About the Publisher
‘Sarah. I’m sure you’ll think this is a very stupid question, but have you any idea what your sister is doing crawling under the rhododendrons?’
Sarah Havers sighed and put down the earring she’d been trying to finish for the past hour. One was already complete and lay on the felt mat on the kitchen table. The earrings were delicate drops fitted with three tiny shells in summery blues and seaweedy greens. Sarah was making them for her sister Molly’s birthday, although Molly – currently stuck under a bush in the garden – didn’t know it.
Their mother, Naomi, was standing in the open doorway that led from the kitchen to the rear garden of their house. It was early April but her mum was wearing a silky shift dress and a thin cropped jacket and the chilly evening breeze – which blew straight from the Urals to Cambridge, according to an urban myth – was making Sarah’s fingers too cold to work.
Her mum peered into the lengthening shadows of the garden. ‘Oh no, she’s disappeared now. We’re going to be late.’ She stepped down onto the patio. ‘Molly Jane Havers! Come out of there this minute.’
Trying to block out the noise, Sarah picked up the earring and focused on teasing shut the wire loop with her pliers. Even though she’d made countless pairs, the job still required concentration and all the distractions were doing her head in. On the other hand, it was fun to hear her younger sister treated like a toddler.
Their mother groaned in frustration. ‘What on earth is she doing out there?’
‘Trying to catch a frog, probably,’ Sarah muttered, sticking out her tongue in concentration as she focused on the earring. The loop was almost closed. One. More. Tiny … tweak would do it.
‘A frog? God, no. What does she want a frog for?’
‘Dunno. I think she wants to cut it up at school.’
‘What? You’re joking?’
Sarah cursed as her pliers crushed the delicate wire into a pretzel. ‘Oh, shit!’
‘Sarah, stop swearing,’ her mother called but she was already on her way onto the lawn. Her voice rose higher. ‘Molly! Stop that. Leave that poor creature alone.’
With a sigh, Sarah laid down her pliers next to the wire and beads. She should really be revising for her upcoming A levels, but creating jewellery from shimmering shells and beads was far more fascinating than poring over Business Studies papers. She got up and stood in the doorway, peering out into the shadows.
Her mum’s new heels sank into the turf as she tottered over to the bush, which Molly was crawling out of backwards like a demented crab. Sarah rolled her eyes as her sister scrambled to her feet, brushing blossom and leaves from a sweatshirt with a graphic photo of a giant tarantula on the chest.
Sarah despaired. Her younger sister was a fully paid-up member of the Geek Club. Seeing that horrific sweatshirt and her dirty jeans, Sarah wondered if Molly would even wear the earrings that she’d been making for her upcoming fifteenth birthday. Judging by Molly’s taste for things that crawled and skittered, the earrings ought to have featured snails and tarantulas, but shells and starfish were as far as Sarah was prepared to go. She went inside as Molly trudged to the house, their mum tottering after her.
Molly leaned against the kitchen worktop and Naomi folded her arms. ‘Molly. Is it true you want a frog to dissect? Please tell me now,’ she said.
Molly laughed. ‘Shit, no. Not to dissect, anyway. To study.’
‘You can’t take a live frog to school and please stop swearing.’
Molly slid a sly glance at Sarah. ‘Maybe I could take Sarah’s hamster instead?’
Sarah shrieked. ‘You dare!’
Their mum groaned. ‘Girls. For God’s sake, will you please hurry up and get ready? Dad and I have to leave very soon or we’ll be late for our very special anniversary dinner.’
‘I was only joking about Roger,’ said Molly, as their mother locked the back door.
Sarah snorted. ‘I wouldn’t put anything past you.’
Molly gave a smug grin and pointed at Sarah. ‘Ah. Got you. Actually, I wasn’t after a frog, I was looking for my cuddly Ebola germ.’ She turned to her mother who was brushing pollen off her new dress. ‘Sarah’s been winding you up, Mum.’
‘Maybe but I’m not the one with fox poo on her jeans,’ Sarah shot back, angry for letting herself fall for Molly’s teasing.
Molly glanced down at her muddy jeans. ‘What? Shit!’
Their father stuck his head around the kitchen door. ‘Molly. Can you not use that word quite so often, and can everyone get a move on, please?’
‘I am trying, Will,’ said their mum, then caught sight of her feet. ‘Oh shit, look at my new heels. They’re covered in mud and grass. I’ll have to clean them before we set off for Carol’s.’
‘Can you not use that word quite so often, Mum?’ said Molly, picking a biscuit out of the barrel. Sarah tried not to giggle. She could strangle Molly sometimes but her one-liners were very funny.
‘Molly, don’t try to be too smart,’ said their dad and tapped his watch. ‘The traffic will be murder if we don’t get a move on. It is our anniversary, after all. The first time we get a weekend away from the girls in years and we might be late.’
‘Yes, it is our twentieth wedding anniversary,’ said their mother, emphasising the words in a dramatic way. ‘And we’re off to a very posh hotel for the weekend if we can ever get our daughters to leave the house.’
‘OK, OK. Enough with the guilt trip. I get the message,’ said Sarah, rolling the pliers and other tools up into their felt case.
‘Thank you,’ said her father. ‘Now, I’m going to pack the car and I expect everyone to be ready by the time I’m finished.’
Ignoring her father, Molly’s bottom lip jutted. ‘I do not have fox shit on my jeans,’ she said mutinously.
‘Ha. Got you,’ Sarah said with a triumphant grin that she knew would drive Molly mad.
‘Molly, wash your hands and change your jeans,’ her mum said.
‘It’s not fox poo. It’s only mud.’
‘I don’t care. You can’t go to Auntie Carol’s in filthy clothes. Go upstairs, get changed and hurry up.’
Sarah snorted.
‘And you, Sarah, can tidy all your junk away and make sure you have your overnight stuff. I don’t want to have to come back because you’ve forgotten your phone or your pyjamas or something.’
‘It is not junk!’ Sarah protested.
‘You
