About half the people there put up their hands, including Jess. I’m half tempted to put mine up too, only there’s something about the word endurance that puts me off, not to mention hike.
“Great!” Robin looks around, pleased. “Those of you attempting it, please remember all your gear. I’m afraid the weather forecast is not good. Mist, and possibly rain.”
There’s a unified rueful groan, mixed with laughs.
“But be assured, a welcoming party will be waiting at the end with hot drinks,” he adds. “And good luck to all participants. Now.” He smiles around the room. “I’d like to introduce a new member to the group. Becky comes to us with a specialist knowledge of hedgehogs and . . .” He looks over at me. “Is it other small endangered creatures, or just hedgehogs?”
“Er . . .” I clear my throat, aware of Jess’s eyes on me like daggers. “Er . . . mainly just the hedgehogs.”
“So, a warm welcome to Becky from all of us. OK. The serious business.” He reaches for a leather satchel and pulls out a sheaf of papers. “The proposed Piper’s Hill Shopping Center.”
He pauses as though for effect, and there are murmurs of hostility around the room.
“The council is still playing ignorant. However”—he flips through the sheaf with a flourish—“by hook or by crook, I have managed to get hold of a copy of the plans.” Robin hands the papers to a man on the end of the row, who starts passing them along. “Obviously we have a lot of major objections. If you could all study the material for a few minutes . . .”
I obediently read the plans along with everyone else, and look at all the drawings. As I glance around, people are shaking their heads in anger and disappointment, which, frankly, doesn’t surprise me.
“Right.” He looks around and his eyes alight on me. “Becky. Maybe we could hear from you first. As an outsider, what’s your initial reaction?”
Everyone turns to look at me, and I feel my cheeks grow hot.
“Er . . . well, I can see the problems straightaway,” I say tentatively.
“Exactly,” Robin says with satisfaction. “This proves our point. The problems are obvious at first glance, to someone who doesn’t even know the area. Carry on, Becky.”
“Well.” I study the plans for a second, then continue. “For a start, the opening hours are quite restricted. I’d have it open till ten every night. I mean, people have to work during the day! They don’t want to have to rush their shopping!”
As I look around, everyone seems a bit stunned. They probably weren’t expecting me to hit the nail on the head like that. Encouraged, I tap the list of shops. “And these are rubbish shops. You should have Space.NK . . . Joseph . . . and definitely an L.K. Bennett!”
No one has moved a muscle.
Except Jess, who has buried her head in her hands.
Robin appears dumbstruck, but makes a valiant attempt to smile.
“Becky . . . slight confusion here. We’re not protesting about any of the features of the shopping center. We’re protesting about its very existence.”
“I’m sorry?” I peer at him, uncomprehending.
“We don’t want them to build it,” says Jess in extra-slow, sarcastic tones. “They’re planning to ruin an area of natural beauty. That’s what the protest is about.”
“Oh.” My cheeks flame. “Oh. I see. Absolutely. The natural beauty. I was . . . actually . . . er . . . just about to mention that.” Flustered, I start riffling through the plans again. “It’ll probably be quite a danger to hedgehogs, too,” I say at last. “I’ve noticed several hedgehog hazard points. Or HHPs, as we call them.”
I can see Jess rolling her eyes. Maybe I’d better stop now.
“Good point,” says Robin, his smile now a little strained. “So . . . Becky has shared some valuable hedgehog safety concerns. Any other views?”
As a white-haired man starts to speak abut the desecration of the countryside, I sink back down into my chair, my heart thumping. I’m kind of glad I didn’t mention my other major concern about the shopping center now. Which was that it isn’t big enough.
“My worry is the local economy,” a smartly dressed woman is declaiming. “Out-of-town shopping centers ruin rural life. If they build this, it’ll put the village shop out of business.”
“It’s a crime,” booms Lorna. “Village shops are the hub of the community. They need to be supported.”
More and more voices are joining in now. I can see all the customers of Jim’s shop nodding at each other.
