Summer With My Sister (25 page)

Clare managed a smile. ‘Well, it is me. Just about. A demented version of me, who’s desperate to get out of the house and away from my house-guest, that’s all.’ She shook her head. ‘She is driving me MENTAL.’

Roxie, who was wearing her hair in Princess Leia-style coiled buns over her ears and sporting a lime-green short-sleeved blouse with silver heart-shaped buttons, and a hot-pink frayed denim miniskirt, looked amused. ‘What happened? She hasn’t found out you flogged her daft presents on eBay, has she?’

‘No, and if you ever meet her, you mustn’t tell her,’ Clare said. ‘She’s just got no idea about living with someone, that’s all. She’s worse than a bloody man! She never tidies up after herself, she spends hours in the bathroom every morning when we’re trying to get ready for school, she doesn’t lift a finger to help, and she’s practically colonized the kitchen with her so-called “work”.’ She made little quotation marks in the air with her fingers and snorted. ‘Although I caught her watching Jeremy Kyle when I came back with the shopping yesterday morning, so she’s not exactly pressing her nose to the grindstone.’

‘LOVE Jeremy Kyle,’ Roxie murmured, rather inappropriately.

‘The irony is,’ Clare went on, ignoring the interruption, ‘that I was moaning on to her about how crap and lazy Steve used to be around the house, and she was giving me all this sympathy – like, oh, how awful, what a nightmare. And it turns out she’s even
worse
; something I didn’t think was humanly possible!’

‘Morning, Luke,’ Roxie cooed just then, batting her false eyelashes, which were so long they sent a small breeze across the reception counter.

‘Morning,’ Clare mumbled, embarrassed to be caught whinging on so heatedly.

Luke seemed distracted as he went by. ‘Morning.’

Roxie began whistling ‘Always Look on the Bright Side’ rather pointedly, but he took no notice and went into his office. ‘What’s up with him then? Has he got spikes in his undercrackers or something?’ She patted Clare’s arm. ‘Don’t worry, honey. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea and tell you my exciting news. That’ll cheer you up.’

Clare smiled wanly, wondering if Roxie’s exciting news meant sordid tales of an imaginary bunk-up with Jake Gyllenhaal or Orlando Bloom this time. Still, it would be a welcome change to have someone else make her a drink, at least. Polly had only been staying two nights, but already Clare felt as if she was running a café-cum-guest-house. ‘Thanks,’ she said, clicking on the appointment list for that day and answering the phone. ‘Good morning, Amberley Health Centre, can I help you?’

‘So,’ Roxie said without preamble a few minutes later, plonking a steaming mug in front of Clare and perching on her swivel seat once more, ‘the exciting news is . . . I’ve gone and got you some business, hopefully. I know, I’m amazing; I’m the best, you love me. You don’t need to say it, that’s a given.’

‘What do you mean?’ Clare asked, eyes on her computer screen as she typed in a new appointment.

‘I
mean
, my Aunty Kate came to stay with us last night,’ Roxie said, twirling on her chair. ‘Have I ever told you about her?’

‘No,’ Clare said, wondering where on earth this was going. An old lady had come to stand at the counter, her eyes rheumy. ‘Morning, Mrs Atkins, do take a seat,’ Clare said. ‘Dr Copper will be with you in a minute.’ She turned back to Roxie. ‘Who’s Aunty Kate?’

‘She’s a buyer for Langley’s,’ Roxie went on. ‘You know Langley’s, that funky hotel chain?’

‘No,’ Clare confessed. ‘Funnily enough, I haven’t been to any hotels lately, funky or otherwise.’ She scrolled down the list of patients they had booked in for the morning. It was going to be non-stop today, she could tell already.

Roxie ignored her sarcasm. ‘Well, they’re pretty cool. Glamorous, but funky – kind of like vintage meets art school. Anyway, they’re opening a new boutique hotel not far from here, in Lovington. It’s a new direction for them too, this one, according to Aunty Kate: what they’re calling “Home from Home”. The idea is that you feel like you’re staying with a bohemian, ever-so-slightly eccentric mate, not in some bland corporate-clone hotel.’

