‘Yes but your sister saw it on one of those “is it cake?” shows and she loved it so much I said I’d have a go.’
Not that my little sister was spoiled in any way. Not that I didn’t love the bones of her, she was clever and funny and very resourceful, but she was also impatient, stubborn, had an answer for everything and that answer was usually ‘you’re wrong’. I still hadn’t recovered from the withering look she gave me at Christmas when Iasked how she felt about the latest Marvel movie. People had died from less severe injuries.
‘Obviously I wasn’t about to put more money into Rowling’s pockets by paying an arm and a leg for an official one.’ Mum wiped off her hands and picked up a length of black fabric. ‘Do you think, once I put the ribbon on …?’
‘Mum, let it go, the patient cannot be saved,’ I said, tipping my head from side to side to consider every angle but each one was more horrifying than the last. ‘If Charlotte loved it so much, why isn’t she making it?’
Throwing up her hands in defeat, my mother shoved the cake across the counter where it wobbled precariously before slumping sadly to one side. It needed to be sorted into the bin.
‘She’s out. I’ve hardly seen her all summer, she’s so busy.’
‘New love interest?’
‘No.’
‘Did she start another dog-walking business and lose all the dogs again?’
‘That only happened twice,’ she replied with an unconcerned tut that reminded me why we’d never been allowed pets as kids. ‘She’s working. You know she’s very big on TikTok.’
‘I did not know she’s very big on TikTok.’
My fatherandmy sister on the clock app. This was a concerning development. I pulled out my phone and searched for her name but nothing came up.
‘Don’t bother looking for her, she’s got the whole family blocked,’ Mum said as though this was perfectly acceptable even though I wasn’t allowed to buy a diary with a lock on it until I was fifteen. ‘One of the girlsin the office follows her and sends me any videos she thinks I ought to see.’
‘I dread to ask but what exactly is my eighteen-year-old sister doing on TikTok?’ I asked, immediately and reasonably anticipating the worst. Dancing? Make-up tutorials? ASMR? Please, I prayed, please let it be ASMR.
‘She reviews books.’ An echo of undeniable pride swelled through the kitchen. ‘I can’t say I completely understand all the videos but she’s got thousands of followers. One of them had a virus.’
‘You mean it went viral,’ I replied and she shrugged in response. Her refusal to get on board with social media was infamous. How she was coping with Dad’s sudden conversion I did not know but at least that made more sense now.
‘She’s not shy with her opinions,’ she said, positively glowing. ‘One of the editors at Hawkshead called herscathing.’
Perfect. Another sibling merrily following the rest of the family down the approved path of literary greatness while I taught primary school by day and wrote secret smut by night.
‘She’s quite astounding, your sister,’ Mum added over the sound of running water as she rinsed her hands clean of what I had to keep reminding myself was buttercream. ‘At the beginning of the summer she came to us with a proposal and honestly, Sophie, she put together a very accomplished and ambitious business plan. Your father and I were both incredibly impressed.’
‘A business plan for what?’ I asked, almost certain I didn’t want to know the answer.
She turned to look at me, her cheeks flushed and her eyes alive. She couldn’t have looked more thrilled ifshe’d just found out Hanya Yanagihara had written a prequel toA Little Life.
‘A bookshop.’
‘This is Charlotte, the eighteen-year-old whojustfinished school?’ I spoke very clearly to make sure I hadn’t misheard or inadvertently slipped into an alternate dimension. ‘Mum, please tell me you haven’t bought her a bookshop.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she replied with a laugh. ‘We haven’t bought a bookshop.’
I shook my head at myself. Of course they hadn’t, what was I thinking?
‘We’ve rented one.’
I suddenly longed to be back in William’s car, having a breakdown over my lost laptop and facing certain double decker bus death.
‘Do you remember Gwendoline?’ Mum asked, chatting away as though she hadn’t just said the most insane thing I’d ever heard. ‘She ran the greengrocer’s across from the post office? She wanted to retire so we’ve taken a one-year lease on her place. Lottie has done all the research, there’s a young girl out in California who opened her own shop and she’s doing tremendous business. I talked to some people at the paper and your father had a word with publicity at MullinsParker, they’re all keen as mustard to work with her once she gets going. She’s even designed all her own merch. That’s tote bags, T-shirts, that sort of thing.’
‘Yes, I know what merch is,’ I replied, steadying myself on the one remaining inch of counterspace that wasn’t smothered in shit-coloured frosting. ‘But how is Charlotte going to run a shop? Has she ever even had a real job?’
Mum looked far less concerned about this than I felt and, for a brief second, I wondered if she was joking. Or drunk. I hoped she was drunk.
