She jolted to her feet, and, just like every time she faced me, she threw her shoulders back and slapped her hands on her hips. She was very confident around me. And angry.
Her shiny peep-toe sandals touched my steel-capped work boots. Her face turned up, her glossy red mouth just a breath away from mine. A small growl escaped from the back of her throat.
A rustle sounded from beside me. Shifting my gaze, I could see Ishani move away, seeming a little uncomfortable. Isla stayed, obviously intrigued.
“How did you get on the show?” Tabs asked.
I gave her a relaxed smile, as if the force of her confrontation wasn’t affecting me. “Auditioned. Like everyone else. They had a designer lined up for me, but he got a better offer, so we’re doing this B-roll at the pub until they find me another designer, and we know what project we’re doing.”
Tabs glared at me. “I hope this doesn’t interfere with your work on Mummy—”
My lips quirked at her calling her mother Mummy, and she stopped herself, probably because she knew I would tease her. The parental label was a reminder, if I needed it, of her poshness and that she’d been to a Swiss finishing school. In contrast, my grandfather had been a butler. So yeah, a lifetime of serving people like her family.
“Mumand Dad’s place,” she finished with a sniff.
“Don’t worry. I made that a condition. I’ll do the show after hours and on weekends.”
“Why on earth are you even doing it?”
Her condescending tone niggled me. I suspected I would earn her understanding if I told her the real reason, but I wanted to keep the truth from my sister, and Tabitha might just let it slip.
“The fame, of course,” I answered finally.
She rolled her eyes. “Of course,” she said. “Just as well we’re making the doors at home extra wide—to get your head through.”
“Ha-ha. And being on the telly will be what we larger-headed people like to callfun.”
“Are you saying I don’t know how to have fun?” she said through clenched teeth.
“Well, now that you mention it…”
Although I could imagine having funwithher. Far in the past. Best mates as kids, playing all day in the fields and streams. And there were those two weeks that summer when we weretwenty-five, which we’d silently agreed to never discuss. That seemed a million years ago.
“You realize your life as you know it will be over,” she warned me, arms crossed. “Blistering feedback, no privacy, a kick-me sign on your back.”
“Sounds like one of my rugby games. Anyway, all the dosh will salve any injuries sustained. But thank you for your concern.” I rested my hand on my heart. “Tabitha Millicent Amanda Balfour, I am truly touched.”
I checked in with Isla, who, unusually for her, was quiet, unquestioning, and clearly just enjoying the show.
Tabs punched down her fists at her sides, which she did a lot around me, widened her big blues, and she made this indignant little harrumph. It was such an old-fashioned sound that I laughed.
The blond assistant hustled up—Freya, that was her name—and put a proprietary hand on my arm. Tabs’s gaze followed Freya’s hand, and my chest expanded with a ridiculous amount of satisfaction. Not totally immune to the Tim Langston charm after all, eh, Tabs?
“Need you back at the table, Tim,” Freya said. “Just want a couple of shots of you laughing with the lads.”
The director appeared behind her. “I’m Simon Small-Smythe. Who are you girls?”
“Wewomenare Isla and Tabitha,” Isla said.
“Cool, cool,” he said distractedly. He turned pointedly from Tabitha to me as though refereeing.
“How do you two know each other? That was a lot of tension.”
He was saying that like our sparring was a good thing. A niggling sense of worry coiled inside me. Where was he going with this?
“I hope you didn’t film that.” Tabs cringed, seeming to shift from angry to mortified.
“Ha! You’d have to sign a shedload of forms to get ontoourshow,” Freya said.
