‘No, work.’
‘Yeah, it’s … easy.’
‘Easy? Lucky you. It’s not exactly … work though, is it?’ Clara said.
Lucy paused before answering cagily, ‘What do you mean?’
‘Using your English Literature degree to write websites for car parks or whatever that last thing was you did.’
Lucy didn’t reply. She waited for Clara to finish her point. If she waited long enough, she knew there would be more.
‘It’s not exactly saving lives, is it?’ Clara said, obviously unable to contain herself.
‘No, it’s not saving lives. So what?’
‘Well, I thought you were made for better things.’
Lucy frowned at the backhanded compliment. ‘Obviously not,’ she replied.
‘You don’t want to do anything … better?’ Clara persevered. ‘Write about something more … oh, I don’t know … just something more?’
Lucy stopped walking and steeled herself. ‘Such as?’
Clara turned to her. ‘I don’t know. You worked so hard at university and then took all those courses and for what … So you could just pad through life?’
Lucy replied through teeth she realised were now gritted together, ‘I’m quite happy being a copywriter. Besides, you’re a florist and that’s not saving lives either.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t spend a ridiculous amount of money going to university. And quite happy isn’t very happy, is it?’ Clara reasoned.
‘OK.’ Lucy decided to stop her there. ‘What’s this all about?’
‘Do you even have any hobbies? Other than drinking and going out with your friends?’
‘Is this about me? Or actually about you?’ Lucy dared.
‘What do you mean?’ Clara asked, her chin tipped up pointedly.
‘I don’t have a problem with my job, but you obviously do. Why?’
‘I just think you’re made for better things. I mean usually you give up on everything so quickly and the one thing you probably should give up on is actually this.’
‘No,’ Lucy said.
‘No what?’
‘No, that’s not it,’ Lucy ventured. ‘You’re bored. You’ve enjoyedliving vicariously through me for the best part of a decade but the enthusiasm has worn off and you’re pissed off now. Why?’
‘How dare you!’ Clara snapped, drawing the attention of an elderly couple enjoying the view of the port.
‘You’re angry you didn’t leave when I did,’ Lucy said, her voice louder than it really should have been. ‘You’re angry you came back after uni and couldn’t find a proper job with your degree. You’re pissed off that you got married young to John, who you really don’t care about from what I’ve seen over the past week, and it’s not like you even needed to get married early.’
The slap didn’t exactly come from out of nowhere and so it shouldn’t have shocked Lucy, but it did. It stung her cheek and made her eyes water. At first she didn’t connect the startling pain with having been slapped by her sister and like an idiot – she realised later – she cast her glance about for someone else who might have lurched out and hit her. Clara held Lucy’s gaze defiantly when their eyes met.
Lucy said nothing, expecting an apology. But none was forthcoming. Both sisters were as angry as each other.
‘Have you quite finished?’ Clara spat.
Lucy swallowed, her hand still against her face and her eyes wide. She said nothing. Neither did she nod her head. She just stared as anger turned to hurt and tears filled her eyes. How had this happened? How had they got here? Had Lucy done this – pushed her sister so far away over the years that all that was left was this? Then her anger returned just as swiftly, but not at Clara. Instead it was at herself for welling up. Clara turned away from her and looked up the gradual incline of St Peter Port, up to where the bigger offices sat at the far end of town.
