The Sister Swap

by Fiona Collins

  ‘I’d love a Babycham.’ Sarah smiled. Mum had loved it; she always kept some in the drinks cabinet, with those special glasses, and had a small one every Saturday night in front of the telly. It was a celebratory, happy drink, Sarah thought – light, fluffy, and innocent. Sarah would be safe on Babycham.

  Oh look, they do the glasses here! she thought, as her drink arrived. With the little leaping deer on them. And oh, it was delicious – very sweet, but delicious. Dylan had ordered a beer and he raised his glass to chink against hers.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘Here’s to a great meal and a good night out.’

  ‘Cheers,’ said Sarah, with a smile.

  The menu was a delight. Starters such as prawn cocktail with Marie Rose sauce, grilled grapefruit with demerara sugar and a melon slice wrapped in Parma ham with an accompanying tiny glass of orange juice. Main courses like steak Diane with all the trimmings, coq au vin, duck a l’orange and cheese fondue. Sarah laughed as she read it. Her mother had served up most of these on a Friday night.

  ‘What will you have?’ asked Dylan. ‘Wow, I feel so immersed in the Seventies I can almost feel a power cut coming on.’

  Sarah laughed. ‘Oh, it’s got to be prawn cocktail followed by fondue, hasn’t it? Although I think that’s to share,’ she said, perusing the menu.

  ‘Well, we can share then,’ said Dylan. ‘And I’ll have the melon and Parma ham to start. Go the whole Abigail’s Party.’

  ‘Good choice,’ said Sarah, with a smile, and they clinked glasses again.

  Sarah had a second Babycham – so much for the Shirley Temples and never drinking again, she thought. Dylan finished his beer and ordered a bottle of red wine. The lilting tones of Demis Roussos and Captain & Tennille were coming from a speaker somewhere. Sarah felt all warm and happy; she was really enjoying herself. And the food was delicious. Her prawn cocktail was just as Mum used to make it for dinner parties – in a tall sundae glass, with plenty of Marie Rose sauce – and Dylan was thrilled with his melon and Parma ham, served on a pristine white plate.

  ‘It’s the first time in a while I haven’t had my food served on a slate, a roof tile or a dustbin lid,’ he said, and Sarah laughed. She knew what he meant – bog standard plates didn’t seem trendy enough in London restaurants any more.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ she said, tucking into her prawn cocktail. ‘I can see why this restaurant’s so popular.’ It was wonderful, she thought, being on this stunning terrace, in London, overlooking the Embankment and the back of the MI6 building. And being with Dylan. The Babycham had softened her nerves at the edges but she still had a somersaulting stomach each time she looked at him. And every time she looked at him he seemed to be smiling at her, merriment in his heavenly eyes.

  Their main courses arrived. They had a different waiter now, one who really did look like Manuel. Dylan attempted to say ‘Que?’ but the waiter didn’t seem to get it and Sarah had to shoot her date a spirited warning glance across the table. The fondue was messy and fun. They had three different kinds of melted cheese – Emmental, Gruyère and Comte – cubes of toasted bread and seared fillet steak, and those cute, colour-coded pronged forks.

  ‘Aren’t we supposed to be feeding each other?’ asked Dylan, halfway through, with a cheeky wink.

  ‘Oh no, I don’t think so,’ replied Sarah. ‘Sounds a bit too cheesy, if you excuse the pun.’

  Dylan laughed. ‘You might be right. Although, apparently there’s a Swiss tradition that if you drop your bread in the cheese you have to kiss whoever you’re fondue-ing with.’

  ‘Really?’ Sarah blushed as she remembered the other night and Dylan leaning in to kiss her.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Dylan, with a slow smile. ‘I might drop one of mine on purpose.’

  Sarah could only blush and giggle and say, ‘Oh stop it!’ but she had to admit she wasn’t appalled by the idea and was tempted to drop her own bread in the aromatic, cheesy, white wine-y gloop, then see if she was brave enough to go Swiss. She was still nervous, but she wasn’t so scared now, somehow. Dylan was very easy, relaxed company and she was thoroughly enjoying herself. There would be no falling in love, of course, but the thought of kissing him was giving her a very funny feeling she rather enjoyed.

