Shopaholic and Sister

Thirteen

“SHE’S COMING UP in the lift,” says Luke, opening the front door. “Who were you on the phone with, by the way?”

“Nobody,” I say quickly. “I was just… er… checking the time.”

Gradually my pulse is slowing down. It’s fine, I tell myself firmly. It’s done. Everything’s sorted.

I can hear the lift moving, down below. Jess is on her way! Quickly I grab my crib sheet and skim it one last time. Border collies… hates avocados… math teacher was called Mr. Lewis…

“Becky, I’d put that away before she arrives,” says Luke, looking amused.

“Oh. Right.”

I stuff it into my pocket and take a few deep breaths to prepare myself.

“Listen, Becky,” says Luke, watching me. “Before she arrives… I sincerely hope you two hit it off this time. But you are keeping a sense of proportion? You don’t have all your hopes pinned on this visit, do you?”

“Really, Luke,” I say kindly. “Don’t you know me better than that?”

Of course I have all my hopes pinned on this visit. Because I know it’s going to work out. Things will be different this time. For a start, we won’t do anything that Jess doesn’t want to do. I’m just going to follow her lead.

And the other thing I must remember is a tip that Luke gave me. He said it was great that I was so friendly toward Jess — but that she’s quite reserved, and maybe great big hugs weren’t her style. So he suggested I should be a bit more collected, just until we know each other better. Which is a fair point.

From the hall comes the noise of the lift getting closer. Why is this lift so slow? And then suddenly the doors are opening to reveal Jess in jeans and a gray T-shirt, holding her rucksack.

“Hi!” I cry, running forward. “Welcome! We can do whatever you want this weekend! Anything! Just name it! You’re the boss!”

Jess doesn’t move. In fact… she seems frozen to the spot.

“Hi, Jess,” Luke says more calmly. “Welcome to London.”

“Come on in!” I spread my arms. “Make yourself at home! No avocados here!”

Jess stares at me uncertainly, then glances at the buttons of the lift, almost like she wants to go back down again.

“Let me take your bag,” says Luke. “How was your conference?”

He ushers Jess into the flat, and she looks around warily.

“It was good, thanks,” she says. “Hi, Becky.”

“Hi! It’s so great you’re here! I’ll show you your room.”

I open the door of the guest room proudly, waiting for her to comment on the cave picture, or Potholing Monthly. But she says nothing, just “Thanks,” as Luke puts down her bag.

“Look,” I point out. “It’s a cave!”

“Er… yes,” says Jess, looking slightly bewildered.

There’s a pause — and I feel a tiny spasm of alarm.

“Let’s all have a drink!” I exclaim. “Let’s open a bottle of champagne!”

“Becky… it’s only four o’clock,” says Luke. “Maybe a cup of tea would be more appropriate?”

“I’d love a cup of tea,” says Jess.

“Tea, then!” I say. “Excellent idea!”

I lead the way into the kitchen, and Jess follows, peering all around the flat.

“Nice place,” she says.

“Becky’s done a great job on it,” Luke says pleasantly. “You should have seen it this time last week. We’d had a load of purchases delivered from our honeymoon… and you could not move for the stuff.” He shakes his head. “I still don’t know how you did it, Becky.”

“Oh, you know,” I say modestly. “Just a question of organization.”

I’m switching on the kettle as Gary comes into the kitchen.

“This is my associate, Gary,” says Luke. “This is Becky’s half sister, Jess. She comes from Cumbria.”

“Ah!” says Gary as he shakes Jess’s hand. “I know Cumbria! Beautiful part of the country. Whereabouts do you live?”

“A village called Scully,” replies Jess. “It’s pretty rural. Very different from this.”

“I’ve been to Scully!” says Gary. “Years ago. Isn’t there a famous walk nearby?”

“You probably mean Scully Pike.”

“That’s it! We tried to climb it, but the weather took a turn. Nearly fell off the bloody thing.”

“It can be dangerous,” says Jess. “You have to know what you’re doing. Idiots come up from the south and get in all sorts of trouble.”

