had joined her at the kitchen table. ‘I didn’t realise …’
Juliet lifted her head and stared at her sister. ‘You never do realise, that’s the problem.’ It was high time Gemma took responsibility for her actions. Juliet wasn’t going to let her off the hook because she’d mumbled out an apology and made puppy-dog eyes. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’
‘I don’t know!’ Gemma wailed. ‘It was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing! You sent me that snotty text and then there was a situation at work, and—’
‘Spare me,’ Juliet said drily. ‘We all know how wonderful your job is and how it’s so much more important than anyone else’s. It must be such a hard life sucking up to movie stars all day long. Boo hoo.’
Gemma glared at her. ‘There’s a lot more to it than that! I don’t just float around batting my eyelashes, you know. I’m one of the most sought-after Second ADs in the business.’
‘Oh, yes. Sorry. I forgot to bow down and worship at the Temple of Gemma! I do beg your pardon.’
A hardness appeared in her sister’s expression that Juliet had never seen before. ‘I think I preferred it when you let it all fester away inside, kept neatly in place with a ten-foot pole stuck up your bum,’ she informed her.
Juliet stood up and walked over to the window. ‘Well, you’re the one who pulled it out,’ she said in a superior tone. ‘It’s not my fault if you don’t like the stink.’
There was that. Gemma couldn’t deny that she was the one who’d unleashed this no-holds-barred version of her sister. The phrase be careful what you wish for came to mind, but she’d never been one for listening to advice. Especially her own.
It had just been a moment of impulsive madness at the end of a really long shoot, when all her mental energy had been used up and the only thing left floating around in her head were those tropical paradise fantasies she’d been indulging in for weeks. And then Juliet’s sniping text had arrived and it had just sent Gemma over the edge.
‘Why would you promise something like this and then go back on it?’ Juliet wailed.
To be honest, the gin had pretty much wiped that conversation from her memory banks. She couldn’t actually recall promising anything. ‘I always say I’ll be around for Christmas,’ she muttered, ‘and I never am.’
Juliet almost laughed at that. ‘And that’s supposed to make it better?’
Gemma shook her head. The second the words had left her mouth she’d realised how lame they sounded. But before she’d spoiled everything with the impulsive click on a holiday advert at the top of her web browser she really had been intending to spend Christmas in Tunbridge Wells with Juliet, not that her sister would ever believe that now.
I’m sorry,’ she said, really meaning it. ‘I promise I’ll come next year, stay a month if I have to.’ Why did she do these things? Sometimes she really needed to think before she reacted, especially when Juliet was involved.
Juliet folded her arms and looked at her. ‘If you have to …?’
Okay, that hadn’t come out right. ‘I meant, if you need me.’
The haughty look on her sister’s face told her she needed Gemma about as much as she needed a hole in the head. The realisation hit Gemma like a bullet to the chest. No wonder she avoided coming here. Juliet wasn’t interested in creating some balance in their relationship, and this … This was just another point-scoring exercise, with Gemma cast as the loser right from the outset.
Well, this time Gemma had some ammunition of her own to throw. ‘You know why I stay away? You really want to know?’
‘Enlighten me, o wise one …’
That sarcastic, supercilious tone Juliet often used on her, and only her, got right up her nose. ‘Because even if I do the right thing, I do it the wrong way. Even if I try, I haven’t tried hard enough. It’s exhausting being your sister! I can’t be the person you want me to be, because the person you want me to be is you! I’m not you, Juliet. And, guess what, I don’t want to be!’
Uh-oh. Maybe she’d gone a little too far with that one, because Juliet went very, very pink in the face and she seemed to be struggling to form a coherent sentence. Gemma’s eyes widened as Juliet marched right up to her and poked one beautifully French-polished nail in her chest.
‘Well, maybe I wish I could be as selfish as you are! Maybe I wish I could bugger off to the Caribbean and leave Christmas to someone else for once. God knows, I deserve it!’
As Gemma stared back at Juliet, her brain and mouth empty of words, she realised how much older her sister looked. How much more tired. There were new lines round her eyes and her highlights hadn’t been touched up in months. She hadn’t noticed earlier, because Juliet always looked so polished, and she supposed she always expected her to be that way, but looking at her now was like looking at one of those paintings made of dots – from a distance it all looked so put together and pretty, but close up it was a bit of a mess.
This wasn’t just some usual Juliet rant about family responsibility. Something was wrong. Something was really wrong. And it looked as if it had been building up for months and no one – not even Juliet – had noticed it.
Gemma had never really believed in bolts of inspiration from on high, but that’s what happened to her in the following seconds. A blinding moment of clarity.
‘Maybe you should,’ she said.
‘Maybe I should what?’
She looked Juliet straight in the eye. ‘Bugger off and leave Christmas to someone else for once.’
Juliet stared at her. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘You’re right,’ Gemma said, standing up and meeting her sister at eye level. ‘You always have to do it. Maybe it’s time someone took over.’
Juliet’s mouth twitched and Gemma couldn’t tell if she was going to laugh or cry. ‘And how – excepting angelic intervention – would that happen?’ she said, with more than a touch of desperation in her tone.
‘Take my plane tickets and go to St Lucia for a fortnight.’
Juliet stared at her sister. ‘Have you had an aneurysm or something? I can’t just drop everything, leave my kids behind and flit off to the Caribbean for a fortnight.’
Gemma stared right back at her. ‘Yes, you can.’
She shook her head. ‘No.’ And then she shook it some more. ‘That’s the kind of thing you do, Gemma. It’s not me. I can’t. And what would I do about Christmas? I’ve already invited everyone! I can’t cancel on them less than a fortnight before the big day. Who’ll cook the dinner and everything?’
‘I will,’ Gemma said, looking deadly serious. ‘We’ll swap. You can have my Christmas and I’ll do yours.’
That’s when Juliet began to laugh. And not just tittering giggles; she threw her head back and bellowed her amusement out until her lungs were sore and her eyes were streaming. The
