Shopaholic and Sister (Shopaholic #4)

Shopaholic and Sister (Shopaholic #4) Page 44

I keep having visions of our first meeting. We’ll fling our arms round each other, and then she’ll smile at me, brushing away the tears, and I’ll smile back… and we’ll have an instant connection. Like we already know each other and understand each other better than anyone else in the world.

I mean, who knows? Maybe it’ll turn out that we’ll have sisterly psychic powers. Or maybe we’ll be like the twins I read about in Long-Lost Sisters, who were separated at birth but went on to have the same jobs and marry men with the same name.

I’m gripped by this idea. Maybe it’ll turn out that Jessica is a personal shopper, too, and is married to a man called Luke! She’ll turn up in exactly the same Marc Jacobs jacket as me, and we can go on breakfast TV and everyone will say—

Oh, except she’s not a personal shopper, I suddenly remember. She’s training to be a doctor. Doctor of geography.

No. Geology.

But then… didn’t I once think about training to be a doctor? I mean, that can’t be just coincidence.

“And where does she live?” Janice is asking.

“In the North,” says Mum. “A village called Scully. In Cumbria.”

“The North!” says Janice, with as much trepidation as though Mum’s said the North Pole. “That’s a long way to travel! What time does she arrive?”

“Well.” Mum looks at the clock and frowns. “That’s a point. She should have arrived by now. Graham, love, what time does Jess’s train get in?”

“I thought it was about now… ” Dad’s brow wrinkles. “Maybe I should phone the station. See if there’s been a problem.”

“I’ll do it if you like,” says Luke, looking up from the newspaper.

“She did say she’d phone…” Mum begins, as Dad goes out to the hall telephone.

Suddenly the doorbell rings.

We all stare at each other, frozen. A few moments later, Dad’s voice comes from the hall. “I think it’s her!”

Oh my God.

She’s here. My new sister. My new soul mate!

“I’ll slip away,” says Janice. “Let you have your precious family moment.” She squeezes my hand, then disappears out the back door.

“Let me just tidy my hair,” says Mum, hurrying out to the hall mirror.

“Quick!” I say. “Where’s the present?”

“Here it is,” says Luke, handing me the cellophane-wrapped gift basket. “And Becky…” He puts a hand on my arm.

“What?” I say impatiently. “What is it?”

“I know you’re excited to meet Jessica,” he says. “And so am I. But remember. You are strangers. I’d just… take it easy.”

“We’re not strangers!” I say in astonishment. “She’s my sister! We’ve got the same blood in us!”

Honestly. Doesn’t Luke know anything?

I hurry out to the hall, clutching the basket. Through the frosted glass pane of the front door I can see an indistinct, blurry figure.

“By the way,” says Mum as we advance toward the door, “she likes to be called Jess.”

“Ready?” says Dad with a twinkle.

This is the moment! I quickly adjust my jacket, smooth down my hair, and put on my widest, most welcoming and loving smile.

Dad reaches for the handle and pulls back the front door with a flourish.

And there, standing on the doorstep, is my sister.

Ten

MY FIRST THOUGHT is that she’s not exactly like Courteney Cox. Nor is she wearing a white silk trouser suit.

Her dark hair is cropped short, and she’s wearing a plain, workmanlike brown shirt over jeans. I guess it’s a kind of… utility chic.

And she’s pretty! Prettyish. Even though I’d say her makeup is maybe a bit too natural.

“Hi,” she says in a flat, matter-of-fact voice.

“Hi!” I say tremulously. “I’m Becky! Your long-lost sister!”

I’m about to rush forward and fling my arms around her neck when I realize that I’m holding the basket. So instead, I thrust it at her. “This is from me!”

“It’s a present, love!” Mum adds helpfully.

“Thanks,” says Jess, looking down at it. “That’s great.”

There’s a short silence. I’m waiting for Jess to tear off the wrappings impatiently, or say “Can I open it right now?” or even just exclaim “Ooh, Origins! My favorite!” But she just puts it down on the hall table.

She’s probably being polite, it occurs to me. I mean, she’s never met me before. Maybe she thinks I’m all formal and correct, and she has to be too. What I must do is put her at her ease.