“That’s me,” Gary says cheerfully. “But it’s worth it for the scenery. Those drystone walls are spectacular,” he adds to Luke. “Like works of art. Miles and miles of them, strung out across the countryside.”

I’m listening to the conversation in total fascination. I’d love to get to know a bit of rural England a bit better. I’d love to see some drystone walls. I mean, all I know is London and Surrey, which is practically London anyway.

“We should buy a cottage in Cumbria!” I say enthusiastically. “In Jess’s village! Then we could see you all the time,” I add to Jess. “Wouldn’t that be great?”

There’s quite a long silence.

“Yes,” says Jess at last. “Great.”

“I don’t think we’ll be buying any cottages in the near future,” says Luke. “We’re on a budget, remember?”

“Yes, I know,” I retort. “And I’m sticking to it, aren’t I?”

“Well, yes,” says Luke. “Incredibly, you are.” He looks at the tin of Fortnum biscuits on the counter. “Although, quite frankly, I have no idea how you’re managing it.” He opens the fridge. “Look at all this. Stuffed olives… smoked lobster… and this is supposed to be on a budget?”

I can’t help feeling a little glow of pride. All that food is courtesy of selling those Tiffany clocks! I was so delighted, I went straight out and bought a big hamperful of all Luke’s favorite things.

“Just a question of good household management,” I say nonchalantly.

“Hmm.” Luke gives me a suspicious look, then turns to Gary. “We must get on.”

The two men head out of the kitchen, and I’m left alone with Jess. I perch on a bar stool opposite her.

“So!” I say. “What would you like to do?”

“I’m easy,” Jess says with a shrug.

“It’s up to you! Totally!”

“I don’t really mind.” Jess sips her tea.

The kitchen is still and quiet, apart from the tap dripping slowly into the sink.

Which is fine. This is just one of those companionable, quiet moments you can have with members of your family. In fact, it shows we’re easy with each other. It’s not remotely awkward or anything—

Oh God, speak. Please.

“I’d like to do some weight training,” says Jess suddenly. “I normally work out every day. But I haven’t had time this week.”

“Right!” I say in delight. “That’s a brilliant idea! I’ll do it too!”

“Really?” Jess looks surprised.

“Of course!” I take a final sip of tea, then put my cup down. “I’ll just go and get ready!”

What a marvelous idea. Doing exercise together will be totally bonding! We can go to Taylor’s Health Club round the corner, where I’m a gold member, do a bit of a workout, and then head to the juice bar. I know the juice bar will be open, because I’ve been there loads of times before at about this hour of the day.

And I should think the gym bit will be open too, downstairs.

Or is it upstairs?

Anyway. Wherever it is.

I yank open my wardrobe doors and pull out my drawer full of gym kit. I could wear my Juicy tracksuit, except I might get too hot… or that really cool pink top, except I’ve seen a girl in the juice bar wearing the same exact one…

At last I select some black leggings with retro piping up the sides, plus a white T-shirt and my fab hi-tech trainers that I got in the States. They cost quite a lot, but then, as the leaflet points out, they are biomechanically balanced with a dual-density midsole. Plus their advanced engineering means you can take them seamlessly from the marathon track to the outdoor terrain of the trail hike.

I quickly put on the whole outfit, tie my hair up in a ponytail, and add my cool Adidas sports watch. (Which just shows how wrong Luke is. I knew I would need a sports watch one day.) I hurry to the guest room and knock on the door.

“Hi!”

“Come in.” Jess’s voice sounds muffled and kind of weird. Cautiously I push open the door. She’s changed into old gray shorts and a cropped T-shirt and to my surprise is lying on the floor.

Doing sit-ups, I suddenly realize as her entire torso rises off the ground. Blimey. She’s quite good at them. And I’ve never seen such a muscled stomach, except in a Cindy Crawford video.

Now she’s doing those twisty ones that I’ve never been able to manage more than about three of.

“So… shall we go?” I say.

“Go where?” Jess says without missing a beat.

“To the gym! I thought you wanted to…” I trail off as she starts raising her legs off the ground too.

OK, now that’s just showing off.