“How can Jim compete with the big chains?”
“We need to keep these small shops alive!”
“The government’s to blame. . . .”
I know I wasn’t going to speak again, but I just can’t keep quiet.
“Excuse me?” I venture, raising my hand. “If you all want the village shop to stay alive, why don’t you buy bread at full price?”
I look around the room, to see Jess glaring at me.
“That is just typical,” she says. “Everything comes down to spending money, doesn’t it?”
“But it’s a shop!” I say, bewildered. “That’s the whole point! You spend money! If you all spent a bit more money, the shop would start booming!”
“Not everyone in the world is addicted to shopping, OK, Becky?” snaps Jess.
“Wish they were,” Jim puts in with a wry smile. “My revenue’s trebled since Becky came to town.”
Jess stares at him, her mouth tight. Oh God. She looks really pissed off.
“It was just . . . an idea,” I say quickly. “It doesn’t matter.” I shrink down in my seat again, trying to look unobtrusive.
The discussion starts up again, but I keep my head down and leaf through the shopping center plans again. And I have to say, I was right in the first place. The shops are rubbish. Not a single good place for handbags . . . not a single place you can get your nails done . . . I mean, I can really see their point. What is the point of ruining some lovely field with a crappy shopping center full of shops no one wants to visit?
“So we on the committee have decided on immediate, preemptive action,” Robin is saying as I raise my head again. “We’re holding a rally, to be held in a week’s time. We need as much support as possible. And obviously as much publicity as possible.”
“It’s difficult,” says one woman with a sigh. “No one’s interested.”
“Edgar is writing an article for his parish magazine,” says Robin, consulting a piece of paper. “And I know some of you have already drafted letters to the council . . .”
I’m itching to speak.
I open my mouth, catch Jess’s eyes on me like daggers, and close it again. But—oh God—I can’t keep quiet. I just can’t.
“We’re producing a very informative leaflet—”
“You should do something bigger!” My voice cuts across Robin’s, and everyone turns in my direction.
“Becky, shut up,” Jess says furiously. “We’re trying to discuss this sensibly!”
“So am I!” I’m hot under all these eyes, but I press on. “I think you should have a huge marketing campaign.”
“Wouldn’t that be expensive?” says the white-haired man, with a frown.
“In business, if you want to make money, you have to spend money. And it’s the same here. If you want to have a result, you have to make the investment!”
“Money again!” exclaims Jess in exasperation. “Spending again! You’re obsessed!”
“You could get a sponsorship deal!” I retort. “There must be local businesses who don’t want the shopping center either. You should get a local radio station involved . . . put together a press pack. . . .”
“Excuse me, love,” a guy sitting near to Jess interrupts sarcastically. “You’re very good at talking. But what do you actually know about this?”
“Well, nothing,” I admit. “Except I used to work as a journalist. So I know about press releases and marketing campaigns.” I look around, sensing interest on a few faces
. “And for two years I worked at Barneys, the department store in New York. We used to run loads of events, like parties, and special sale weekends, and promotional evenings. . . . In fact, that’s an idea!” I turn to Jim in sudden inspiration. “If you want to boost the village shop, you should celebrate it! Do something positive! You should have a shopping festival. Or a party! It would be such fun! You could have special offers, and free gifts . . . tie it in to the protest—”
“Shut up!” I stop, startled, to see Jess on her feet, white with anger. “Just shut up for once, Becky! Why does everything have to be a party? Why do you have to trivialize everything? Shopkeepers like Jim aren’t interested in parties! They’re interested in solid, well-thought-out action.”
“I might be interested in a party,” Jim says mildly, but Jess doesn’t seem to hear him.
“You don’t know anything about the environment! You don’t know about bloody hedgehogs! You’re making it up as you go along! Just butt out and leave us alone.”
“Now, that’s a little aggressive, Jess,” says Robin. “Becky’s only trying to help.”
“We don’t need her help!”
