’s Saturday morning, and I’m in our spare room, making my final preparations for Jess’s arrival. I bought a book this week called The Gracious Hostess, and it said the guest room should be “well thought-out, with little individual touches to make your guest feel welcome.”
So on the dressing table are flowers and a book of poetry, and by the bed I’ve put a careful selection of magazines: Rambling News, Caving Enthusiast, and Potholing Monthly, which is a magazine you can order only on the Internet. (I had to take out a two-year subscription, actually, just to get a copy. But t
hat’s all right. I can just forward the other twenty-three copies to Jess.)
And on the wall is my pièce de résistance, which I am so proud of. It’s an enormous poster of a cave! With stalag… things.
I fluff up the pillows, anticipating the weekend. Tonight will be totally different from last time. For a start, we won’t go near any shops. I’ve just planned a nice, simple, relaxed evening in. We can watch a movie and eat popcorn, and do each other’s nails, and really chill. And then later on I’ll come and sit on her bed and we can wear matching pajamas and eat peppermint creams, and talk long into the night.
“This all looks very nice,” says Luke, coming in behind me. “You’ve done a great job. In fact, the whole apartment looks amazing!” He wanders out, and I follow him into the hall. Although there are still a few boxes here and there, the whole place looks so much clearer!
We walk into the sitting room, now utterly transformed. All the piles of rugs and boxes and crates have disappeared. There are just two sofas, two coffee tables, and the Indonesian gamelan.
“Hats off to you, Becky,” says Luke, looking around. “In fact, I owe you an apology. You told me you could make it all work — and I doubted you. But I would never have guessed so much clutter could be so well organized.” He looks around the room incredulously. “There were so many things in here! Where have they all gone?”
“I’ve just… found homes for them!” I say brightly.
“Well, I’m really impressed,” he says, running his hand over the mantelpiece, which is bare except for the five handpainted eggs. “You should become a storage consultant.”
“Maybe I will!”
OK, I think I want to get off this subject now. Any minute Luke’s going to start looking a bit more closely and say something like “Where are the Chinese urns?” or “Where are the wooden giraffes?”
“I’ll just check my e-mails,” I say casually. “Why don’t you make us some nice coffee?”
I wait until Luke’s safely in the kitchen, then hurry to my computer and type in www.eBay.co.uk.
eBay has totally saved my life. Totally.
Shopaholic and sister s-4 Page 14