“I don’t need to go anywhere. I can work out here.”

Here? Is she serious? But there aren’t any mirrors. There isn’t any MTV. There isn’t a juice bar.

My gaze falls on a snakelike scar at the top of Jess’s shin. I’m about to ask how she did it, when she catches me looking and flushes red.

Maybe she’s sensitive. I’d better not mention it.

“Don’t you need weights?” I say instead.

“I’ve got them.” She reaches in her rucksack and pulls out two old water bottles filled with sand.

Those are her weights?

“I wouldn’t go near a gym,” she says, starting to raise the bottles above her head. “Waste of money. Half the people who join gyms never go, anyway. They buy expensive outfits and never even wear them. What’s the point in that?”

“Oh, absolutely!” I say quickly. “I totally agree.”

Jess stops and adjusts her grip on one of the weights. Then her eye falls on the back of my leggings.

“What’s that?” she says.

“Er…” I reach round with my hand.

Damn. It’s the price tag hanging out.

“Er… nothing!” I say, hastily tucking it in. “I’ll just go and get some… weights of my own.”

As I return from the kitchen with two bottles of Evian, I can’t help feeling a bit disconcerted. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind. I’d pictured the two of us running effortlessly along on adjacent machines, with some upbeat song playing and the spotlights making our hair look all shiny.

Anyway, never mind.

“So… I’ll follow you, shall I?” I say, joining Jess on the carpet.

“I’m going on to some biceps work,” says Jess. “It’s pretty straightforward.” She starts raising her arms up and down, and I copy what she’s doing. God, she exercises quite fast, doesn’t she?

“Shall I put on some music?” I say after a few moments.

“I don’t need music,” says Jess.

“No. Neither do I,” I say quickly.

My arms are starting to ache. This can’t be good for them, surely. I glance at Jess, but she’s steadfastly pumping away. Casually I lean down, pretending to adjust my shoelace. Then suddenly I have a thought.

“I won’t be a moment,” I say, and hurry out to the kitchen again. A few moments later I’m back, holding two slim silver bottles.

“Here’s a health drink,” I say, proudly holding one out to Jess. “So you can rebalance.”

“So I can what?” Jess puts down her weights with a frown.

“It says it on the bottle, look,” I explain. “It has a unique blend of life-enhancing vitamins and herbs.”

Jess is scanning the label.

“It’s just sugar and water. Look. Water… glucose syrup…” She puts it down. “No, thanks.”

“But it’s got special properties!” I say in surprise. “It rebalances, revitalizes, and moisturizes your skin from the inside.”

“How does it do that?”

“I… don’t know.”

“How much is it?” Jess picks the bottle up again and looks at the price tag. “It’s £2.95!” She seems totally scandalized. “Three pounds for some sugar and water? You could buy a twenty-kilo sack of potatoes for that!”

“But… I don’t want a twenty-kilo sack of potatoes.”

“Then you should!” says Jess. “Potatoes are one of the most nutritious, cost-effective foods available.” She eyes me reprovingly. “People underestimate them. But did you know a potato in its skin has more vitamin C than an orange?”

“Er… no,” I say nervously. “No, I didn’t.”

“You could live off potatoes and milk.” She starts hefting her weights again. “You’d get practically every nutrient the body needs, just from those two.”

“Right!” I say. “That’s… really good! Er… I’ll just go and have a shower.”

As I close the door of the bedroom, I feel totally bewildered. What was all that about potatoes? I’m not even sure how we got onto the subject.

I head down the corridor and see Luke through the door of the study, getting something down from a shelf.

“You look very sportif,” he says, glancing up. “Going to the gym?”

“Jess and I have been working out together,” I reply, flicking my ponytail.

“Excellent. So you’re getting along?”

“We’re getting along brilliantly!” I say, and carry on along the corridor.

Which… I think is true. Although to be honest, it’s a bit hard to tell with Jess. She doesn’t exactly overwhelm you.

But anyway, so far so good. And now we’ve done our workout, we can reward ourselves! What we need is a few drinks, and a bit of a party atmosphere and some music. Then we’ll really loosen up.