“Jess,” says Jim in soothing tones. “This is your sister. Come on, love. Be a bit more welcoming.”
“Are these two sisters?” says the white-haired man in surprise. An interested murmuring grows throughout the room.
“She’s not my sister.” Jess has folded her arms tight. She’s refusing even to look at me, and suddenly I feel a swell of angry hurt.
“I know you don’t want me to be your sister, Jess,” I say, standing up to face her. “But I am! And there’s nothing you can do about that! We have the same blood! We have the same genes! We have the same—”
“Yeah, well, I don’t believe we do, OK?” Jess’s voice reverberates in the room.
“What?” I’m not sure I’ve heard her correctly.
“I don’t believe we share the same blood,” she says in calmer tones.
“But . . . but we know we do!” I say in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Jess sighs and rubs her face. When she looks up, there’s only a trace of animosity left.
“Look at us, Becky,” she says, almost kindly. She gestures to me and then to herself. “We have nothing in common. Not one thing. We can’t be from the same family.”
“But . . . but my dad’s your father!”
“Oh God,” says Jess, almost to herself. “Look, Becky, I wasn’t going to bring this up till later.”
“Bring up what?” I feel a dreadful foreboding. “Bring up what?”
“OK. Here’s the thing.” Jess exhales sharply. “Originally I was given the name of your dad as my father. But . . . it just doesn’t seem to be making sense. So last night I had a long talk about it with my aunty Florence. She admitted my mum was a bit . . . wild. There might have been other men.” Jess hesitates. “She thought there probably had been other men, although she didn’t have any names.”
“But . . . you had a test!” I say, bewildered. “A DNA test! So that proves . . .” I trail off as Jess shakes her head.
“No. We never did. We were going to. But I had your dad’s name, the dates made sense, and . . . we all just assumed.” She looks down at the ground. “I think we assumed wrong.”
My head is spinning. They never did a DNA test? They just assumed?
The entire room is silent. I don’t think anyone is breathing. I catch sight of Jim’s anxious, kind face, and quickly look away.
“So . . . this has all been a big mistake,” I say at last. Suddenly there’s a huge lump in my throat.
“I think it was a mistake,” agrees Jess. She looks up and sees my stricken face. “Come on, Becky. If you looked at us as an outsider . . . would you say we were sisters?”
“I . . . I suppose not,” I manage.
I’m reeling with shock and disappointment, but at the same time, deep down, a tiny voice is telling me that this makes sense. I feel like for the last few weeks I’ve been trying to force my foot into a wrong-size shoe. I’ve been ramming and ramming, chafing the skin . . . and at last I’m admitting it doesn’t fit.
She’s not my sister. She’s not my flesh and blood. She’s just . . . a girl.
I’m standing here staring at a girl I barely know, who doesn’t even like me.
I really don’t want to be here anymore.
“Right,” I say, trying to compose myself. “Well . . . I think I’ll go. Bye, everybody. Good luck with the protest.”
Nobody says anything. Everyone looks too thunderstruck. With trembling hands I pick up my bag, then push back my chair. As I make my way past everyone to the door I catch the odd sympathetic look. I pause when I reach Jim, who looks almost as disappointed as I feel.
“Thanks for everything, Jim,” I say, trying to smile.
“Goodbye, love.” He clasps my hand warmly. “It was good to know you.”
“You too. Say goodbye to Kelly for me.”
I reach the door and turn to face Jess.
“Bye, then.” I swallow hard. “Have a nice life and everything.”
“Bye, Becky,” she says, and for the first time there’s a flicker of something like compassion in her eyes. “I hope you patch it up with Luke.”
“Thanks.” I nod, not quite sure what else to say. Then I turn and walk out into the night.
Twenty
I feel numb. I don’t have a sister. After all that.
