The Christmas Sisters

“I read somewhere they get easily stressed.”

“And that’s before they meet Hannah.” Posy caught her mother’s eye and swiftly changed the subject. “Talking of our feathered friends, Martha has stopped laying.”

“It’s December.” Suzanne trimmed the pastry with a knife. “Not enough light.”

“I’m using artificial light. I don’t think it’s that.” Maybe Martha knew Hannah was coming home. Maybe she didn’t see the point of laying whole eggs when Hannah ate only the egg white. “I need to give Gareth a call. With a houseful of people, we’re going to need eggs. Normal eggs,” she added. Normal eggs for normal people.

Her mother wiped her hands. “I wish you and Hannah were closer.”

“Me, too.” That part wasn’t a lie. “But she lives so far away.”

That, of course, was only part of the problem.

If her sister had been a laptop, Posy would have run antivirus software because there were times when she was convinced Hannah had been taken over by malware.

Posy considered herself to be tough and hated the fact that her feelings could still be hurt.

Fortunately, she wouldn’t have to handle Hannah alone. Beth, Jason and the girls would be there, too.

Posy and Beth were still close.

There was no drama in Beth’s life.

5

Beth

Beth had settled the girls in bed and was clearing toys out of the bath when Jason arrived home. This was her favorite time of day, when the chaos was almost behind her and the prospect of a calm evening stretched ahead. Sometimes she poured herself a glass of wine and allowed herself to read a few pages of a magazine before she started on dinner.

Tonight, she was too excited

to contemplate reading anything, but she knew she had to at least let Jason take his coat off before she told him her news.

As she scooped up wet towels, Beth could hear him talking on the phone.

“We nailed it. They loved the ideas. I’m going to talk to Steve in the morning and get those figures sent over. The London office is closed now, but I’ll call first thing tomorrow. I’ll be in the office at six.”

Beth turned off the light. Six would mean a 5:00 a.m. alarm call, which also meant that if the girls disturbed her in the night, which Ruby did with frustrating frequency, Beth would be woken again predawn by her husband.

Trying not to think about her sister flying first-class with her own cubicle and champagne on tap, Beth dealt with the towels and then walked to the living room, where Jason was ending the call.

Soft light bathed the room in a warm glow. She’d cleared away all traces of the toys, tutus and tiaras that had been strewn around the room a few hours earlier. The glossy fashion magazines that were her indulgence were neatly stacked on the table. A vase of lilies added an illusion of elegance only slightly marred by the two Lego bricks peeping out from under the sofa.

Beth loved flowers. She loved their fragility, their femininity. She loved the way they transformed a room and lifted her mood. She associated them with happiness, and she associated them with Jason.

At the beginning of their relationship, he’d bought her flowers every week. Once they’d had the girls and money was tighter, it had happened less often, and the occasions when he’d splurged and brought home a bunch of blooms had been all the more special.

For this brief moment in time the apartment seemed like a child-free zone, an adult-only space, where the conversation of the occupants might revolve round current affairs, travel and Manhattan restaurant experiences rather than debates about whether the next game should be “ballerina” or “firefighter.” A tidy apartment gave Beth the fleeting sense that she was in control, even when she knew she wasn’t. When it came to the kids’ mess, there were many days when she felt as if she was bailing water out of a sinking boat.

Jason ended the call and smiled at her, his face transforming from serious to sexy.

Today he wore a bespoke suit with a black shirt open at the neck. She noticed absently that his hair needed a cut.

They joked together that as Creative Director of the agency his appreciation for design started with himself. This is a creative business, honey, and before I pitch for a brand, I have to pitch myself.

They’d met when Jason had been working on an ad campaign for one of the beauty brands she’d also worked on.

Jason’s star had continued to climb, whereas hers had fallen to earth so hard she was still stepping over the broken fragments.