As I shower, I start to feel excited. You cannot beat a good girls’ night in. Suze and I had so many great evenings when we were living together. There was the time Suze had been dumped by her awful boyfriend and we spent the whole evening sending off forms in his name to receive impotence cures. There was the time we made mint juleps and both nearly got alcohol poisoning. There was the time we decided to become redheads — and then had to find a twenty-four-hour hairdresser. And then there were lots of evenings when nothing special happened… except we watched movies and ate pizza and talked and laughed, and had a good time.

I pause, halfway through toweling my hair. It’s weird, not speaking to Suze anymore. She hasn’t called once since I told her about having a sister. Nor have I called her. My chin stiffens. But that’s what happens in life. People find new friends and new sisters. It’s called natural selection.

And Jess and I will have a fab time tonight. Better than I ever had with Suze.

I throw on some jeans and a T-shirt with SISTERHOOD emblazoned in silver, then turn on my dressing table lightbulbs and get out every single item of makeup I own. I rummage in a box under the bed and retrieve my three wigs, four hairpieces, false eyelashes, spray glitter, and temporary tattoos. Then I open up my special cupboard, where all my shoes are stored.

I love my shoe cupboard.

I mean, I love my shoe cupboard. It is the best thing in the entire world! All my shoes are arranged in gorgeous rows, and there’s even a built-in light so you can see them properly. I look with satisfaction along the rows of L.K. Bennetts and Jimmy Choos for a few moments, then choose all the most fun, spangly high-heeled ones and toss them onto the bed.

Ready for the makeovers!

Next the sitting room. I spread all my favorite videos out in a fan on the floor, and add piles of magazines. Back in the kitchen I empty crisps, popcorn, and sweets into bowls, light some candles, and get out the champagne. As I look around the kitchen the granite is gleaming, and the stainless steel sparkles in the light. It looks so pretty!

It’s nearly six o’clock. Jess must have finished working out by now. I head to the guest room and tap on the door.

“Jess?” I say tentatively.

No answer. She must be in the shower or something.

But as I head to the kitchen, I suddenly hear her voice coming from the study. That’s weird. I gently push open the door — and there’s Jess, sitting at the computer with Luke and Gary on either side of her, peering at the screen, where I can see Luke’s head, talking against a green background.

“You can superimpose the graphics like this,” she’s saying, tapping at the keyboard. “And synchronize with the sound track. I can do it for you, if you like.”

“What’s going on?” I say in surprise.

“It’s our new corporate CD,” says Luke. “The guys who did it had no bloody idea. The whole thing needs reediting.”

“Your sister is a real whiz at this software!” says Gary.

“I just know it backwards,” says Jess, clicking rapidly. “The whole university went over to it a year ago. And I’m a bit of a techie. I like this kind of stuff.”

“That’s fantastic!” I say. I hover at the door for a few moments as Jess taps at the keyboard some more. “So… do you want to come and have a drink? I’ve got everything ready for our girls’ night in.”

“I’m sorry,” says Luke, looking at me in sudden realization. “I’m keeping you, Jess. We’ll be OK from here. But thanks!”

“Thanks!” echoes Gary.

They’re both looking at her with such admiration, I can’t help but feel a tiny bit jealous.

“Come on!” I say brightly. “There’s champagne waiting.”

“Thanks again, Jess,” says Luke. “You’re a star!”

“No problem.” Jess gets up and follows me out of the room.

“Men!” I say as soon as I’m out of earshot. “All they think about is computers!”

“I like computers,” says Jess.

“Er… me too,” I backtrack hastily. “Absolutely!”

Which is kind of true.

I mean, I love eBay.

As I lead Jess into the kitchen I feel a rush of excitement. I reach for the CD remote control, and a moment later, Sister Sledge belts through the kitchen speakers at top volume. I bought the album especially for this!

“ ‘We are family!’ ” I sing along, while taking the champagne bottle out of its ice bucket. I pop the cork. “Have some champagne!”

“I’d prefer something soft, if you’ve got it,” she says, looking at the bottle without enthusiasm. “Champagne gives me a headache.”

