Page 11 of Somewhere Only We Know

‘But it’s a work night!’ My sister did a fake gasp.

‘It is,’ I replied. ‘And it isn’t.’

‘Please don’t talk in riddles, I’m not as clever as you.’

I tutted at her. ‘Don’t put yourself down, you’re amazing, remember that time when—’

‘Mags!’ she cut in. ‘Now is not the time to be my cheerleader. What’s up?’

She was the only person who I allowed to call me Mags. Actually, there was one other person, but I didn’t count him because that was a lifetime ago.

‘Everything.’ I heard rustling noises. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Putting my coat on.’

‘You’re the best.’ I already felt better.

I’d known she’d come. Saying no to people or animals wasn’t an option for Kat Winkleberry. Hence her ever-expanding menagerie of cats, rabbits, and chinchillas – not forgetting the blind dog she’d adopted from Macedonia or the gang of birds that hung out on her patio for the seed she bought in bulk.

‘Andy? I’m going over to Mags’s for wine,’ she shouted to her husband, not bothering to put her hand over the phone.

I winced at the assault on my ears.

‘Maggie’s drinking? On a work night?’ I heard Andy yell back. ‘Bloody hell. Give her a hug from me.’

‘Tell him thanks, hug appreciated,’ I said.

‘On my way, sis,’ Kat said with a slam of the door. ‘Hang on in there.’

We lived close to each other in the Cotswolds village of Honeybourne, and within ten minutes her bicycle was parked in the narrow hallway of my cottage, where it would remain for the rest of the night. She always walked home if she had more than two glasses of wine. I loved having her nearby and she felt the same. We’d had each other’s backs since we were kids, there at the drop of a hat, or as now, the tweak of the corkscrew. I was five years older than her and, growing up, I’d been the one she’d turned to. These days it worked both ways.

‘I lost my job today.’ I poured us both a glass of Pinot Grigio while she divested herself of coat, cycle helmet and boots.

Kat froze, one boot dangling from her foot. ‘Sacked? No way.’

‘Technically, I avoided being sacked, but I’m not allowed back into the building from now until Easter.’

My sister kicked off the boot, sank onto the sofa and accepted the glass of wine. ‘I’d normally say cheers at this point, but it doesn’t feel appropriate. Can you sue?’

I wrinkled my nose. ‘It’s my own behaviour which landed me in this mess.’

‘Oh dear.’ She looked at me solemnly.

I cocked my head. ‘You don’t seem surprised.’

Kat produced a bag of crisps from her bag. ‘Do you remember when Mum made a load of elderflower wine, thinking she’d sell it for a fortune; it did nothing for ages, and one day every single bottle exploded?’

I nodded – the carpet had been so sticky we’d had to get rid of it and make do with second-hand rugs to cover the draughty floorboards for the next two years.

‘Not something I could ever forget. Why?’

‘Because, Maggie,’ she said softly, ‘you’ve been bottling up your grief since Brontë died. It was only a matter of time until you blew your top. Like that elderflower wine.’

‘Rubbish.’ I felt my jaw tighten. ‘I’m not bottling anything up. I’m getting on with my life, keeping busy. Let me tell you what happened today. I bet you’d have done exactly the same.’

Over wine and Kat’s sweet chilli crisps, I brought her up to speed with the last twenty-four miserable hours of my life.

‘I had to agree to this sabbatical, as we’re calling it, because otherwise I won’t have a shot at being promoted to the board and Lee–bloody–Masters will get the job instead.’ I added a log to the fire, prodded the embers viciously with the poker, and plopped back down beside her.