Summer With My Sister (15 page)

Sissy was yapping around her ankles and Polly fought the desire to kick out at the little mutt with her high-heeled sandals. She pressed her mouth tight shut so that she couldn’t say anything she might regret.

In the kitchen a buffet lunch had been laid out on the table: sandwiches, sausage rolls, a tube of Pringles, and some home-made flapjacks with nubby pieces of glacé cherry. Polly blanched at the sight. She’d hardly eaten lately; the stress had taken her appetite, along with everything else. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said faintly, sitting down.

She hadn’t grown up in this house – they’d lived a couple of streets away in a larger, semi-detached house with a swing in the back garden and guinea pigs in hutches. She and Clare had shared a room, whereas Michael had a smaller box room to himself. There had been much arguing and door-slamming it’s-not-FAIR about the room arrangements, she recalled. She and Clare had physically come to blows on more than one occasion, largely due to Clare borrowing Polly’s stuff without asking. She could still remember the fury she’d felt when Clare and her friends had helped themselves to her Coral Queen nail varnish, then spilled the rest all over her dressing table. ‘It was an ACCIDENT,’ Clare had roared, hands on her hips, as if that had made it any better.

She shut her eyes, not wanting to dredge up old memories. She’d rather leave the past firmly silted away beneath the now.

‘Tired, love?’ her dad asked, clapping her on the shoulder. ‘Exhausting business, moving. Mind you, sounds like you’ve worn yourself out full stop lately, all your hard work.’

‘Mmm,’ Polly said, not meeting him in the eye. ‘I have been putting in some long days, I suppose. But that’s how it is in the City, Dad.’ An image flashed into her mind of her stretched out on the leather sofa in her dressing gown, glued to
Bargain Hunt
, and she felt a twist of guilt in the pit of her stomach.

‘Now don’t hold back,’ Karen said, as she set a steaming cup of tea in front of Polly. ‘You tuck in. Have a spot of lunch, and then you can unpack.’

Polly nibbled a ham sandwich and tried to look grateful. But oh, the cut and thrust of Waterman’s seemed far, far away now. The gleaming towers, the corridors of power, her swivel chair, her desk, her phone . . . She missed them as one did an old boyfriend, seeing only the romance and high points, forgetting the negatives and bad habits.

She chewed mechanically, barely tasting her sandwich as she wondered how on earth she was going to keep up this facade for three long months.
Whatever does not kill me makes me stronger
, she reminded herself. Although at that moment, she couldn’t ever remember feeling so utterly weak.

‘Hello Polly.’

Polly gulped. ‘Clare, hi, how are you?’ she said, mentally pulling a veil down over her face so as not to betray any emotion. Her hands shook as she and her sister embraced without warmth, touching each other for the briefest possible moment. She’d been dreading this.

She forced a smile at the children, trying not to appear too dismayed by how unkempt they both looked, Leila with her thick blonde hair tangled and falling loose from wonky bunches, Alex’s school trousers about an inch too short and his shirt hanging out. Good grief. Hello kids, how are you? How’s school?’

Leila gazed up through long eyelashes. ‘All right,’ she said politely, just as Alex replied, ‘Boring’ and scuffed at the floor with his shoe. This was immediately followed by, ‘Have you made any cookies today, Grandma?’ with considerably more interest in his voice.

Karen smiled fondly. ‘I might just have baked a few,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we all go into the kitchen and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.’

Polly sighed inwardly. Another ‘nice cup of tea’. She was onto her fourth, and she’d only been in the bungalow three hours. Her dad had helped her heave all the boxes into the spare room and there was barely space there now to turn around. The single bed had been made with the same Snoopy duvet she’d had as a child – a far cry from her luxury king-size in London. She was surprised her mum hadn’t left out some of her old Care Bears just to rub it in.

Back in the kitchen, she felt Clare’s cool blue eyes hard on her. ‘So what’s this research all about then?’ she asked.

Polly flinched, not liking her sister’s sneering tone. ‘It’s quite complicated,’ she replied crushingly, ‘although if you’re really interested, I’m going to be looking at the impact of some new risk legislation on the company, in particular market risk assessment.’ It was complete nonsense – there
was
no new risk legislation that needed investigating as far as she’d heard, but Clare wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Blind her with science. ‘And of course I’ll be focusing on our insurance strategy, bearing in mind the emerging market trends.’ Her meaningless twaddle had served its purpose. Clare was staring blankly, as if Polly had just spoken in tongues. Ha.

‘Well, that makes absolutely no sense to me whatsoever, but it sounds utterly riveting,’ Clare replied drily. ‘Great fun. I’ll look forward to perusing your report when you’ve finished.’

Polly was almost one hundred per cent sure her sister was taking the piss out of her, but felt herself flinch at the idea all the same. God. She would actually have to cobble some old crap together, she decided, just so that her cover story remained convincing. ‘I’m afraid it’s confidential at the moment,’ she said brusquely. Up yours, Clare.

Clare pulled a face. ‘Shame. I could have done with some light bedtime reading. Sounds right up my street.’

‘Girls, don’t start bickering,’ Karen said automatically, putting the teapot on the table and pouring squash for the children. ‘There. Isn’t this nice?’

Nobody answered immediately. Leila and Alex were too busy stuffing cookies into their mouths, spraying crumbs everywhere as they chomped. Apart from their revolting scoffing noises, there was a tense silence and Polly realized she was digging her fingernails into her own palm. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ she managed to say tightly.