“Oh,” I say, halted. “Well… OK!”

I pour her out a glass of Aqua Libra and quickly put the bottle away before she can see the price and start talking about potatoes again.

“I thought tonight we could just relax,” I say over the music. “Just enjoy ourselves… talk… have fun…”

“Sounds good,” says Jess, nodding.

“So, my idea was, we could do makeovers!”

“Makeovers?” Jess looks as though she’s never even heard the word.

“Come with me!” I pull her along the corridor and into the bedroom. “We can do each other’s makeup… try on all different clothes… I could blow-dry your hair if you like… ”

“I don’t know.” Jess’s shoulders are hunched uncomfortably.

“It’ll be fun! Look, sit down in front of the mirror. Try on one of my wigs!” I pull the blond Marilyn one onto my own head. “Isn’t that fab?”

Jess flinches.

“I hate mirrors,” she says. “And I never wear makeup.”

I stare at her, a bit nonplussed. How can anyone hate mirrors?

“Besides, I’m happy with the way I look,” she adds a bit defensively.

“Of course you are!” I say in astonishment. “That’s not the point! It’s just supposed to be… you know. Fun.”

Jess doesn’t reply.

“But anyway!” I say, trying to hide my deflation. “It was just an idea. We don’t have to do it.”

I take off the Marilyn wig and switch off the dressing table lightbulbs. The room is immediately plunged into semi-gloom, which is kind of how I feel. I was really looking forward to doing Jess up. I had all these great ideas for her eyes.

But never mind. We can still have a good time!

“So! Shall we… watch a movie?” I suggest.

“Sure.” Jess nods.

And anyway, a movie is better. Everyone likes movies, plus we can chat during all the boring bits. I lead the way into the sitting room and gesture enthusiastically at the fanned-out videos on the floor. “Take your pick. They’re all here!”

“Right.” Jess starts looking through the videos.

“Are you a Four Weddings girl?” I prompt her. “Or Sleepless in Seattle… When Harry Met Sally…”

“I don’t mind,” says Jess at last, looking up. “You choose.”

“You must have a favorite!”

“These aren’t really my kind of thing,” says Jess, with a little grimace. “I prefer something a bit more heavyweight.”

“Oh,” I say. “Oh, right. Well… I can go and get a different video from the rental shop if you like! It won’t take me five minutes. Tell me what you’d like to watch—”

“It’s OK. I don’t want to put you out.” She shrugs. “Let’s just watch one of these.”

“Don’t be silly!” I say with a laugh. “Not if you don’t like any of them! We can do… something else! No problem!”

I smile at Jess, but inside I’m a bit disquieted. I don’t quite know what else to suggest. My backup plan was the Dancing Queen karaoke tape — but something tells me she won’t want to do that either. Plus we’re not wearing the wigs.

Why is everything so awkward? I thought we’d be laughing hysterically together by now. I thought we’d be having fun.

Oh God. We can’t just sit here in silence all night. I’m going to come clean.

“Look, Jess,” I say, leaning forward. “I want to do whatever you want to do. But you’ll have to guide me. So… be honest. Suppose I hadn’t invited you here for the weekend. What would you be doing right now?”

“Well…” Jess thinks for a moment. “I was supposed to be at an environmental meeting this evening. I’m an activist for a local group. We raise awareness, organize pickets and protest marches… that kind of thing.”

“Well, let’s do that!” I say eagerly. “Let’s organize a picket! It’d be fun! I could make some banners…”

Jess looks nonplussed.

“A picket of what?”

“Er… I don’t mind! Anything. You’re the guest — you choose!”

Jess is just staring at me in disbelief.

“You don’t just organize pickets. You have to start with the issues. With the environmental concerns. They’re not supposed to be fun.”

“OK,” I say hastily. “Let’s forget the picket. How about if you hadn’t been at the meeting? What would you be doing now? And whatever it is… we’ll do it. Together!”

Jess frowns in thought, and I watch her face with hope. And a sudden curiosity. For the first time I feel like I’m actually going to learn something about my sister.

