off, please. Wash your hands and sit up at the table. Tea’s ready.’
‘Have I called at a bad time?’ Her sister sounded a tad shaky.
Charlotte was normally the epitome of control. She worked for a fancy London design company, earned megabucks, and lived in an apartment with a lift. Who had a lift? Certainly not Lauren. Her flat had a rickety iron staircase that usually reeked of stale wee.
‘Not at all,’ she lied. ‘I’m just dishing up the kids’ dinner. How are you? It’s been a while.’
Her sister’s reply wasn’t immediate. ‘Things aren’t … great.’
Lauren pressed the start button on the microwave. She couldn’t remember Charlotte’s life being anything other than ‘great’ … Well, apart from when their mum died, but other than that, Charlotte lived the ‘perfect life’, as her sister referred to it. Lauren had given up striving for perfection a long time ago. Not that she didn’t have a perfect life, it was just very different to her sister’s.
She heard Charlotte sniff. ‘I’m just going to come out and say it … would it be okay if I came and stayed for a while?’
Lauren removed cutlery from the drawer. Had she heard correctly? In the seven years she’d lived in Cornwall, Charlotte had never once visited. Her sister was always too busy with work, her career as an interior designer taking up all her time, even weekends. Consequently, it’d been up to Lauren and their dad to retain contact, visiting Charlotte in London whenever they could, which wasn’t often.
Freddie and Florence came charging into the kitchen, the hoods of their outfits pushed away from their faces. They climbed onto the plastic chairs, making them squeak. ‘Please can I have some water?’ Florence rubbed her nose with her hand.
Lauren poured water into their plastic Toy Story beakers, which were too young for them, but she couldn’t afford to replace. ‘Use a tissue, please, Florence.’ She handed her daughter a roll of kitchen towels, which doubled as napkins in the Saunders house.
Balancing the phone between her shoulder and ear, Lauren dished up the fajita mix, her focus returning to her sister. ‘What’s brought this on?’ She moved Freddie’s hand before she burnt him with the wok. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. It’s just unexpected. Have you finally taken some holiday from work?’
Her sister made an odd sound. ‘I wish.’ Another pause. ‘I’ve been fired.’
Lauren stopped serving dinner. ‘Fired?’
The sound of her raised voice had both children reverting to ninjas, making gun shapes with their hands and shouting, ‘Fired!’
Lauren shushed them. ‘Eat your tea, please.’ Their grinning faces made her laugh. She’d never make a stern parent. ‘Sorry, Charlotte. It’s mayhem here. You were saying?’
Her sister sighed. ‘I’ve lost my job … and Ethan and I have broken up.’ There was a catch in her voice.
Wow, another shock announcement. Not that Lauren had ever really liked Ethan, even though they’d only met a couple of times, but that was beside the point. ‘What happened?’
‘One of my commissions went tits-up, and Ethan’s accepted a job in Paris.’ Charlotte’s words came out in a rush. ‘I’ve tried to get temporary work, but my heart’s not in it. I think maybe I need some time out to clear my head and work out what to do next. So … can you put me up, please? Just till I get back on my feet.’
Lauren was conflicted. She’d love to see Charlotte, so would the kids, but how would her sister react to life in Penmullion? It was a far cry from London, with its trendy bars, city traders and cutting-edge fashion.
Sensing Lauren’s hesitation, Charlotte added, ‘I wouldn’t ask if I had anywhere else to go, but Ethan’s selling the flat.’
Lauren tucked Freddie’s chair under the table. ‘You’re dropping filling down your front,’ she told her son. ‘Lean forwards so it lands on the plate.’ She ruffled his hair.
He gave her a big smile, guacamole stuck in the gap where a front tooth should be.
Lauren wandered through to the lounge and sat down on the worn sofa. As a kid, she’d looked up to Charlotte: she was the sister with aptitude, strength and organisational skills; she’d coped with adversity, solved problems, and looked after them all when their mum had died. But now, as an adult, she was worried that Charlotte would find fault with her choices, and the life she’d made for herself and her kids.
She didn’t voice these concerns. Instead, she said, ‘Of course you can stay.’ Charlotte had never asked Lauren for anything in her entire life. Her sister was a self-made, self-sufficient individual, who relied on no one. Things must be dire if she was asking for help.
Her sister sighed. ‘Thanks, Lauren. I really appreciate it. Would Friday be okay?’
Friday? Three days to clean the flat, buy food – which she couldn’t afford – and make up a spare bed. It wasn’t long enough. ‘You’ll have to sleep in the lounge, I’m afraid. We don’t have a spare room.’
Silence hung in the air. ‘That’s … fine.’ It clearly wasn’t. ‘Thanks, Lauren. I’ll text you when I’m leaving.’ Charlotte hung up.
Lauren leant back against the sofa. She could feel a lump beneath her that she hadn’t noticed before. A spring was working its way through the fabric. Another annoyance to add to the list.
Gathering her thoughts, she got up and went into the kitchen. ‘Finished?’
Her kids nodded in unison. ‘Yuu-mm-yy.’ Florence licked her fingers.
‘Good girl. Here, use this, please.’ Lauren handed her a fresh kitchen towel. ‘Satsumas or yoghurt for pudding?’
Freddie pulled a face. ‘Can’t we have ice cream?’
Florence scowled at her brother. ‘We can’t afford ice cream.’
Shock hit Lauren. ‘Why on earth would you think that, Florence?’
‘’Cause we don’t have any money in the bank.’ Her daughter looked like a typical eight-year-old, swinging her legs, rubbing her tiny hands on the kitchen towel, but her words made her sound a lot older. ‘I saw the thingy.’ She pointed to the top of the fridge where the bank statement poked out from under the treat jar – a jar that was currently devoid of sweets.
‘Oh, darling. Of course we can afford ice cream,’ Lauren lied, wishing for once that her daughter wasn’t quite so advanced for her age. ‘I just forgot to buy some this week.’ She bent down and kissed Flo’s cheek. ‘Now, I don’t want you to worry about what a silly bank statement says. They’ve probably added it up wrong.’
Florence frowned. ‘Like Freddie does in maths class?’
‘I do not!’ Freddie looked indignant. ‘You do.’
‘Do not.’
‘Do too …’
‘Hey, no bickering. Be nice to each other, please. I’ll
