Sophie clutched the red silk scarf to herself anxiously, pulling it up towards her face. ‘Are you planning on eating it?’ I asked her. ‘I know you’re dieting for the wedding, but...’ ‘I’m worried it’s a bit scratchy,’ she said, rubbing it against her skin. She held it out towards me. ‘The colour’s perfect for her, but it feels a bit nylon-y, I don’t know.’ A young male assistant was poised nearby, waiting for the right moment to come and up-sell us. I turned my shoulder away from him, building an energetic wall that told him we didn’t need him swooping in. This wasn’t about whether the scarf was the smoothest satin or the nastiest polyester. I felt pleased with my observation: this was the kind of nuance I’d only begun to appreciate since I’d started working with Amber. ‘We’ve been doing this every year since you were pretty much a foetus, Sophie.’ I handed it back to her ceremonially, high on my own righteousness. ‘Doing what?’ she said, worrying the scarf through her fingers. We were in one of those mid-level boutiques on Marylebone High Street, almost designer, but not quite. More expensive than it should have been, trying to prove its credentials with the reed diffusers that sweetened the air and the 1920 s French prints that lined the walls in weather-beaten wooden frames. ‘Agonize over what to get Mum. Every Mother’s Day card. Every birthday. Every Christmas. And it is only Christmas. She’s not the actual second coming.’ Sophie didn’t crack a smile, her face wrinkling with upset instead, and I felt a stab of shame. I shoved it away. I was being honest. I was nurturing our relationship, even if she didn’t yet understand it. ‘She’s our mum, Rachel. Don’t you like it when we find her something she loves?’ ‘Don’t tell me you’re enjoying this,’ I said. ‘It’s stress on a stick, because she makes it so impossible to find her something perfect enough. And the truth is, perfect doesn’t exist.’ Good enough is enough. It was the second half of the sentence, but I managed to hold it in. Amber had given me so many mantras to follow by then that it was almost as if she was my invisible shadow. I snuck my hand into the pocket of my jeans and massaged the tiny chip of rose quartz she’d given me. I believed it gave me courage in those kinds of situations. It reminded me that my essence was pure love. ‘Fine,’ said Sophie, rolling the scarf up into an angry ball. ‘This is fine. I’m going to buy it. It’s up to you if you want to go halves. I don’t know what kind of state your finances are in, anyway.’ We glared at each other before she stalked off towards the till. My heart pounded in my chest, the rose quartz leaving a painful indentation on my fingertips. I looked at her rigid posture as she earnestly tapped her pin number into the keypad. My little sister. Why was it so hard to be me and simultaneously be a part of them? We sat in the bakery opposite, nursing big pottery bowls of coffee in stony silence. Sophie broke first. ‘I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said that about your finances. It was rude. I was just frustrated—’ I cut in. ‘And I’m sorry too,’ I said, ‘if I upset you.’ Her eyes glinted for a second, the distinction between our apologies not lost on her, but she was too much of a peacemaker to kick off round two. ‘Are you okay, Rach?’ she said. ‘I feel like you’ve been a bit AWOL since...’ The christening. Neither of us wanted to go there. It was six weeks ago now, but it still hung between us like a stained sheet on a washing line. ‘We’ve had breakfast,’ I said quickly. ‘Twice.’ ‘Course we did!’ she agreed brightly.