“I’d probably be doing my accounts,” she says at last. “In fact, I brought them with me, in case I had time.”

Her accounts. On a Friday night. Her accounts.

“Right!” I manage at last. “Fab! Well, then… let’s do our accounts!”

OK. This is fine. This is good.

We’re both sitting in the kitchen, doing our accounts. At least, Jess is doing her accounts. I’m not quite sure what I’m doing.

I’ve written Accounts at the top of a sheet of paper and underlined it twice.

Every so often Jess glances up, and I quickly scribble something down, just to look like I’m into it. So far my page reads:

20 pounds… budget… 200 million pounds… Hello, my name is Becky…

Jess is frowning over a pile of what look like bank statements, leafing backwards and forwards and consulting a small bankbook.

“Is something wrong?” I say sympathetically.

“I’m just tracking down a bit of lost money,” she says. “Maybe it’s in one of my other cashbooks.” She gets up. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

As she leaves the kitchen I take a sip of champagne and glance toward the pile of bank statements.

Obviously I’m not going to look at them or anything. They’re Jess’s private property and I respect that. It’s none of my business. None at all. The only thing is, my leg is feeling itchy. It genuinely is. I lean over to scratch it… then casually lean a bit farther… and a bit more… until I can glimpse the bottom figure on the top statement.

£30,002.

I hastily sit up again, nearly knocking over my champagne glass. Thirty thousand pounds? Thirty thousand pounds?

That’s a bigger overdraft than I’ve ever had. Ever!

Now it’s all starting to make sense. It’s falling into place. No wonder she makes her own weights. No wonder she takes her coffee flask everywhere. She’s probably on an economy drive, just like I went on once. She’s probably read Controlling Your Cash by David E. Barton!

God, who would have thought it?

As Jess comes back into the room, I can’t help looking at her with new eyes. She picks up one of her bank statements and sighs heavily — and I feel a sudden wave of affection for her. How many times have I picked up a bank statement and sighed? We’re kindred spirits!

She’s perusing the figures, still looking hassled. Well, no wonder, with a whopping great overdraft like that!

“Hi,” I say, with an understanding smile. “Still trying to track down that bit of money?”

“It must be here somewhere.” She frowns and turns to another statement.

God, maybe the bank’s about to foreclose on her or something. I should give her a few tips.

I lean forward confidingly.

“Banks are a nightmare, aren’t they?”

“They’re useless,” she replies, nodding.

“I sometimes wonder why they give people overdrafts if they’re going to be so unsympathetic…”

“I don’t have an overdraft,” she says, looking puzzled.

“But—”

I stop as her words hit my brain. She doesn’t have an overdraft. Which means—

I feel a bit faint.

That thirty thousand pounds is actual…

It’s actual money?

“Becky, are you OK?” Jess gives me an odd look.

“I’m… fine!” I say in a strangled voice and take several gulps of my champagne, trying to regain my cool. “So… you’re not overdrawn. That’s good! That’s great!”

“I’ve never been overdrawn in my life,” Jess says firmly. “I just don’t think it’s necessary. Anyone can stay within their means if they really want to. People who get into debt just lack self-control. There’s no excuse.” She begins to straighten her papers, then stops. “But you used to be a financial journalist, didn’t you? Your mum showed me some of your articles. So you must know all this.”

Her hazel eyes meet mine expectantly and I feel a ridiculous tweak of anxiety. I’m suddenly not sure I want her to know the truth about my finances. Not the exact truth.

“I… er… absolutely!” I say. “Of course I do. It’s all a question of… of planning ahead and careful management.”

“Exactly!” says Jess with approval. “When any money comes in, the first thing I do is put half aside to save.”

Half? Even my dad doesn’t save that much.

“Excellent!” I manage. “It’s the only sensible option.”

I’m in total shock. When I was a financial journalist, I used to write articles telling people to save a percentage of their money all the time. But I never thought anyone would actually save half.

Jess is looking at me with a fresh interest and maybe even affection.

“So… you do the same, do you, Becky?”

For a few seconds I can’t quite formulate a response.