The phone rang just then and Roxie took the call. Then, as she was hanging up, the other phone rang, so Clare answered. Then three patients came in for their appointments, and the post arrived and had to be signed for.

‘Go on,’ Clare said, when all this had been dealt with. She had absolutely no idea why Roxie was embarking on this anecdote featuring glamorous hotels, but was interested all the same. ‘Don’t tell me,’ she guessed. ‘Your Aunty Kate has offered to put my sister up for a while in one of these lovely hotels, take her off my hands. No – even better, she’s decided to let
me
stay there for a holiday and I’m going to be pampered from top to toe. Am I right?’

‘Not quite,’ Roxie said. ‘But listen. She’s a buyer for the chain, so she’s been in charge of kitting out the new hotel with all its furniture, bed linen, cutlery . . . oh, everything. Can you imagine? Being paid to
shop
, like, as your
job? Well
jeal’. Anyway, because it’s Langley’s, it’s really fun, funky stuff too. Like, the crockery looks kitsch and mismatched, not your bog-standard white IKEA stuff, and . . .’ She caught Clare’s eye and cut to the chase. ‘
So
she’s got to source a load of toiletries too, for the hotel bathrooms.’ She grinned. ‘And that’s where you come in.’

Clare blinked. ‘What?’

‘She’s sourcing a new range of toiletries for the Lovington hotel,’ Roxie repeated patiently. ‘She said she’s after a local company preferably, organic if possible, really high-quality stuff, but a bit different from the norm. So I told her I knew just the person to supply her. You!’

‘ME?’ Clare laughed at the joke, then stopped as she saw the hurt expression on Roxanne’s face. ‘You’re not serious?’

‘DUH! Of course I’m serious!’ Roxie’s eyes were sparkling with excitement beneath their pearlescent aquamarine eyeshadow. ‘Your stuff is lovely. I showed her my perfume (I couldn’t show her the bath bomb you gave me because I’ve already used it and it’s down the plughole), and I think she was impressed. You would be perfect for Langley’s, I reckon – I mean, it’s not super-posh, like terrifying-posh, where the likes of me and you would be scared of using the wrong knives and forks and what-have-you, but quirky and cool, and . . . you know. Nice. Just like you.’

Oh, bless her. Clare couldn’t help feeling touched by her friend’s enthusiasm, but shook her head slowly all the same. ‘That’s really sweet of you, Rox, but honestly, my little business is just a kitchen-table sort of thing. It’s only a bit of fun, for family and mates, it’s not like I’m in it as a serious company, or anything . . .’

The phone was ringing and Roxie snatched it up. ‘Amberley Medical Centre, can you hold for a moment?’ she said politely. She clapped her hand over the receiver and gave Clare a stern look. ‘Well, I think you should give it a go. What have you got to lose?’ And before Clare could formulate a reply, she’d uncovered the phone and was speaking into it once more. ‘Sorry about that. How can I help you?’

After much badgering, Clare finally agreed to think about the idea. ‘Your aunt’s never going to want my stuff she kept telling Roxie weakly, but Roxie wasn’t having any of this defeatist approach.

‘How do
you
know?’ she replied each time in bracing tones. ‘She might! And wouldn’t it be
amazing
if she did?’

‘Yes, but . . .’

‘Look, Clare. This is a really cool opportunity to expand a bit. She’s back next week and has lined up some meetings with other firms. If you could get a few samples together by then – say, a bubble bath, shampoo and soap – and come up with some costs, she’ll listen to your pitch.’

A pitch? Costs? This was sounding more like
Dragons’ Den
by the minute. Clare shook her head. ‘I really don’t think—’

‘No need to decide now. Let me know on Monday,’ Roxie told her airily. She elbowed Clare. ‘And don’t say I never do anything for you.’

‘Thanks, Rox, but—’

Roxie picked up the ringing phone before Clare had a chance to progress the ‘but’ any further, and stuck her tongue out. ‘Amberley Medical Centre, how can I help you?’