  Dylan was on form tonight, actually. As they spiked their cubes of steak and bread with the tiny forks and mopped up the unctuous cheese goo with them, he started telling Sarah funny anecdotes about all the characters he’d met over the years, since she was last working in the capital. Quite a few Baroness Trott-types cropped up in his tales, as well as some hilariously predatory Laura-Fayes and loads of John Jameses. Dylan’s eyes went all crinkly as he talked and his lips looked warm and rosy; Sarah was so tempted to lob a chunk of bread from a great height. Instead, she listened and laughed and drank him in. She ran her finger round the top of her glass, like she’d seen in the movies.

  ‘How’s your sister getting on?’ Dylan asked, once the anecdotes came to an end.

  ‘Meg?’

  ‘Do you have another? Yes, Meg.’

  ‘OK, I think,’ replied Sarah. ‘We’ve been texting and stuff. Getting on quite well.’

  ‘That’s good. Still waiting for an apology?’

  ‘No, not now. We’ve moved on, we can reconnect without dwelling on the past, I reckon. I can’t see us ever skipping through a field together, like those sisters at the end of The Little House on the Prairie, but we can get along OK, I think. Surface level.’ Sarah smiled. She took a sip of the red wine she’d moved on to. She’d be careful tonight; tipsy but not drunk was her aim.

  ‘Well, that’s good,’ said Dylan. ‘Surface level is better than nothing.’ He grinned and Sarah returned it with a mock grimace and a shrug.

  ‘Change the subject?’ she suggested.

  ‘OK,’ replied Dylan. ‘Let’s do some people watching.’ He set down his wine glass and looked around the terrace. ‘Don’t look now,’ he said, flicking his head a fraction to the left, ‘but those people at the next table have just discovered they really, really hate each other.’

  Sarah giggled and looked to her left. The couple at the table there were both heads down, on their phones, ignoring each other.

  ‘Same at every table in the country,’ she said. ‘Next!’

  ‘Not ours,’ said Dylan with a wink. He looked around the terrace again then over Sarah’s shoulder through the panelled glass doors into the restaurant.

  ‘OK,’ he said slowly, ‘I’ve seen something else of interest, but I don’t think you’re going to like it.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t make it obvious, but if you turn round – slowly! – you might spot someone we both know, in the left back corner of the restaurant.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Sarah, whipping her head around and scanning the restaurant behind her. ‘Oh god, what’s she doing here?’

  Tucked in the corner of the restaurant, in a tight white dress, and simpering at a man in a suit who was feeding her something gooey off a fork – no such Lady and the Tramp qualms for her, it seemed – was Felicity.

  ‘Looks like she’s on a date,’ commented Dylan. Felicity thrust her cleavage forward as the man gathered another forkful for her.

  ‘Ugh,’ said Sarah. What else was there to say?

  ‘You knock spots off her,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And you’re brilliant at your job.’

  ‘Keep going, keep going,’ laughed Sarah. ‘What’s this, build me up time? I’m not that threatened by Felicity, you know!’

  ‘No, but she is by you! Why won’t you stand up for yourself?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re someone who always stays so silent,’ said Dylan seriously. ‘You never told your sister she’d destroyed your locket. You’ve never had it out with her about those two years you were together. And it seems you never expressed your feelings to her, either, during that time. You also won’t stand up to Felicity. You
just say nothing. Are you scared of confrontation or do you just want an easy life, or what?’

  ‘Wow,’ uttered Sarah, in astonishment. ‘I didn’t think I was out for dinner with Dr Freud! What a speech! Firstly, I don’t think Meg would say I was scared of confrontation.’ She frowned. ‘I think she would say I was confronting her all the time. Telling her off. Bossing her around.’

  ‘That’s not the same as telling her – or other people – how you feel.’

  ‘Second,’ said Sarah, ignoring him, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever wanted an easy life. I’ve wanted love, yes. I wanted kids. I wanted a career. And none of those things come easy.’

  ‘You want love?’ asked Dylan, a merry twinkle in his eye.

  ‘Wanted,’ said Sarah. ‘Past tense. And, thirdly, I’m not, as my son would call it, a “grass”. I don’t like to tell tales.’