I’ve been sitting on the bed in my room at the guesthouse for about an hour, just gazing out the window at the distant hills. It’s all over. My stupid dream of having a sisterly soul mate to chat and giggle with and go shopping with and eat peppermint creams with . . . is over for good. Not that Jess would ever have gone shopping or eaten peppermint creams with me. Or giggled, come to that. But she might have chatted. We might have got to know each other better. We might have told each other secrets and asked each other’s advice. I hug my knees tight to my chest. This never happened in Long-Lost Sisters: The Love They Never Knew They Had.
Actually, it happened once. With these two sisters who were going to have a kidney transplant and then they did the DNA test and realized they weren’t sisters after all. But the point was, they went ahead with the kidney transplant anyway, and afterwards they said they would always be sisters in the heart. The point was, they liked each other.
I feel a single tear roll down my cheek and brush it away crossly. There’s no point getting upset. I’ve been an only child all my life . . . and now I am again. I only had a sister for a few weeks. It’s not like I got used to it. It’s not like we got attached or anything.
In fact . . . in fact, I’m glad this has happened. Who would want Jess for a sister? Not me. No way. I mean, she’s right. We have absolutely nothing in common. We don’t understand one thing about each other. We should have realized it was a mistake right from the word go.
Abruptly I get to my feet, open my suitcases, and start throwing in my clothes. I’ll spend the night here, then head back to London first thing in the morning. I can’t waste any more time. I’ve got a life to get back to. I’ve got a husband.
At least . . . I think I’ve got a husband.
As my mind flashes back to the last time I saw Luke I feel a hollow dread in my stomach. He’s probably still furious with me. He’s probably having a terrible time in Cyprus and cursing me every moment. I hesitate halfway through folding up a jumper. Just the thought of going back and facing him makes me feel a bit sick. But then my chin stiffens and I throw the jumper into the case. So what if things with Luke are shaky? I don’t need some crummy sister to help me save my marriage. I’ll sort it out myself. Maybe I’ll buy a book. There must be one called How to Save Your Year-Old Marriage.
I cram in all the souvenirs I bought at Jim’s shop, sit on the lid of my lime green case, and snap it shut. That’s it. The end.
Just then there’s a knock. “Hello?”
Edie puts her head round the door. “You’ve g
ot a visitor,” she says. “Downstairs.”
I feel an immediate flicker of hope.
“Really?” I scramble to my feet. “I’m just coming!”
“I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you of the rules.” Edie’s booming voice follows me as I run down the stairs. “No visitors after eleven o’clock. If there’s any carousing I’ll have to call the authorities.”
I jump down the last few steps and hurry into the little sitting room. “Hi!”
I stop dead in my tracks. It’s not Jess. It’s Robin. And Jim. And a couple of other people from the meeting. I can see a few glances flying about.
“Hi, Becky,” says Robin, taking a step toward me. “Are you OK?”
“Er . . . yes. I’m fine, thanks.”
Oh God. This is a pity visit. Maybe they’re worried I’m going to slash my wrists or something. As Robin takes breath to speak again, I cut in.
“Really. Everybody. You don’t need to worry about me. It’s very sweet of you to be concerned. But I’ll be all right. I’m just going to go to bed, and catch the train home tomorrow, and . . . just take it from there.”
“Er . . . that’s not why we’re here,” says Robin, ruffling his hair awkwardly. “We wanted to ask you something.”
“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Right.”
“We wondered . . . all of us . . . if you’d help us with the protest.” He looks about as though for support, and everyone nods.
“Help you?” I stare back, bewildered. “But . . . I don’t know anything about it. Jess was right.” Even the memory is painful. “I was making it all up. I don’t even know about hedgehogs.”
“Doesn’t matter,” says Robin. “You’ve got loads of ideas, and that’s what we need. You’re right. We should think big. And Jim likes the idea of the party. Don’t you, Jim?”
“If it gets folk into the shop before four o’clock, it can’t be bad,” says Jim.
“You’ve got experience with these kind of events,” chimes in the white-haired man who challenged me at the meeting. “You know how to go about it. We don’t.”
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