Page 94 of Little Miss Fortune

That seems to mildly satisfy them, as they turn back to their food. My plate is fuller than the rest of the Lewises’. Something deep and primal in me is telling me that the plates need to be completed at the exact same time with them in order for me to stay alive. Not before, not after.

‘And your mother?’ Mrs. Lewis asks.

‘Oh, uh...’ I look at Toby. He doesn’t know. I haven’t told him, and he is going to find out right now. There wasn’t a natural moment for it to come up. Or maybe there was, and I chose to ignore it. Ugh. Here comes nothing. I shrug my shoulders with an awkward chuckle. ‘She’s dead.’

The rhythmic slicing and poking against the plates stops. My face scrunches like when you step outside and the light is too bright.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ says Sophie, and I am so glad it’s her that’s speaking.

‘It’s fine, I was 10. It’s been long enough.’

Toby’s expression is blank. I wonder what he’s feeling right now. Betrayal? Pity? I want to reach out across the table and explain that I didn’t hide it on purpose.

‘It must have been so difficult growing up without a mother. Has your father remarried?’ Mrs. Lewis asks.

‘No. It was just him, my sister, and me. We help each other.’

‘That’s so... inspiring and impressive, to do so much on your own from such a young age. Toby is like that. He has always done what was right.’

The plates are taken away. I sigh in relief at the thought that this dinner is over, but it’s not. That was the entrée. We have one more knife, fork, and a dessert spoon to go. Lamb chops are the main course.

‘So, what do you do, Mr. and Mrs. Lewis?’ I ask, as if I don’t already know.

‘I am an event organiser in the charity sector, and my husband is a tradesman.’ Organising charity galas and an oil magnate is what they really mean, but they want me to ask more questions, which is why she left it ambiguous.

‘Toby will work with me after he is done doing his finger-painting job. Isn’t that right, Toby?’

Toby doesn’t dignify his father’s order with a response. Not even a curt nod or an mm-hmm. It’s not up to him. It’s already been decided.

‘At least Toby has a job.’ Mrs. Lewis slaps her husband on the knee. ‘Sophie didn’t even finish uni. And we found her the best tutors. She was falling slightly behind, you know how girls can be, rebellious against their mothers.’

I wouldn’t know; I don’t have a mother. I could say that and embarrass them, and part of me desperately wants to shut them up for a second. But I bite my tongue instead, cutting the softest lamb with too much ferociousness. Wine is being poured in all the glasses, which dissolves the knots that were constraining (if you can believe that!) Mr. and Mrs. Lewis’s flippant tongues.

‘Toby was such a good boy growing up. He never argued.’

‘He always did what he was told, without question. Sophie, on the other hand.’

‘She refuses our help. I am surprised she showed up today, considering how easy it is for her to change her mind on things.’

‘She hated ballroom dancing even though she danced beautifully. Just one more thing she abandoned.’

Toby has complained about his sister to me more than once. I thought, before this evening, that it was just brotherly concern, but now I see it for what it truly is—his parents have set them up against each other. On those rare occasions when I do get a chance to ask her a question, she is more impressive than any of them make her sound. She has her own yoga studio that is building a Pilates expansion. She organises community events in the local community centre and volunteers in women’s shelters. Sophie is kind, despite having parents like this. It’s funny to think that Toby’s parents are the type of people I thought his friends from Oxford would be.

What shocks me is how silent Toby is throughout this. Not once has he stood up for her, not once has he put a stop to his parents’ berating his younger sister. He notices my glares at him and turns away. I look at Sophie, and for a second, I see Hanako. I didn’t know that my dad was comparing her to me, but when I found out, it was my duty to make it right. It is Toby’s job as an older brother to shut this down, but here he sits, silent. This is not the Toby from work. This is not the Toby from the market. This is not the Toby that made me believe in fate and magic.

‘She can’t even keep a relationship. Her last partner had a stable job and a good family, and she just breaks up with him—’

‘I’m glad she did,’ I say, cracking the top of my crème brûlée too aggressively for the delicate pudding, ‘because he was a dick.’

For the second time that evening, the room falls silent because of me. But this time I relish it, sucking on my spoon, waiting. Sophie tucks her chin again, this time trying to hide her smile.

‘Pardon?’ Mrs. Lewis says again.

‘You are not pardoned. I was the one who told her to break up with him, because he was a horrible piece of shit. One might even call him a cunt.’

Ohhh, that did it. Hell breaks loose, and flames heat Mr. Lewis’s stoic face.

‘I was wondering for the longest time why Sophie stayed with someone who treated her like shit—’