“Er… well!” I say at last, and clear my throat. “Maybe not exactly half every month…”

“I’m just the same.” Her face relaxes into a smile. “Sometimes I only manage twenty percent.”

“Twenty percent!” I echo feebly. “Well… never mind. You shouldn’t feel bad.”

“But I do,” says Jess, leaning forward across the table. “You must understand that.”

I’ve never seen her face look so open.

Oh my God. We’re bonding.

“Twenty percent of what?” comes Luke’s voice as he and Gary enter the kitchen, both looking in good spirits.

Maybe now is the time to move the conversation on.

“Er… nothing!” I say.

“We’re just talking about finances,” says Jess to Luke. “We’ve both been doing our accounts.”

“Your accounts?” says Luke, giving a small shout of laughter. “What accounts would those be, Becky?”

“You know!” I say brightly. “My financial affairs and so forth.”

“Ah.” Luke nods, pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge. “So… have you called out the SWAT teams yet? And the Red Cross?”

“What do you mean?” says Jess, puzzled.

“They’re traditionally summoned to disaster areas, aren’t they?” He grins at me.

“So!” I say quickly, trying to change the subject. “Did anyone… er… see EastEnders last night?”

No one seems to hear me.

“But Becky was a financial journalist!” says Jess, sounding disconcerted.

“Financial journalist?” Luke looks highly amused. “You want to hear a story about your sister’s days as a financial journalist?”

“No,” I put in. “She doesn’t.”

“The cashpoint card,” says Gary, reminiscing.

“The cashpoint card!” Luke slaps the table in delight. “This was during Becky’s illustrious career as a TV finance expert,” he says to Jess. “She was filming an item on the perils of cashpoint use. She put in her own cashpoint card to demonstrate…” He starts laughing again. “And it got swallowed on camera.”

“They showed that the other night on a TV clips show,” says Gary to me. “The bit where you start bashing the machine with your shoe is a classic!”

OK, he is off my Christmas card list.

“But why did it get swallowed?” says Jess, looking perplexed. “Were you… overdrawn?”

“Was Becky overdrawn?” Luke says cheerfully, getting out some glasses. “Is the Pope Catholic?”

Jess looks confused.

“But, Becky, you said you saved half your salary every month.”

Shit.

“I’m sorry?” Luke slowly turns round. “Becky said she did what?”

“That’s… that’s not exactly what I said,” I say, flustered. “I said it’s a good idea to save half your salary. In principle. And… it is! It’s a very good idea!”

“How about not running up huge credit card bills which you keep secret from your husband?” says Luke. “Is that a good idea in principle?”

“Credit card bills?” says Jess, looking at me in horror. “So… you’re in debt?”

God, why does she have to say it like that? Debt. Like it’s some kind of plague. Like I’m about to go to the workhouse. This is the twenty-first century. Everyone’s in debt.

“You know how doctors make the worst patients?” I say with a little laugh. “Well, financial journalists make the worst… er…”

I wait for her to laugh too, or at least give a sympathetic smile. But she just looks appalled.

This whole exchange is beginning to rankle. OK, so I may have had the odd debt in my time. But she doesn’t have to look so disapproving.

“By the way, Jess,” says Gary. “We’ve run into a tiny glitch with that program.”

“Really?” Jess looks up. “I’ll come and have a look if you like.”

“Are you sure?” Gary glances at me. “We don’t want to interrupt your evening… ”

“It’s fine,” I say, waving my hand. “Go ahead!”

When they’ve all disappeared into the study I wander along the corridor and into the sitting room. I slump down on the sofa and stare miserably at the blank television.

Jess and I haven’t bonded one bit.

We don’t get on. That’s the truth.

Suddenly I’m weary with disappointment. I’ve been trying so hard ever since she arrived. I’ve been making every effort. I bought the picture of the cave… and I prepared all those yummy snacks… and I tried to plan the best evening I could. And she hasn’t even tried to join in. OK, so maybe she didn’t like any of my films. But she could have pretended, couldn’t she? If it was me, I would have pretended.

