The Christmas Sisters

“Family has always been the number one priority for you.” He rubbed his fingers over his forehead. “You were so young when you lost your own parents—”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“I know. No one in your family talks about it, but it’s relevant, Beth!”

“Something that happened twenty-five years ago has no relevance to my life today.” She tried not to think about the message she’d deleted from her phone. Had Hannah had the same phone call? She could have asked, but there was no way she’d broach that topic with her sister. Neither Hannah nor Suzanne liked to talk about the accident and Beth understood that.

She’d taken a look at news clippings from that time and had felt as if she was living the trauma firsthand.

There had been a particularly distressing one of Suzanne being hounded by the press.

It had disturbed Beth so badly she’d never looked at it again.

No doubt Hannah had her own memories about that time, but when it came to removing things from her past that she didn’t like, Hannah was like a surgeon with a scalpel. She cut it out and sutured the wound.

Beth buried it and put up with the occasional ache, but she’d been younger than Hannah.

“I’m boring, Jason. I’m a boring person. Last time I saw my sister she was talking about flying here, there and everywhere—what did I contribute to the conversation?”

“Wait... This is because of Hannah? What has she been saying to you?”

“Nothing.” Beth sat down again. “This has nothing to do with Hannah.”

“If she’s made you feel inferior, then—”

“She hasn’t made me feel inferior. I manage that all by myself.”

“You want Hannah’s life?” A muscle flickered in his cheek. “You want her child-free, commitment-free life? A life, by the way, which you’ve previously said looks cold and lonely.”

“I do not want her life.” Although it was true that there were parts of Hannah’s life she’d like—the first-class flights and the interaction with adults, the fact that she was respected by her peers and could come and go without once thinking about babysitters.

But she didn’t envy the isolation of Hannah’s life.

Hannah had closed herself off. She didn’t want intimate connections.

She hadn’t always been that way, of course.

Once, she, Beth and Posy had been close. They’d been so close that their mother hadn’t bothered to invite friends over for them because the three of them occupied each other.

It was so long ago Beth could hardly remember those days. Occasionally her mind drifted there and along with the thoughts came memories of warmth and laughter, of games played, of inconsequential fights and making up. Childhood.

She felt a stab of guilt that she’d snapped at her sister earlier.

As soon as Hannah was back from her trip, Beth would call and make amends. She’d buy a gift for their mother from both of them. She’d meet in a restaurant, or wherever Hannah preferred to meet. Beth didn’t want to lose what little connection she had with her sister. Family counted.

But now wasn’t the time to be worrying about her sister. She had worries enough of her own.

“I was an only child,” Jason said. “And I never wanted that for our kids.”

“Which was why we had Ruby.”

She’d always known how badly Jason wanted children. The moment Melly started sleeping through the night, he’d raised the idea of having another one. He’d been determined that Melly was going to have someone to play with, and turn to later in life.

Having experienced ups and downs with Hannah, Beth wasn’t sure that a sibling came with a guarantee of support and friendship, but she also wanted more than one child, so she’d tried to put aside the memory of her traumatic birth—first deliveries were often the worst, weren’t they?—and by the time Melly was three, she’d been pregnant again.

Ruby had been delivered eight weeks early as a medical emergency, and the flurry of drama and high anxiety had convinced Beth that two was enough. Given that Jason hadn’t raised the topic of having more, she assumed he’d agreed.

She wasn’t good at having babies, and it wasn’t exactly something you could perfect with practice. The mere thought of going through it again filled her with dread.