‘I’m not,’ Rory said, upset. ‘I wouldn’t.’
‘Yes, you would, I don’t want to hear a word about this,’ said Indy, ‘certainly not to Mum.’
‘I’m not going to say anything to anyone,’ bleated Rory. ‘But it’s bad—’
‘It’s nothing,’ interrupted Indy. ‘Just stop trying to create trouble. There’s enough trouble as it is, without you making up more.’
‘I didn’t make anything up,’ hissed Rory fiercely now. Everyone said she had a worse temper than Eden and that was saying something. But today Indy matched her.
‘I don’t want to hear another word about this,’ she’d said, her face frantic, angry, and she’d shoved Rory off her lap.
Rory had been shocked: Indy was never like this. Indy was kind, listened to her. Why was she being so mean?
‘Hate you!’ Rory had shrieked and then she’d clamped her hand over her mouth because Lori, lovely Lori, who minded them sometimes when she wasn’t busy in the hotel and had long dark hair, shiny eyes and whispered quietly to them, said that every time someone said the word ‘hate’, a fairy died.
Rory cried then. A fairy had died and she couldn’t even tell Lori about it. Indy had been horrid to her and Indy was never horrid.
Rory ran outside to Mr Munch’s cage and wriggled him out, then hauled him upstairs to her bedroom where they both got into the bed and Mr Munch’s dirty paws made the sheets dirty. Rory didn’t care. Nobody loved her.
The roaring from outside was intensifying.
‘Rory, the photo! We’re all waiting for you.’
Rory narrowed her eyes. Do Indy good to have to wait, and Steve, who would be being all lovey-dovey with her eldest sister as he waited.
Everyone was outside. Everyone except Rory.
Rory could hear her mother instructing Eden to go and find her.
Hell, thought Rory, I might as well go out.
She hadn’t dressed up for the picture, she hadn’t the first time and she hadn’t now. Eden always wore tight jeans and sexy tops so she was wearing that. Savannah wore her usual floaty things and Indy – well, it didn’t matter what Indy wore because she looked stunning in everything.
She was one of those people who looked glorious no matter what, which made it harder to be annoyed with her but Rory still could. Rory had never forgotten that time when she was eleven and Indy hadn’t believed her.
If she ever wrote a book – and she was writing poetry now, so there –thatincident was going in the book. How Indy hadn’t believed. How Indy had made it sound like she was making up tales. She’d held on to the secret for years, not trusting it to anyone because Indy had so successfully told her it was all make-believe. It hadn’t been. She’d seen it with her own eyes and even if she hadn’t understood what was happening at eleven, now, at sixteen, she sure did. Indy had lied to protect someone. She’d chosen protecting someone else over believing Rory. That had hurt and it still did.
‘There you are. Are you hiding?’ Eden said now.
Eden was brilliant at ferreting out secrets from people. She could look at you and know what you were thinking. It was like her superpower or something.
‘No,’ snapped Rory, ‘I was having a drink.’
Eden was the only person she could possibly say that to.
‘Oh,’ said Eden. ‘Having a drinkbeforethe photo. I was planning on having one afterwards to celebrate.’
‘Don’t see what there is to celebrate,’ Rory rumbled. ‘Just the four of us looking like idiots.’
‘I think it’s rather nice,’ said Eden, fluffing up her hair. ‘You know, for the future, something special.’
‘What if I don’t want to be special?’ said Rory. ‘What if I just want to be me and not part of some four-part Robicheaux daughter thing, just because Steve wants to make it as a photographer. And besides which, he’s not a very good photographer.’
‘The first photo was amazing,’ said Eden, giving Rory an assessing gaze.
‘That’s what you think,’ said Rory truculently.
But still she came out for the photo. They were all waiting for her.