  ‘Look’ – Dylan sighed – ‘all I know is that you’re more confident in this job now than you were two decades ago. And I think that confidence should include standing up for yourself. It’s not about telling tales; it’s about telling the truth.’ Sarah turned her head again and saw Felicity stand up, fold her napkin neatly on the table, and head towards the Ladies’, on the other side of the restaurant.

  Sarah stood up, too. ‘All right then,’ she said.

  ‘All right then, what?’

  ‘I’m just going to the loo.’

  She didn’t know whether it was the alcohol, or Dylan’s words almost daring her, but she knew what she was going to do. Sarah walked to the Ladies’. Felicity was at the sinks, with all her make-up laid out on one of those small posh square hand towels, applying a sticky-looking nude lip gloss. Sarah went into the last cubicle and when she came out she joined Felicity at the mirrors, one sink along.

  ‘Hi,’ she said breezily.

  ‘Oh, hi!’ trilled Felicity. She didn’t take her eyes off her reflection and carried on smoothing the lip gloss along her bottom lip. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Sarah ignored the question. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t trip me up as I came out of the cubicle, just now,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Felicity turned her head.

  ‘I said, I’m surprised you didn’t trip me up, or perhaps broadcast me peeing to the restaurant, somehow. Or perhaps you’re too busy dreaming up ways to undermine me to a client and make me look a right idiot, again. Actually, I don’t blame you for that, too much – it was a pretty good idea. Credit where credit’s due and all that.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’

  ‘I think you do. And I tell you, Felicity,’ said Sarah, in the most formidable and downright-scary voice she could muster – a kind of hushed and sinister whisper, ‘if you try another stunt to humiliate me again, I will be marching straight to Michael and I will get you the sack.’

  Felicity looked horrified at the formidable, scary voice. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was hanging open. Sarah had never even spoken like this to her children, deciding, early on, that instead of shouting she’d employ a very low, almost whispering voice when she’d wanted to tell them off. It had never really worked. But her voice to Felicity now seemed to do the trick. Felicity appeared quite frightened.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered.

  ‘Pardon? I didn’t quite hear you.’

  ‘I said I’m sorry,’ gabbled Felicity, her lip gloss wand frozen in her hand. ‘I just wanted to get on. It’s hard for women my age, now … all the competition … I was threatened when you came back. I’d been trusted with Verity’s role, but suddenly I wasn’t trusted with it any more … and you turn up, older and so confident. The Instagram thing happened by accident, but I was glad, as they were all so pleased and I felt like I was better at the job than you. And then at the charity lunch I really couldn’t resist and the fashion show – well, it would have been rude not to, considering how easy it was.’ Sarah glared at her. ‘I only want what you’ve got. Your confidence, your place on that ladder. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re not “sorry not sorry”,’ asked Sarah, ‘as people say? Because it sounds like you’re really not sorry at all.’

  ‘I’m kind of sorry,’ said Felicity. ‘To be honest. Will that do?’

  ‘I suppose it will have to,’ said Sarah. She had a teensy amount of sympathy for the girl for being slightly screwed over by HR, but nothing much beyond that. ‘OK, more importantly, do you give me your word you won’t do anything else to sabotage me? Or I will do as I say.’

  ‘Yes, I can promise that,’ pouted Felicity. ‘I won’t do anything else.’

  ‘OK,’ said Sarah. ‘I’ll take you at your word. And this will probably fall on deaf ears, but I’m going to say it anyway. You don’t climb up in this world by bringing other people down. And certainly not other women. With so much against us we should be working together. There’s no reason we can’t both survive. We can both thrive.’

  Felicity had already turned back to the mirror and was applying a second coat of lip gloss. She may as well have said ‘yeah, yeah, yeah,’ in a sing-song voice and stuck her tongue out. Sarah got it. Felicity really was sorry not sorry. But as long as she wasn’t going to do anything else to undermine her, it was mission accomplished as far as Sarah was concerned. She knew Felicity would not want to get the sack.

  Sarah washed her hands and made her way back into the restaurant.

  ‘You’d be really proud of me,’ she said, as she sat down.

  ‘Why’s that?’ asked Dylan, smiling.