Clare clocked off at two-thirty and, by the time she’d driven home, she’d pretty much written off the whole harebrained idea. Roxie was lovely for thinking of her, but really, it was just plain daft to imagine her little home-made toiletries would ever be professional or perfect enough to be stocked by a fancy, upmarket hotel. She wasn’t a businesswoman, end of story. The whole thing was a silly pipe dream that you might indulge yourself in for a few minutes, but nothing more than that.

She returned to discover a sea of mess in the kitchen: papers dumped in haphazard piles on the table amidst empty coffee cups, a plate with sandwich crumbs, a soggy, browning apple core and a Diet Coke can. Polly’s caffeine intake obviously hadn’t fuelled her with any energy for tidying, Clare thought peevishly. No surprises there. There were even – ugh – splats of chicken shit on the floor too, where Polly must have left the back door wide open. Babs and Marjorie loved an excuse to wander into the house, and clearly they’d had some kind of party in here today. Brilliant.

Clare sighed in exasperation. It was not only completely bloody annoying that her sister saw her as some kind of char, it was also deeply hurtful. Clare had actually been really kind, opening her door to Polly and inviting her in. God knows what had got into her. If she knew back then that having Polly to stay was going to result in this kind of chaos, she’d have kept her mouth shut. Why couldn’t Polly show even the slightest hint of gratitude that Clare had put her family life through a complete upheaval to make room for her?

Still, she shouldn’t have really expected anything different. Even when her sister had lost her job, she couldn’t do it quietly like most people – oh no; she had to go the whole hog, had to lose everything spectacularly and cause a gigantic fuss. And, of course, everyone else had to fall in with her wishes, cosset her like some kind of victim. Well, there wasn’t going to be any more cosseting in this house, she thought grimly. Not if her sister kept treating the place like a hotel.

As if on cue, Polly walked in, still wearing her pyjamas. She had no make-up on and didn’t even seem to have brushed her hair. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said, as if surprised to see Clare there in her own kitchen. ‘How was work?’

‘All right,’ Clare said shortly, whistling to Fred, who was dozing under the table. ‘I’m going to walk the dog and get the kids from school,’ she said. ‘Unless you’ve already walked him today?’

Polly looked down at her pyjamas pointedly. ‘Well, no,’ she said. ‘Did you want me to?’

Clare gritted her teeth. ‘Might be helpful now and then if you did,’ she said, trying to keep her voice even. ‘And even more helpful if you could keep the back door shut, to stop the chickens coming in. That lot will need cleaning up before Leila and Alex are home.’

She pointed at the offending dirty protest, and Polly’s mouth dropped open in disgust.

‘Oh, and by the way, I’m going out tonight,’ Clare went on. ‘Meeting a couple of the girls in the pub, if you fancy joining me?’

Polly’s expression said loud and clear that she’d rather chew her own arm off. ‘I’ll pass on that, thanks,’ she mumbled.

‘Okay,’ Clare said. Just as she’d thought. Of course Polly would turn her nose up at going out with Clare and her friends, like she’d always done. ‘Well, I’ll let Mum know there’s no need to bother coming round to babysit then. Save her a trip out, if you’re going to be here anyway. See you later.’

Polly was about to protest, but Clare had already stepped carefully across the floor and was through the door, with Fred lolloping after her. Gotcha. Outside in the warm scented air Clare grinned, relishing the appalled look that had appeared on her sister’s face. Ha. The sooner Polly wised up to the real world, the better for everyone.

That night Clare met Debbie, Tracey, Maria and Jane at their usual table in the King’s Arms. They all knew each other from school except for Jane, who’d married Maria’s brother Neil a mere ten years ago and was therefore still something of a newcomer by Elderchurch standards. Not that you’d ever guess. Jane worked in the post office and knew everything there was to know about everyone. She had a heart-shaped face, curly dark hair, an always-laughing mouth and the most voluptuous cleavage in the village. She was also prone to giving away Chupa Chups lollies to children when they were kicking off in the post-office queue. It was no wonder everyone loved her.