Page 28 of A Touch of Magic at the Comfort Food Café
‘Surprise, it’s me!’ my sister says instead. ‘You’ve not returned my calls, and I had a sneaking suspicion that if you saw my name pop up you might not be as quick to answer…’
Damn her. She’s right. I love my sister dearly, but we are very different people. She’s always been so confident and outgoing, and she loves to talk. Literally for ages, about absolutely nothing. She started working part-time when the twins were born, and really should consider going back to longer hours now– she has way too much time to fill. She’s called several times since I moved, which would be nice if it was to hear my news, but it’s actually been to talk about her own life, to moan about the world, and to complain incessantly about the demands of organising the twins’ birthday party.
‘Sally, what a terrible thing to say!’ I reply. ‘Even if it is true… Sorry, I’ve been busy.’
‘Doing what?’ she asks, and I hear the sound of glasses in the background. I smile as I picture her in her kitchen, grabbing a wine glass and pouring a Malbec. Sally has never cared much for what she’s supposed to do, yet another trait that is both infuriating and admirable.
‘Oh, you know… work, making friends, being wooed.’
‘Work, I believe. But making friends? Being wooed?’ she says, sounding comedically shocked. ‘That doesn’t sound like you at all! Are you making this up?’
It’s slightly annoying that she immediately asks that, assuming that I’m incapable of change. She is probably right, but still. I could fill her in on the café, on the ladies I’ve met, on Aidan, but I really can’t be bothered. I will tell her everything when we see each other, or the next time we are alone together. For now, it’s easier to just go along with her.
‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘You know me. Solitary bee all the way.’
‘I do. Anyway, I needed to talk to you about the party…’
I grimace. Of course she does. I listen for the next fifteen minutes as she discusses catering, a problem with the DJ, and the fact that she’s hired both a photo booth and a photographer for the night. I let it roll over me in a blur of words, sitting on a chair and admiring my sunflowers as she talks.
This party has taken on a life of its own, and I think in some ways it is as much for her as the girls, as well as their friends. It sounds like all of Sally’s pals are coming, plus extended family on both sides. I understand that, I really do– she’s the one who birthed them, and raising twins is not easy. Them turning eighteen is significant to Sally as well, and I can understand why she’s gone all in with it– it’s a celebration for parents too. I just wish she hadn’t turned into Partyzilla, raging on about the smallest of issues, currently griping about the ever-expanding guest list.
‘At least I know you won’t be causing me trouble, sis. You won’t be making special requests for seating arrangements, or insisting on vegan canapés, or asking to bring a plus one.’
Good old reliable me, I think, never any trouble. What a trooper Sarah Wallis is. Quietly divorced with no fuss. Always available for babysitting. Working from home like a dependable little drone. Doesn’t even mention her bloody stalker, for goodness’ sake. I take up practically no space at all, especially compared to Sally’s expansive life of kids, hubby, career, lunches, skiing trips and a million and one petty dramas. That’s the dynamic that has always existed between us, and I’ve been happy to take the back seat. But suddenly, I feel a flash of annoyance.
‘Why’, I ask, reaching out to stroke the velvety-soft petals of the flowers, ‘would you assume that I won’t be bringing a plus one?’
I hear the wine being glugged, and then she says: ‘Well, because you live like a nun, babe. Let’s be honest, you didn’t exactly set the dating world alight when you lived in London, did you? So I can’t imagine it’s much different in deepest darkest Dorset. Do they even have men under eighty there?’
It’s not Sally’s fault that she doesn’t know about Martin/Scott, obviously. It’s mine for not telling her. She probably would have been super supportive, and knowing her, offered to go round and put his windows in. But there is a reason I didn’t tell her, and it’s only partly to do with my own sense of shame and humiliation. It’s also to do with the fact that she always does this: reduces my life and what happens to me to a one-sentence summary that feels incredibly dismissive. She’s always overshadowed me, and that is something I came to terms with long ago. In fact I even welcomed it, because it meant nobody paid me much attention at all.
But really, here we are, almost fifty– and she still doesn’t seem to see me as a fully formed human being. I’m still just her lame little (by twenty minutes) sister.
‘Actually, I do want to bring a plus one,’ I say assertively. You have to really push to make Sally hear you. I fight the urge to add, ‘If that’s okay with you?’
I’ve played a big part in Lucy and Libby’s lives. I’ve been a good aunt. I’ve loved them, nurtured them, taken them on trips, showered them with gifts, looked after them when their parents went away for romantic weekends. I’ve even gone and given a talk to their English class, the memory of which still makes me cringe. I’ve listened to countless complaints from Sally, and provided a spare room when she’s had huge rows with Ollie. I’ve basically always been there, a supporting actress, always on hand, waiting in the wings until I was needed. Why the hell wouldn’t I deserve to bring a plus one to the bloody party?
A pause, and then: ‘Right. Well, I suppose I can make that happen, Sarah… but really, couldn’t you have warned me earlier? It’s very inconsiderate to drop that one on me so late in the day.’
She sounds irritated, and so am I. But I also know that one of the reasons she is irritated is because she is stressed. The party is her camouflage, but I suspect things aren’t great with her and Ollie. She’s actually barely mentioned him recently, which is a sign; she usually relentlessly lists the things he’s done to piss her off, then laughs and says something like ‘but hey, I still love him, the old goat!’
Add to that the fact that our parents will stay with her while they’re in town, and that never improves anybody’s stress levels. She gets on with them better than I do, but it will be one of her concerns. Sally has her anxieties too. She’s just much better at hiding them than I am.
I take a deep breath, determined not to let it escalate, and reply: ‘Well, let me know. Look, I need to go. Work calls.’
‘Of course. Speak soon. Love you.’
I hang up, and wonder why I just did that. Why did I deliberately cause a problem where one needn’t have existed? I suppose it was the result of a lifetime of her taking me for granted and assuming she knows everything about me. I’ve not been in my new home for long, but I already feel like the people here know me in a completely different way from my sister. Maybe I’m starting to see myself through their eyes and liking what I see.
The only problem now is that I need to find a plus one… and that will come with its own set of complications.
Chapter Eleven
Iam sitting in a clearing in the woods around Aidan’s home, on a picnic blanket, sipping coffee from a flask. He is lounging at my side, gazing up at the trees above us. Sunlight is filtering through the green-and-brown canopy, dappling earth that is heavy with fallen leaves, twines of flowering ivy curling around solid trunks. We are surrounded by the colours of nature– rich autumnal golds, vibrant deep reds, the whites and creams of mushrooms and wild clematis. The air is fragrant with the smell of it all, the melodic twitter of birdcall our soundtrack.
It could be any normal picnic in the woods if not for the fact that we are currently being stalked by wolves. Juno is with us, happily alternating between running around with her pack-mates, and depositing herself in a panting ball of fur by our side. She’s very interested in the picnic basket in front of us, but is well enough trained not to simply attack it.
‘Laura’s dog ate a whole tray of paninis the other day,’ I tell him.
