She’d booked her Christmas Ocado spot in September, and the children’s thoughtful wooden gifts had been already wrapped in different paper, obviously, because Santa understood things like that; she had her party dress, although she generally swung by parties very quickly, and even more so being so pregnant. The nativity plays and carol concerts were locked into the calendar as well as the overpriced trip to the Christmas fair, and the special Lyceum Christmas show. And it was still only early November. They had only just taken down the tasteful Halloween wreath, the pumpkins, and the orange and black decorations around the doorway, and put away the large basket of sugar-free sweets.
Everything was going well in Sofia’s world.
Except for Carmen of course.
Their mother had been on the phone. Her sister been three months living back at home without a hint of a job and every week her mother called and begged Sofia to find her something. These calls were getting increasingly desperate. There was no work where they lived, particularly not in retail. And Carmen was not helping herself.
When Sofia had been small, she had liked to line up her dollies and give them all small lectures about how to behave at tea. Everything in her world was ordered and neat. Then, when she was four, her mother had become pregnant. This period had involved a lot of people telling Sofia what a wonderful big sister she was going to make, which had pleased the small Sofia very much, particularly since she’d received a haul of excellent presents and the baby had got lots of boring old clothes. It had been a magnificent time. Being – even for one very small – a clever sort of person, she had immediately prepared to welcome Carmen as her friend, ally and camp follower in all things.
Unfortunately, the screwed-up red-faced screeching monster who appeared did not look remotely like the little sisters in Sofia’s baby books. As she grew older, she didn’t like dollies or playing tea or wearing new dresses. She didn’t like dresses at all, in fact, and she hated school, which Sofia loved. From the moment she arrived, Carmen was a ball of fussiness. She fussed at going out or coming in or going upstairs or having a bath or getting her hair washed or going to swimming lessons or visiting people’s houses, at getting in her buggy or getting out of her buggy.
Sofia could never make Carmen see why it was a lot easier just to be nice to people whether you felt like it or not, and let them smile and pat your head and give you a biscuit. It seemed very straightforward to Sofia. Carmen, on the other hand … she was a small pin poking into Sofia’s momentary self-satisfaction. She frowned. Apparently, things were … looking tricky again, their mother had said. Which explained why Carmen had been a no-show at her daughter’s birthday party and hadn’t even bothered to send a card, or call, or let her know remotely what was going on with her life.
Well, there was no point in getting upset about it now. Sofia smoothed her brow; no Botox till after the baby. She’d worry about Carmen when she absolutely had to.
She took a last happy look at her darling house, and clip-clopped past the icy puddles on her way to work.
‘Sofia doesn’t want me.’
‘Nonsense,’ lied her mother. ‘You’re just at different life stages, that’s all. And you hurt her feelings about Pippa’s party.’
‘I hurt her feelings?’ Carmen said. ‘I’m sitting here, with nothing going on, living back in my bedroom having lost my job, but somehow precious Sofia’s feelings are all that matter.’
‘Darling. Please. Not even a birthday card?’
‘She doesn’t want me there. I’m just her weird little sister that everyone has to feel sorry for, still working in a shop which I’m not even doing any more, still not married and not all smug and pregnant like all her other snooty city friends.’ Carmen couldn’t help colouring.
‘It’s all right to be jealous,’ said her mother, who then took on a haunted look as she realised she’d said exactly the wrong thing.