‘Lovely,’ said Clare with a meaningful look at Graham. He smirked back at her.

Polly scowled. Oh, right. Like that, was it? Clare had always been Daddy’s girl. She had the feeling that new battle lines were being drawn up, and tensed her body accordingly. If Clare wanted to start scoring points, then Polly would be ready to fight her corner.

Polly was surprised at how well she slept that night. As soon as her head touched the Snoopy pillowcase, she was out like a light, plunging into fathomless depths of sleep. Over the last few weeks she’d dozed fitfully, plagued by nightmares about debt and unemployment. Coming here felt as if she’d temporarily escaped such demons; she’d stepped into a safety chamber to which they had no access. After nine solid hours of slumber she was woken at eight o’clock by what sounded like rain thrumming against the wall, and rolled over dreamily flinging her arms out, only to almost topple straight out of bed. She clutched at the padded blue headboard to stop herself, fully awake now, heart jumping in panic.

Oh yes. Single bed. Snoopy duvet. Pink floral wallpaper. And that sound of pattering water was presumably somebody in the shower, just on the other side of the wall.

She sat up and stretched. It was strange waking up knowing that there were other people within the same four walls. Sure, she’d lived in an apartment block where there were other flats in the building, with other inhabitants living above and below her, but the walls had been so thick and soundproof she’d never heard anyone else.

Here, on the other hand . . . She groaned as she heard her dad begin singing ‘Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my DARLING Clementine’ through the wall. Here, it was going to be cheek by jowl. Literally, she thought, recoiling from the wall, trying not to visualize her dad’s bare bum-cheek separated from her face by just two inches of plaster and tiling. Ewww.

‘Needs must’ was becoming her most loathed expression.

Her parents were both retired and Polly was surprised to see them up so early in the morning. She’d envisaged being the sole early riser, breakfasting alone and then plugging into her so-called work while they lounged in bed. What did pensioners have to get up for anyway?

‘So, what are you two doing today?’ she asked over her plate of poached eggs, bacon and toast. Mmm. She’d forgotten how good her mum’s cooking was. ‘Do you usually potter about at home, or . . . ?’ She didn’t know, she realized with a jolt. She had no idea what her parents did all day, every day. It had never crossed her mind to ask.

They looked amused at the question. ‘Well, your dad’s playing golf with the lads this morning and I’m helping out at the playgroup,’ Karen told her. ‘I got into the habit when Clare’s two were there, and I still pop in a few mornings every week to lend a hand.’

‘Oh,’ Polly said. ‘So you’ll be out all morning, will you?’

‘Yes, until midday,’ her mum replied. ‘Then I’m having lunch with Jean – remember Jean Garland? After that, housework and
The Archers
, then I’m meeting some of the girls in Amberley for coffee.’

‘Oh,’ Polly said again. She felt rather taken aback that her parents had such busy social lives, with ‘the lads’ and ‘the girls’ to hang out with.

‘Then I’ll do us all some tea – I’ve got chops for tonight – before I go out to my Bums-and-Tums class. Come along if you want. It’s quite a giggle.’

Graham snorted. ‘Get away, you daft woman, she’d be the only one under sixty if she goes there with you,’ he said, rolling his eyes comically at Polly. ‘She’s got better things to do than hang out with a load of creaky grannies, right, love? She’s probably dying to see some of her old mates, not yours.’

Karen cuffed him. ‘Less of the “creaky grannies”, thank you very much,’ she retorted. ‘Ignore your rude old father,’ she went on to Polly. ‘The offer’s there, although I suppose he might be right for once in his life, and it would be more fun for you to catch up with your friends. I’ll tell Jean you’re back – I expect Jacky’d love to see you again.’

Polly tried to keep back her shudder. Spend an evening with boring, plump Jacky Garland, who’d had braces on her teeth for most of the secondary school years, and who’d left school at sixteen to sweep hair clippings at A Cut Above in Amberley? Digging her own grave would be more ‘fun’. ‘Maybe,’ she said, swigging the last of her coffee. ‘Thanks,’ she said, getting up from the table. ‘Right, I’d better have a quick shower and crack on then.’

She was about to leave the room when her dad gave a theatrical-sounding cough. She turned questioningly.

‘Your plate,’ he said, indicating it with his head. ‘Don’t forget to put it in the dishwasher.’

Polly flushed and made to go back for it, but her mum rounded on him. ‘Don’t nag her, Graham, she’s our guest,’ she said. ‘I’ll sort that out when I’ve finished mine.’

‘I don’t think it’s much to ask, for her to put her own plate in the dishwasher,’ he replied as if Polly wasn’t standing right there. He turned back to Polly. ‘Many hands make light work, eh, Poll? Your mum’s already got enough to do, looking after me.’

Karen elbowed him. ‘Keep bossing us around and I might decide to
stop
looking after you,’ she warned. ‘Leave it, Polly, I’ll do it.’

Polly could feel Graham’s eyes on her, though, and daren’t walk away from her breakfast things. She picked them up and stacked them in the dishwasher, then stalked out, cheeks flaming. Oh God. Told off by her dad already: the man who’d happily sat with his feet up for forty years, never lifting a finger while his wife fussed around him, fetching and carrying all his plates and cups. What had got into him?