Of course,theyall had them. Mum, Dad, Kitty. It was only she who was left out of the loop, having to borrow Mum’s phone to send a text, or use the landline in the hallway where everyone could hear her.
They’d argued about it ever since the French trip. ‘Mobile phones are expensive!’ her dad had said. ‘We’ve just spent two hundred quid sending you on holiday.’
‘But that was for school!’ she’d whined.
She’d keep at them. They’d have to give in eventually. If not, she’d have to save up for one, she supposed. Only at the rate she earned working in the bakery one Saturday a fortnight, it would probably take until she was a thousand years old.
The key scratched in the lock and she flung down her crisps, scattering a few but ignoring them, and went into the hallway to help Mum carry in the shopping, hoping to root through to see what she’d actually bought.
The dark feeling came seconds later when she stood in front of the unopened door. A kind of heaviness; a dread. Like in a horror movie when the idiot girl goes down to the deserted basement even when she knows there’s a murderer on the loose.
So as the door swung open to reveal not her mother’s face but Kitty’s – or a version of Kitty’s, a swollen, red-eyed, pale-skinned version whose eyes didn’t quite make contact with hers – she already knew something was very wrong.
‘Kitty,’ she said. ‘Where’s Mum?’
5
NOW
The cocoa formed a thin film of chocolate over the batter and she watched as it folded in, turning the cream-coloured mixture the colour of toffee. Bella added a little more until the mixture was sufficiently rich.
Her phone flashed up the name ‘Kitty’. She swiped at the screen to accept the call, leaving a trace of chocolate, and put it to her ear, cradling it between her shoulder and her head. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’ There was a pause. ‘So, how are things?’
‘OK,’ she lied, scraping batter into yet another set of cupcake cases.
‘Seriously?’
‘What do you want me to say?’ She could hear the sharpness in her tone and grimaced. Whatever this was, it wasn’t her sister’s fault.
There was another pause.
‘Sorry.’
It was very unlike Bella’s sister to be so hesitant. Since Pete had left three weeks ago now, she’d phoned almost every day. She’d counselled Bella through fits of tears or anger, helped her start to get the house organised for the imminent sale. Even emailed an agent who had come to value the place. She deserved better than that.
Only, when Bella was baking, all the other stuff seemed to fall away. Her sister ringing now was like someone piercing the bubble of a dream and letting reality in.
‘We’ve accepted that offer.’
‘That’s really good!’
‘Is it?’ Bella looked sadly around the kitchen; she wasn’t sure how she felt about it now, without Pete there any more. The house was large, empty, fairly remote. It felt odd to be here solo. But she wasn’t in a hurry to leave either.
‘It is. Come on, Bella, you can’t afford it on your own. You said that yourself.’
‘I know. But… what am I meant to do? This is my business too. I won’t have a job or anything once it goes.’
‘Come home.’ Kitty’s voice took on an older sister authority. ‘Just get on a plane and come home.’
‘Thisis my home.’
‘Itwasyour home. It’s not now, Bella. We’ll look after you here. You can find a job. Start again.’
Bella shook her head vehemently; the tears that hadn’t been far from her eyes over the last three weeks began to threaten again. ‘No,’ she said, her voice sounding slightly strangled now. ‘I can’t, Kitty. I don’t want to give up on France, even if I do have to give up this house. And I haven’t got time to start again.’
Yet another pause. ‘I do try to understand, I do,’ her sister said. ‘And I know France is beautiful. But I honestly can’t understand why you hate visiting the UK so much. It’s not that bad, you know!’