‘And you had dinner with Mum?’ Mum hadn’t told her, then. I made a split-second calculation: we’d be there in an hour. There was no need to guarantee it would be a disaster by forcing Sophie to pick a side. ‘Yeah. We went to this Italian up there on the left. I think you and Toby would love it. It’s romantic. Well, I imagine it’s romantic,’ I added, a drop of acid. Sophie flushed – it’s one of the most charming things about my little sister, the way every emotion plasters itself across her face like it’s a billboard. She was feeling bad for me – bad for us – that she’d bucked birth order and found commitment first, while I was still acting like the slutty girl with a bad r ep at the sixth form prom. ‘Talking of which,’ she said, ‘Toby and I really wanted to ask if you’d like to be my maid of honour.’ She smoothed her fringe out of her eyes and smiled nervously. My heart leapt upwards with uncomplicated happiness. ‘Of course,’ I said, reaching across the table and taking her hand, squeezing it in apology. Sometimes I hate myself, and it makes me mean was what I was trying to say, but all she felt was the blood being squashed in her veins. I would wonder back then if everyone had an internal life as dark as my own – was it better if they did, or better if they didn’t? The first meant I wasn’t alone, the second meant there was no hope for humanity. ‘I’d be honoured. Literally.’ ‘Good!’ she said, her face lighting up. Her expression dimmed a little as, I imagine, she ran a silent film of the worst potential version of events through her head. I tapped my bowl of coffee. ‘This is the hard stuff for me now, I promise. You don’t need to fret about it.’ ‘I know,’ she said, her smile a wobbly line. ‘Of course. I’m really glad you’re up for it.’ Sophie swung the car off the Westway and onto the backstreets of Sh epherd’s Bush, her neat VW Polo never nudging its German nose above the 30 mph limit. Being good wasn’t even a decision for her, just a fact. A few turns later she pulled up outside our parents’ house. ‘Did you bring anything?’ she asked. Of course I hadn’t. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got a bottle of rosé in the boot. It can be from both of us. I wonder if they invited Esther?’ ‘Esther?’ I said. My voice sounded like broken glass. ‘Yes, she’s working with Dad at the moment. Sounds like she’s been struggling, not found a real career yet. He’s helping her out.’ ‘Helping her out?’ The shock was too great. All I could do was parrot her. ‘Yeah...’ Sophie looked at me owlishly. ‘Why are you being so uptight about it?’ That was what she told herself, that it was a weird kind of jealousy I had. I’d never been able to bring myself to tell her the whole story – it felt like I’d be mugging her of her childhood. And it certainly wasn’t the official version. ‘Sophie...’ I tailed off. ‘Actually, forget it.’ I froze, my body resisting going inside, my seatbelt staying strapped across my body. ‘Come on, lazy bones,’ said Sophie cheerfully. She’d clambered out of the car by now and was looking at me expectantly. There was no es cape. I followed her up the path, each st ep a miniature internal war. Dad opened the door, his face flushed from cooking, a grey marl T-shirt clinging to his worked-out chest. He was holding a meat skewer, thrilled with himself. He dropped it on the hall table. ‘My girls, present and correct!’ he said, throwing his arms open and crushing us into a group hug. I felt myself stiffen as Sophie moulded herself against his bulk. ‘Daddy!’ she said. I st epped backwards out of his embrace. ‘Hi, Dad,’ I said. ‘Are we the first to arrive?’ ‘You are,’ he said. ‘Which is a first in itself for you, right, Rachel?’ I refused to smile back at him.
‘So, who’s coming?’ I said, my heart pounding. My moments of stability were so fleeting back then, archipelagos in a stormy ocean. ‘Josh and his girls.’ ‘Chloe’s a grown woman, actually, Dad. So are we.’ He and Sophie both stared at me, their bodies still squashed close. ‘So that’s it, then?’ ‘Rach...’ said Sophie, reaching out a hand and nervously skimming my bare wrist. ‘Esther’s not coming? Mum said she...’ ‘No,’ said Dad, blue eyes narrowing with annoyance. He strode away down the corridor. ‘It’s just your perfect, happy family, Rachel, no need to panic.’ Sophie shot me a look, hurrying after him. ‘I’m not trying to be difficult...’ I hissed, but she didn’t turn back. Mum was circling the kitchen table, laying out the cutlery like it was a geometry exercise. She deliberately k ept her back to us, and I could feel the anxiety start to steam and bubble inside me. Even massaging the chip of rose quartz didn’t produce any reduction in my heart rate. Eventually she straightened up and crossed the room, reaching me first and giving me a staccato kiss on each cheek like a bird pecking for worms. Sophie got a hug – a real one that meant something to both of them. I felt the hurt ripple through me, the fight draining away in its wake. It wasn’t worth getting in the ring with her. She always won. ‘We’ve been tramping up and down Marylebone High Street, haven’t we?’ I said, forcing brightness into my tone. ‘You’re going to love Sophie’s present.’ Dad was at the hob by now, poking at the pans and refusing to speak. ‘I always adore Sophie’s presents,’ said Mum, back at the table now. ‘And your presence too, darling!’ she added, laughing at her own pun. ‘That’s a given.’ ‘You’ll love Rachel’s, too,’ said Sophie, eyes darting between us. ‘She just couldn’t find anything chic enough today, but you know she’s going to end up winning hands down.’ ‘I’m sure,’ said Mum tartly. ‘Sophie, darling, can you get the water glasses out of the cupboard?’ I couldn’t help it; I raced over to the dresser before Sophie could react. My hand shook as I held the wobbly stack of tumblers – I looked down at the Spanish tiled floor, willing myself not to drop them. ‘Here you go,’ I said, crossing towards Mum and touching her arm, forcing her to turn her head towards me, her perfect weekday blow-dry still falling elegantly around her shoulders. ‘Is there anything else I can do?’ ‘You could pour us all a lovely glass of sparkling water,’ she said. ‘I ordered a whole box of San Pellegrino from Ocado. I dumped it in the basement I think.’ De ep underground, where everything in our family was meant to go. I wonder if she’s yet forgiven me for breaking our silent pact? Josh’s two boys were rampaging around the garden, swiping at rose bushes with sticks and rugby-tackling each other. It looked violent to my fragile gaze, but no one else seemed remotely worried. Chloe seemed more concerned about me, if anything. She k ept throwing me looks and bundling Nancy to her chest, or maybe that was just my paranoia. They’d just arrived, and Dad and Josh were having a scandalized conversation at the other end of the kitchen about some lawyer who’d been struck off for squirrelling client funds. ‘She’s getting so big!’ said Sophie, reaching tentative fingers out to stroke Nancy’s head. I desperately wanted to ask to hold her – this little being whose life I’d been given a role in – but the words choked in my throat. ‘Tell me about it,’ said Chloe, grinning at her. ‘My arms are killing me – do you want to take her?’ No wonder, I thought meanly, when your arms are as thin and brittle as stale Twiglets. ‘Of course I do!’ said Sophie, reaching for the baby. Nancy immediately started to grizzle and twist. ‘St ep away from the baby, Sophie. Give her back to Chloe,’ said Josh, striding across the kitchen. ‘We
all know you’re trying to practice on her! Where’s my soon-to-be brother-in-law, anyway?’ He walked straight past me, reaching for Nancy as if I wasn’t there. He’d said a clipped hello when he arrived, but he was making his feelings about my behaviour at the christening abundantly clear. ‘He’s working today,’ said Sophie. ‘Gave me a chance to hang out with Rachel.’ She was almost vibrating with her need for us to connect. ‘Coffee, shopping – sister stuff that your inferior male mind couldn’t compute.’ Josh finally deigned to look at me. ‘Hopefully not the Irish kind of coffee,’ he said, smirking. My brother had always been relentlessly cruel. I secretly gripped my crystal. ‘I haven’t drunk for over a month,’ I said. The silence curdled around me. ‘And I want to say – in person, to all of you – how sorry I am about the christening.’ ‘Thanks, Rachel,’ said Chloe awkwardly. ‘And thanks for your email, too. We appreciated it.’ ‘Guy’s fiancée’s mum’s got cancer!’ said Josh, flushed with self-righteousness, as if I’d personally blown smoke rings into her mum’s face until her lungs had given up the ghost. ‘Trust me, it didn’t exactly help.’ ‘Did he tell her?’ I said, heat rising up through my body. How were we having this conversation in everyone’s earshot? How was it that some things in our family could never be spoken of and other things demanded a virtual megaphone? And why was it that I never got to decide which was which? ‘Honesty’s really important to him,’ said Josh. ‘I mean, they are getting married.’ Honesty definitely seemed like one of Guy’s key values, judging by the way he’d dragged me into the toilets without mentioning his betrothed. I risked glancing around the circle of stricken faces. No one else seemed to register this as fake news. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Well, I’m very sorry, like I said.’ I started to falter. It was r epulsive, what I’d done. No wonder they were looking at me with such obvious disgust. ‘Let’s just forget about it,’ said Josh, swinging Nancy above his head. ‘Your daddy’s the one who needs a drink,’ he said. She giggled at him, gleefully reaching her pudgy hands for his hair. ‘Yes, he does!’ And I needed to st ep out of the toxic circle. Without even thinking about the irony, I crossed to the fridge, poured a glass of Chablis from the open bottle in the door and served my brother and his wife like I was their butler. Mum’s cool gaze tracked me throughout. She didn’t utter a word. I chewed my lamb again and again, trying to force myself to swallow. By now the practicalities of Christmas were under the microscope. ‘Just don’t get them too much, Lily, honestly,’ Chloe was saying. ‘You’re always so generous...’ ‘We’re just thrilled you’re with us this year,’ Mum was saying. It was always a passive-aggressive fight to the death with Chloe’s parents for who got the precious gift of the grandchildren. ‘Come on Christmas Eve if you like. I’m hoping the girls will.’ Christmas was less than a month away now and my dread was starting to feel more like a tsunami than a lapping tide. ‘Yeah, Toby’s parents are going away this year, so I don’t see why not,’ said Sophie cheerfully. ‘Are you up for it, Rachel?’ How could she be so oblivious to how hard it was for me? ‘Um, I don’t know yet. I’m just working out my schedule at the moment.’ My family looked at me with pity in their eyes, a collective thought bubble floating above the table wondering what a single woman of my age could possibly have to ‘schedule’. Amber’s words roared up inside me. They didn’t own me, and they didn’t own Christmas. ‘I might actually be away for it,’ I added airily. ‘But, darling, it’s Christmas!’ said Mum. ‘And you’re meant to be saving money, don’t
forget.’ ‘You still paying interest on your credit cards?’ said Dad, stabbing at his meat. ‘It’s a crime if you are.’ The fact that they were still paying the bill for Amber and the subsequent prying rights it seemed to give them over my finances was truly infuriating. And it was true that my credit cards had hit dizzying new heights, as I treated myself to massages and green juices to try to soothe myself in new, virtuous ways between our precious sessions. I felt so raw these days – my skin flayed, my energy wide open. Being honest about how bad it had been was making me feel worse than ever, but I trusted Amber when she promised me it was a profound emotional detox that I’d emerge from with new strength. ‘I’ll ke ep you posted once my plans firm up,’ I said, inwardly revelling in their irritation. ‘It’s three weeks away, Rachel,’ snapped Josh. ‘Mum and Dad need to be able to make arrangements.’ ‘I’m sure they can figure out how fat the turkey should be without having an hour-by-hour agenda for me,’ I snapped back. ‘You need to learn how to make a commitment and stick to it,’ said Josh. He gave me a patronizing smile. ‘I’ve seen it when people are trying to get sober. You’ll thrive on calm and order.’ ‘He’s right,’ said Chloe, who was always looking for ways to prove she was his loyal lieutenant. My brother’s a bully; she’d worked out long ago that it made her life a whole lot easier if he knew she was in his camp. ‘And I’ll be really disappointed if you’re not here,’ she added disingenuously, spooning a mouthful of food towards the baby, who was wedged into a high chair next to her. ‘So will Nancy. You’d miss your godmother, wouldn’t you?’ she cooed. Humiliation felled me. I looked across to Sophie, who smiled nervously, then looked down at her plate without saying a word. ‘Of course she’ll be here,’ said Dad dismissively. ‘Anyone need more meat?’ He stood, ready to get the tented rack of lamb from the counter. ‘Why don’t you just invite Esther instead?’ I asked him. ‘I’m sure she’d love to spend some extra-curricular time with you. Shame to limit it to the office.’ ‘Rachel!’ said Mum, her face splashed red. ‘Jesus, don’t start this again...’ said Dad. ‘I just find it weird, the way she’s suddenly reappeared,’ I said. I wasn’t going to be silenced. ‘Where exactly did she crawl out from, anyway? Does anyone actually know?’ ‘Don’t talk about her like that!’ said Sophie, her voice catching. ‘Sorry, Sophie,’ I said. ‘But you don’t know the whole story.’ ‘Shut the...’ Josh stared at me with something that looked like hatred. ‘My children are playing twenty feet away,’ he hissed. ‘Whatever fantasy you made up when you were even more of a manipulative little bitch of a teenager, you don’t need to ke ep banging on about it. Hurting Mum and Dad. Hurting all of us.’ ‘It hurts me, having it shoved in our faces,’ I said, aiming my words at Dad. He’d crossed the kitchen, busied himself with the meat. ‘It makes me feel like I’m going mad, even though I’m the only one telling the truth.’ Something stopped me forming the words. Something stopped me saying ‘Dad’s mistress’ out loud. It was still too dangerous. Mum was studying me, her face a blank mask. I faltered: would she really be this calm if my darkest suspicions were right? ‘I think you should go home now, Rachel,’ she said evenly. ‘You’re under a lot of personal stress right now, we all appreciate that. You need plenty of rest. Time to recuperate.’ ‘Your mother’s right,’ said Dad, crossing back to the table, holding a platter of meat aloft like he was Gordon Ramsey himself. ‘I’ll call you a cab.’ He sat down, glared at me. ‘Maybe one day you’ll stop
ruining every family occasion you bother to turn up for.’ His casual scorn pushed me over the edge. ‘Let’s start with Christmas,’ I said, standing up, my chair screeching against the Spanish tiles. ‘You can all have the perfect fucking family celebration you’re dreaming of without me.’ ‘No, Rachel,’ said Mum. ‘Christmas is precious. You just need to take some time to calm down...’ ‘What I want to know,’ I said, heading for the door, ‘is how many other Esthers there are out there? It’s not a good look these days, Dad.’ I risked a final look back at the tableau of the table. Mum didn’t look quite so calm anymore: I didn’t know whether to be triumphant or heartbroken by the fact. I rang MBNA first. Perhaps it was too close to Christmas, and they had a policy about naked desperation. Either way, they wouldn’t give me a cash advance. I googled frantically, finally calling a supermarket credit card line and lying in response to every question the kind-sounding man in his call centre on the other side of the world asked me. I had a flatmate, apparently, who paid their half of the rent in cash, and my glittering career in volved generous bonuses that hadn’t yet appeared in my bank account. As he went away to process my credit score, every fibre of my being churned with tension. Es caping family Christmas was feeling like life or death. He sounded genuinely happy for me when he gave me the good news: perhaps he could sense that I was lightheaded with relief. I texted Amber immediately, fat tears falling onto the screen of my phone, blurring my words. I wish I could call you. Today was worse than my worst nightmare. I hate my family. Coming to the retreat, if you’ll have me. R xx Nothing came back. There was one bottle of wine in the back of the cupboard, my ‘break glass in case of emergency’ option, and I sat it on the coffee table with a corkscrew, simultaneously comforted and devastated by the knowledge that there was no one to stop me opening it. The shrill ring of the phone broke the silence. I looked tentatively at the screen: Amber. ‘Hello,’ I said, my voice unsteady. ‘I didn’t think we were allowed to speak outside...’ ‘Rachel,’ she said. The warmth of her voice turned on the tap of my tears. ‘Rules are made to be broken, don’t you think?’ They certainly were. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘It was so awful today, they—’ ‘Let’s not get into the details now, Rachel. Let’s explore it properly when we’re together. Just know that I understand, and that I’m holding you in my thoughts. I’m sending you healing right now.’ ‘Thank you,’ I breathed. ‘And of course you can come at Christmas, I’d be honoured to have you. I’ve even managed to swing you a little discount. It’s not much, but hopefully it goes some way to telling you how much you’re wanted.’ Wanted. The word was like a hot bath I could sink in to. ‘I’m so grateful!’ I said. ‘Thank you.’ ‘Transfer me £1,500 if you can, by the end of the week. And just get the last £750 to us by Christmas Eve.’ Questions started to whirr. Who was the ‘us’ she was referring to, and how was it so much? I shoved the thoughts away. I was lucky she’d got me the discount – just imagine if she hadn’t. She was so kind, so caring. Questions were too dangerous. They would stay that way for a while yet.