  ‘Guess what I’ve just done in the Ladies’ …’

  Dylan grinned. ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to be indelicate …’

  ‘Ha, ha! I’ve just had it out with Felicity.’

  ‘Had it out with her?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve given her what for.’

  ‘What for?’ Dylan queried.

  ‘Is there an echo in here?’

  ‘Sorry! Do tell.’

  ‘I’ve told her I know exactly what her game is and if she doesn’t stop it I’ll go to Michael and get her the sack.’

  ‘Well, about time!’ breathed Dylan. ‘Well done you. What did she say?’

  ‘That she’s not all that sorry, but she’ll stop trying to sabotage me. She also said she was threatened by me and my confidence. How about that?’

  ‘I told you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And I’ll tell you something else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘With your face all glowing like that,’ he said carefully, ‘you’re not only more confident this time around, but way more beautiful.’

  ‘I’m forty-eight,’ retorted Sarah, but she found herself blushing with pleasure.

  ‘So what? It doesn’t mean you aren’t beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Sarah simply. ‘For everything.’ And they both looked at each other for what seemed to be a very long time.

  ‘Are you ready for dessert?’ Dylan said finally. ‘You know why I really brought you here, don’t you?’ he said, as a hostess trolley groaning with desserts trundled past.

  ‘Black Forest gateau.’ Sarah smiled.

  *

  They were brought rich Irish coffees, in those smoked brown glasses with the handles. They ate wafer thin mints and picked at a cheese board, which came with three different chutneys and two enormous bunches of red seedless grapes. Sarah was absolutely stuffed.

  ‘Shall we get the bill?’ asked Dylan, as he drank the last of his coffee.

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Sarah. ‘And a wheelbarrow might be in order too, as you might have to roll me out of here!’

  ‘We have eaten rather a lot,’ sighed Dylan happily. ‘It was fantastic though, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It really was,’ agreed Sarah.

  Dylan looked thoughtful. ‘Do you want to roll on to somewhere else?’ he enquired, as he politely signalled to a passing waiter. ‘Or roll home? Up to you.’

  ‘I’m not sure I could roll anywhere but home!’ admitted Sar
ah. ‘I can probably barely walk,’ she added, with a little laugh. She didn’t know where she wanted to go, but she knew she didn’t want to leave him yet.

  Dylan looked slightly sheepish and then said, ‘Do you think you’d be able to roll to my home?’ ‘It’s just a thought,’ he added quickly. ‘No obligation.’

  Sarah looked at him. The bill arrived at their table. She was still looking at him.

  ‘Yes, I would,’ she said quietly.

  They split the bill. Between them they left a sizeable tip. Then Dylan stood up, held his hand out to Sarah and led her slowly through the restaurant to the exit. Felicity had gone. Sarah didn’t notice any other diners. She had her hand in Dylan’s, she was going back to his, and it felt wonderful.

  They slumped on the back seat of a taxi which was idling outside, and it took off into the night, windows down and hot London air blowing in, fanning their flushed faces. Dylan didn’t let go of her hand. It was on her knee and he was caressing it, ever so gently. Sarah prayed he would kiss her, right here, right now. And then he smiled at her and said, ‘Oh bloody hell, Sarah, I really want to kiss you,’ and he was smoothing back her hair and touching the side of her face and he leant into her and before Sarah knew it Dylan was kissing her, in the back of the hot taxi, to Britney Spears on the radio and the city rushing by and London buses braking with noisy hisses by their open windows and she was falling, she was falling, she was falling …

  Chapter Nineteen

  Meg

  When Meg knew she was out of sight from the village – just in case a random person was at all interested in her triumphant strut home – she allowed herself a couple of joyful hops and a fist pump into the warm evening air.

  She and Jamie had kissed again, by the little back gate to the pub’s beer garden. That kind of laughing kiss, where you kiss and giggle and kiss and giggle and everything is sexy and brilliant and feels amazing. They both had their arms wound tightly round each other this time, and the hairband round Meg’s ponytail had somehow snapped mid-snog and her hair was all in Jamie’s face, but they didn’t care. They even got a couple of cheers and a wolf whistle, from the beer garden, which made them laugh and kiss more.