Why does she have to be such a misery? Why can’t she just have fun?

As I gulp my champagne, resentment is growing inside me.

How can she hate shopping? How? She’s got thirty thousand pounds, for God’s sake! She should adore shopping! And another thing — why is she so obsessed with potatoes? What’s so great about bloody potatoes?

I just don’t understand her. She’s my sister, but I don’t understand one single thing about her. Luke was right all along. It is all nurture. Nature doesn’t come into it.

I start dejectedly leafing through the videos. Maybe I’ll watch one of them on my own. And have some popcorn. And some of those yummy Thorntons chocolates.

Jess probably doesn’t even eat chocolate. Unless it’s chocolate she’s made herself, out of potatoes.

Well, good for her. I’m going to stuff my face and watch a nice movie.

I’m just reaching for Pretty Woman when the phone rings.

“Hello?” I say, picking up.

“Hello, Bex?” comes a familiar high-pitched voice. “It’s me.”

“Suze!” I feel a huge rush of joy. “Oh my God! Hi! How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine! Are you OK?”

“I’m fine! I’m fine!”

Suddenly with all my heart I wish Suze were here. Like the old days in Fulham. I miss her so much. So much.

“So, how was the spa with Lulu?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

“It was… fine,” she says after a pause. “You know. Kind of… a bit different… but fun!”

“Good!”

There’s an awkward silence.

“And… and I was wondering how it’s all going with your new sister,” Suze says hesitantly. “Are you… are you really good friends?”

I can’t admit the truth to Suze. I just can’t admit the whole thing’s been a failure. That she goes on spa trips with her new friend, but I can’t even manage one evening with my own sister.

“It’s great!” I say. “Couldn’t be better! We’re getting on so well!”

“Really?” says Suze, sounding a bit crushed.

“Absolutely! In fact, we’re having a girls’ night in together right now! Watching movies… having a laugh… just hanging out. You know!”

“What are you watching?” says Suze at once.

“Er…” I look at the blank TV screen. “Pretty Woman.”

“I love Pretty Woman,” Suze says longingly. “The scene in the shop!”

“I know! That is just the best scene ever!”

“And the end, when Richard Gere climbs up!” Her voice is tumbling out with enthusiasm. “Oh God, I want to watch it right now!”

“Me too!” I say without thinking. “I mean… I want to watch the… er… rest of it.”

“Oh,” Suze says in a different voice. “I must be interrupting you. Sorry.”

“No!” I say quickly. “I mean, it doesn’t matter—”

“I’ll go. You must want to get back to your sister. It sounds like you’re having an amazing time.” Her voice is wistful. “You two must have so much to talk about.”

“Yes,” I say, looking round the empty room. “Yes, we… we certainly do!”

“Well… I’ll see you sometime,” she says. “Bye, Bex.”

“Bye!” I say, my throat suddenly thick.

Wait! I want to cry out. Don’t go!

But instead I put down the receiver and stare into space. At the other end of the flat I can hear Luke, Gary, and Jess all laughing about something. They’ve bonded with her great. It’s just me who hasn’t.

And I had such huge hopes. I was so excited about having a sister. But I’ve done everything I can think of, and it’s all failed. Jess and I are never going to be friends. Not in a million years.

WEST CUMBRIA BANK

45 STERNDALE STREET

COGGENTHWAITE

CUMBRIA

Ms Jessica Bertram

12 Hill Rise

Scully

Cumbria CA19 1BD

16 May 2003

Dear Ms Bertram:

Thank you for your letter.

Having gone through your accounts in great detail I can only concur that there is a discrepancy of 73 pence.

I am deeply sorry for this error by the bank and have credited your savings account by this amount, back-dated three months. I have also, as you request, added the missing interest.

May I take this opportunity to commend you yet again on your meticulous and thoughtful approach to your finances.

On a personal note, I look forward to seeing you at the upcoming Prudent Savers’ Group cheese and wine evening, at which our head of personal accounts will be giving the keynote address “Retightening the Purse Strings.”

Yours sincerely,

Howard Shawcross

Customer Account Manager