Page 66 of Midnight in Paris

Two months into her tenancy, one Sunday morning she heard the buzz of the intercom. Her first instinct was to ignore it – it would only be someone trying to sell something, or a delivery she’d forgotten she’d arranged. They could leave whatever it was downstairs.

But then someone – perhaps a disgruntled neighbour – buzzed the person in and whoever it was knocked directly on her front door.

Sophie looked at the clock. It was only 9a.m. on a Saturday. Probably a delivery, she thought, pulling on her dressing gown and staggering to the door. Opening it into the fresh spring morning she found, rather than a delivery person clutchingsomething from an online retailer, her sister standing there, under-eyes smudged with mascara, wearing a dress that looked like something you’d wear to a nightclub. Which she almost certainly had.

‘Sam!’ she said, surprised, wrapping her robe more tightly around her.

‘Sorry – did I wake you up?’

‘Not really. I was just being lazy. Come in.’

She led her sister to the sofa and Sam collapsed onto it gratefully. ‘I’m bloody knackered,’ she declared.

‘Coffee?’

‘You know it.’

Sophie switched on the kettle in the kitchen then made it back to the living room as it boiled. ‘So?’ she said.

‘What?’

‘What are you doing here? Not that you’re unwelcome. It’s great to see you. But I get the sneaking suspicion this isn’t a planned visit,’ she said, looking pointedly at her sister’s attire.

‘Whatever gives you that impression?’

Sophie shook her head. ‘Just a hunch.’

The two sisters grinned at each other then. ‘Ah, yeah. You got me,’ Sam said. ‘I was at a thing last night.’

‘In Cambridge?’

‘In London. And I met someone – before I knew it, I was on the train to Cambridge – it only takes an hour, you know? He lives here. Ian. The bloke, I mean.’

‘So let me get this straight,’ Sophie said, standing up as she heard the kettle switch itself off. ‘You’ve run out of men in London so now you’re moving on to the next city?’

‘Sophie!’ Sam lunged at her, ostensibly to give her a slap.

She laughed, running to the kitchen before Sam could reach her.

Coming back with coffee, she sat down opposite the baby sister who was no longer a baby but a fully-fledged woman in her twenties with a proper job and her own bedsit in London. ‘So,’ she said. ‘Tell me about him.’

Later, once Sam had showered and borrowed some clothes more appropriate for daywear, they walked out in the early spring sunshine, making their way to The Anchor for a pub lunch. ‘I can’t believe you still go there,’ Sam said. ‘Doesn’t it feel weird, after you worked there for all that time during uni?’

Sophie shook her head. ‘No one recognises me; think most of the staff have changed. Besides, they do the best meals.’

An hour later, they were stuffed. Sitting opposite each other at a mahogany table, sipping after-lunch coffee and laughing about something their mum had said about their dad. ‘Honestly, every time she rings now, she’s relaying this stuff about his health,’ Sam said. ‘Last week we had a twenty-minute conversation about piles and I’m not kidding, I could not sleep for about two nights!’

‘Gross!’ Sophie laughed. ‘She tends to talk to me about other stuff, luckily.’

‘I think she shies away from health topics where you’re concerned.’

This brought them both back down to earth. ‘Sorry,’ Sam said.

‘Don’t be silly. It is what it is,’ Sophie said, acknowledging the awkward sadness that had muffled them both. ‘It gets easier, apparently.’

‘Didn’t mean to put my foot in it.’

‘Or Dad’s arse?’

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