her face in her sister’s shoulder, the fabric of the stylish coat warm against her cheek. ‘I’m scared to talk to them. Scared that if I say he doesn’t live here now they won’t believe I don’t know his current address – which he won’t tell me! And it’s such a freezing November. The inside of my house feels like Narnia but I daren’t turn the heating on. I su-suppose pipes will begin to burst next. And that can’t happen because I couldn’t afford the payments for the contents insurance so if my carpets get ruined, they stay ruined.’
Blair’s arms tightened around her as she said, ‘Shh,’ comfortingly and ‘Oh, shit, Georgine,’ less comfortingly.
Georgine recovered enough to disengage herself from Blair’s sisterly hug and find a screwed-up tissue in her jeans pocket to trumpet into. ‘Sorry. Things are getting on top of me.’ She made another attempt to laugh, finding it hard to meet her sister’s troubled gaze. ‘You don’t have to worry. I’ll get through this.’
‘Right.’ Blair sounded unconvinced.
‘Honestly, I’m all right,’ Georgine insisted as they resumed their march towards Booze & News. Except for a bone-deep fear – despite Aidan’s probably well-meant but actually empty assurances – that somehow she’d be pulled deeper into his problems and lose her little house. She couldn’t! It was just a modest inner terrace with two bedrooms, one bathroom, a lounge-diner and a kitchen, but it represented the tiny amount of progress she’d made.
She linked arms with her sister, nodding to a dog-walker passing the other way with a snuffly pug. ‘Don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m being a wuss.’
‘You’re never a wuss. You’re so brave and resourceful that I suppose anxiety is something I generally think is reserved for other people,’ Blair said quietly. They passed the Angel Community Café, tinsel at the window and lights still showing.
‘Usually is.’ Georgine pushed open the door to Booze & News with a ting!
‘Hello, folks,’ said Melanie from behind the counter. Her eyes fell on Georgine’s face like a missile homing in on its target. ‘What’s the matter?’
Instantly, Georgine wished she’d made Blair come in on her own. Melanie was good-hearted but also uncomfortably inquisitive and red eyes would instantly attract her attention. ‘Nothing,’ Georgine said defensively.
‘We need wine!’ Blair declared dramatically. ‘What’s on promo?’
With a last look at Georgine, Melanie allowed herself to be drawn into a conversation about merlot and Chianti while Georgine pretended to be fascinated by the display of tinned goods near the door. Blair chose the Chianti and paid.
Georgine called, ‘Bye, Melanie!’ and turned for the door.
‘I’ve won a cake,’ Melanie called out, halting her.
When Georgine reluctantly turned back she saw Melanie was holding out an orange raffle ticket, her expression sympathetic. ‘Here,’ Melanie said gruffly. ‘I won it in one of Carola’s everlasting raffles and I’m doing Slimming World so you’d better eat it instead of me. You need to take this to the Angel Community Café. If you go now you might get them before they close.’
Warmth washed through Georgine. She’d known Melanie for over five years and was well aware how much she loved her cake. ‘That’s so nice of you—’
‘Just grab it before she changes her mind,’ Blair joked, twitching the ticket from Melanie’s fingers. ‘Thanks, Mel. You’re a sweetie. C’mon, sis.’
Heart soothed by this gesture from such an unexpected quarter, Georgine followed Blair back to the Angel, pushing open the door to find blonde Carola who ran the café busy mopping the floor.
‘Sorry, ladies, I’m shutting up.’ Carola dipped the mop in the bucket and worked a noisy lever with her foot to squeeze the excess water out.
Blair brandished the raffle ticket and, with a keen glance at Georgine, who, despite her experiences at Booze & News, had been too cold to wait outside, Carola went off to the fridge to fetch a boxed cake.
‘Chocolate and pear gateau,’ she announced. ‘I’ll sell you tickets for the Christmas hamper raffle another time. Have a happy evening.’
They stepped back into the dark evening again, Blair carefully bearing the cake box. ‘I must look pathetic,’ Georgine sighed. ‘Melanie gave up cake for me and Carola let me get away without buying a raffle ticket.’
Blair shifted the box so she could give Georgine a one-armed hug as they stepped back into the playing fields. ‘It’s the village. They take care of their own.’
Once home, they dined on Chianti and large slices of gateau. Blair became quieter and quieter. A frown lodged itself on her brow and stayed there.
After a while, Georgine ventured: ‘Is something wrong?’
Blair’s forehead smoothed straight away. ‘Should there be?’ But then, while Georgine was clearing up, she announced abruptly, ‘Just popping to the bathroom,’ and quit the little kitchen.
The sound of Blair’s footsteps diminished as she walked up the stairs. Georgine, wiping surfaces, kept one ear on the sounds from overhead. Blair seemed to be meandering about. Maybe she was peering out of each window, worried about lurking debt collection agents.
Georgine sighed. She hoped she hadn’t put the wind up Blair so much that now her sister was feeling anxious.
Blair reappeared eventually, frowning heavily and looking pale, though she managed to smile at the storyboards Georgine had just pulled out of her backpack. ‘I can imagine all those funky students plastered in sequins and glitter for a Christmas show.’
Attuned to Blair’s moods and reading the signs of misery in her dark eyes, Georgine put down the board she’d been considering. ‘What’s the matter?’
Blair made an attempt at a carefree smile. ‘What do you mean?’ Then abruptly clamped a hand over her eyes. ‘Oh, shit,’ she breathed, her voice squeaking in her throat.
Alarmed, Georgine guided her sister to one of the dining chairs. ‘So something is wrong,’ she exclaimed.
Blair allowed her head to drop onto Georgine’s shoulder. ‘I wish I didn’t have to tell you this right now. I’ve been racking my brains for alternatives but I’ve come up empty.’ She heaved a sigh that stirred the ends of Georgine’s hair, and Georgine’s heart fluttered unpleasantly, all kinds of unwelcome scenarios of illness flashing through her imagination.
‘Please tell me,’ she breathed.
Blair groaned. Then she sat up straight with the air of one who was pulling herself together, though her eyes still brimmed. ‘It’s over between Warren and me. We’ve had a humongous row and he told me to leave.’
Georgine stared, searching her sister’s tear-streaked face. ‘No! He adores you. His eyes follow you round like a spaniel—’
Blair scrubbed her cheeks with her palms. ‘Not any more. He’s tired of what he calls my “money-pit ways”. We’ve been having problems. You’ve had enough to worry about so I haven’t let on, but it’s all been building and –’
