Shopaholic and Sister (Shopaholic #4)

Shopaholic and Sister (Shopaholic #4) Page 78

May we suggest that you appear instead on our upcoming show “My Sister Is a Bitch!!!” Please give me a call if this idea appeals to you.

Very best wishes,

Kayleigh Stuart

Assistant Producer

(mobile: 077878 3456789)

FINERMAN WALLSTEIN

Attorneys-at-Law

Finerman House

1398 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10105

Mrs. Rebecca Brandon

37 Maida Vale Mansions

Maida Vale

London NW6 0YF

May 27, 2003

Dear Mrs. Brandon:

Thank you for your message. I have altered your will according to your instructions. Clause 5, section (f) now reads:

“And nothing at all to Jess, since she’s so mean. And anyway, she’s got heaps of money.”

With kind regards,

Jane Cardozo

Fifteen

I DON’T CARE. Who needs a sister? Not me.

I never wanted one in the first place. I never asked for one. I’m fine on my own.

And anyway, I’m not on my own. I’ve got a strong and loving marriage. I don’t need some crummy sister!

“Stupid sister,” I say aloud, wrenching the lid off a pot of jam. It’s nearly two weeks since Jess left. Luke’s got a late meeting in town, and Mum and Dad are coming over on their way to the airport, so I’m making breakfast for everyone.

“Sorry?” says Luke, coming into the kitchen. He looks pale and tense, as he has for the last few days. The Arcodas Group are making their decision about the pitch and now all he can do is wait. And Luke’s not that good at waiting. Plus, he’s stressing about this pitch more than usual, because it’s the first mainstream account he’s gone for. I heard him talking to Gary on the phone last night, saying if they didn’t get it, what kind of message would it send out?

The trouble with Luke is, he always has to succeed straightaway. Maybe I should tell him the story about the plucky little spider trying to build its web over and over again.

On second thought, maybe not.

“I was just thinking about Jess,” I say. “You were absolutely right about her. We were never going to get on in a million years! I’ve never met such a misery-guts!”

“Mmm,” says Luke absently, pouring himself some orange juice.

He could be a little more supportive.

“Next time I’ll take your advice,” I say, trying to engage his attention. “I should never even have invited her here. I can’t believe we’re actually supposed to be related!”

“I thought she was all right in the end,” says Luke. “But I can see why you two wouldn’t get on.”

He wasn’t supposed to say “I thought she was all right.” He was supposed to say “What a total bitch, I can’t believe you put up with her for even a minute!”

“Becky… what are you doing?” Luke’s gaze lands on the crumbs and plastic packaging littering the granite work-top.

“Making waffles!”

And that just proves another thing. Jess was totally wrong. I’ve used the waffle-maker practically every day. So there! I almost wish she were here to see it.

The only tiny thing is, I’m not very good at making the mixture. So my method is: buy ready-made waffles, cut them into heart shapes, and put them in the waffle-maker to heat up.

But what’s wrong with that? I’m using it, aren’t I? We’re eating waffles, aren’t we?

“Waffles… again?” says Luke, with the tiniest of grimaces. “I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Oh,” I say, discomfited. “Well, how about some toast? Or eggs? Or… muffins?”

“I’m fine on coffee.”

“But you have to have something!” I say, regarding him with sudden alarm. He’s definitely gotten thinner, worrying about this pitch. I need to feed him up.

“I’ll make you some pancakes!” I say eagerly. “Or an omelette!”

“Becky, leave it!” he snaps. “I’m fine.” He strides out of the kitchen, snapping open his mobile phone. “Any news?” I hear him say before the study door closes.

I look down at the broken waffle in my hand, trying to keep my spirits up.

I know Luke’s really tense about work. And that’s probably why he’s being a bit short-tempered with me at the moment. It doesn’t mean there’s any bigger problem or anything.

But deep down inside, I keep remembering what I heard him say to Jess that night. That he finds it difficult to live with me. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it for the last two weeks, trying to make sense of it.

How can I be difficult to live with? I mean… what do I do wrong?