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‘You had the vision, I just nudged you in the right direction.’
‘I could never have set Hook and Bait up as a proper brand without your guidance and expertise,’ Tara insists, squinting over at her blue-and-white food truck with pride. Another queue is forming and she flashes me a smile before hurrying back to work. Just for a moment, I sit back and observe the pride on her face as she serves. Tara reminds me so much of myself when I was first starting out with my own fledgling business idea. The hard work. The joy and fear mixed together in equal parts.
A message from my sister comes through.
How’s the date going?
Another message flashes up on my lock screen.
Isn’t Paul hot?!
Third time’s a charm!
Don’t rush home …
Oh she’s persistent.
Enjoy every minute!
I gulp. I feel guilty. Sitting by the harbour stuffing lobster rolls into my chops has been the most indulgent twenty minutes in recent memory. No small-person interruptions. No being badgered about my love life. No stress! But the fact is, I do need to get home and face the music. Goodbye glorious moment of peace, I think stoically as I take one last look at the reflections on the water and wave goodbye to Tara.
Poppy is peering around the frame of my front door with an accusatory look and my heart sinks. She knows, I can tell.
‘Am I to assume from your complete silence on WhatsApp that the date was a resounding success?’ she asks, voice laden with sarcasm.
‘At least let me get in first,’ I whisper, not wanting to wake up Lila as I step into the hallway. ‘It … wasn’t great.’
Poppy throws her hands around as if she’s never found herself in a more ridiculous position. She marches me into my own kitchen and closes the door in dramatic fashion.
‘What could possibly have gone wrong this time?’ she harrumphs.
‘I see you’ve helped yourself to my clothes again,’ I stall, eyeing up her stolen outfit of my new yoga leggings and the XXL T-shirt I bought when heavily pregnant. ‘You know I wore that T-shirt while in labour?’
‘Of course I do, I was there, remember? I still get wrist pains from where you gripped my hand so hard the bones crunched. I should probably get physio. But stop changing the subject.’
I’m making a ‘poor you’ face when my gaze settles on a half-eaten box of expensive chocolates on the kitchen table. Honestly, my clothes, my treats … is nothing sacred?
‘I knew you’d sniff those out! You’re like a truffle pig. How do you always manage to find them?’
‘Because you have one hiding place and that hiding place is the top shelf of your fridge? Again, you’re changing the subject.’
Damn it. I fold my arms across my chest.
Poppy does the same.
Apparently we have reached a stand-off.
‘Sophieeeeee,’ Poppy sing-songs. She’s been singing my name this way since she was born and I am always powerless to resist. Needless to say my little sister has me wrapped around her little finger. I can still remember the moment she burst into our lives. I was four, the same age as Lila is now, when Mum and Dad came home with Poppy curled up in blankets, a crown of blond hair around her head, just like mine and Mum’s. For something so small she made an incredible amount of noise, a trait she has carried with her to this day, and I have loved her unconditionally ever since.
‘What?’ I ask, flicking the kettle on.
‘What happened with Paul? I tracked you on Find My Friends. You’ve been sat at the harbour rather than on the date I sent you on.’
‘Stalker!’
‘I prefer “engaged sibling”. And don’t even try to tell me that you were there with Paul because he doesn’t go down to the waterfront. He once told me that the humidity messes with his hair.’
I snort. ‘How wasn’t that your first red flag? We live in the West Country, not West Coast America. Remind me again why you thought we’d be a good match? I am genuinely offended.’
