The Sister Surprise by Abigail Mann (book series for 10 year olds .txt) 📕

don’t do that shit here,’ and so it was back to proofreading a piece on ‘12 YouTube Videos that Will Change the Way You Think About Make-Up’.

Pickles licks his sandpaper tongue across my toes. ‘Is that necessary?’ I say with feigned annoyance, pulling him onto my lap. I bury my face into his fur, which triggers a protest meow.

‘What are we going to do?’

I look down at him. He stares back, a globule of happy dribble dangling from his toothless mouth.

***

I tuck a paper bag of cheese twists and cinnamon swirls into my rucksack. This way, if the pastry comment was a joke, I don’t have to reveal my inability to read sarcasm in emails (and can scoff them at my one-person pity party on the way home). If it wasn’t, I’ll have appeased Duncan and might get some kind of sympathy bonus on my last payslip. I head past reception, but avoid walking past the notorious gossip that is Carl, as he’s in the corner of the auditorium shredding paper whilst video calling someone who gasps and tells him to ‘shut up’ every few seconds.

I’m early, so walk over to my desk and start peeling Post-it notes from my computer screen. Across the courtyard, Duncan paces in his office, gesticulating into the air with a mobile held up to his ear. He turns on his heel and is … laughing? Hmm. Odd. He catches my eye and gestures for me to join him.

I pick my bag up and wheel my chair in, but the legs bump against something soft and doughy. A snuffling sound, like a pig with a bad cold, comes from under the desk.

‘Morning, sunshine,’ slurs Max, who squints at me from under his Canada Goose jacket.

‘Max! What the fuck! Why are you sleeping under my desk?’

‘Went out last night after work and didn’t make it home. Turned into a big one, actually. Haven’t had that much powder since New Year’s Eve.’ Max stretches slowly and runs his tongue along his gums. ‘I did text you, didn’t I?’ he says, holding out a hand for me to grab. Pff. As if I’m going to help him up. Max rubs his palm against his jeans.

‘I’ve washed it, promise,’ he says. ‘Although I should be asking you that question …’ he says, grimacing at my hands.

‘Oh, here we go,’ I say, rolling my eyes. I should have known he’d prepare stand-up material for our next run-in.

Max gives me a lazy grin and staggers to his feet. He looks like he’s stepped out of a Tim Burton film, all insect limbs and hollow eyes. ‘You missed a good night out.’

‘Yeah, I was a bit preoccupied,’ I say tersely, looking in the other direction. Max doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he swings an arm around me and rubs his knuckles against my head, which is infuriating, although somewhat satisfying considering how bruised my scalp feels after yesterday’s hair trauma. I duck under his elbow and sit on the corner of my desk where I can scowl at him more obviously.

‘Are you pissed off because I knew about the sister thing and didn’t tell you? Moira, isn’t it?’ he says, rubbing the joints in his fingers. I feel like I’m going to spew again, but this time it’ll be a tirade of profanities rather than actual vomit, which is marginally better.

‘There are two things about this situation that are grossly unfair,’ I say, launching into the speech that I’d mentally rehearsed on the train. ‘One: that I’ve lived my whole life not knowing that Moira exists and then you find out about her first,’ I say, adding an accusatory finger in his direction. I didn’t consider hand gestures before now, but it feels right, so I’m working with it. ‘Two: that you thought the perfect time to reveal that teensy piece of information was on air in front of 35,000 people.’

Max swallows his smile and a deep furrow appears between his eyebrows. ‘Look, I didn’t think you’d react like that. I genuinely thought it would be a nice discovery for you. I knew about your dad not being …’

‘Alive?’

‘Yeah. And, well … you’ve got that lone wolf thing going on, so I thought it’d be a nice surprise.’

‘It was,’ I spit, my jaw clenched.

‘Are you sure? Because this,’ he says, circling his face, ‘isn’t screaming joy …’

‘I am happy! It’s just … it’s not as simple as “Wahoo! Ava has a sister! Let’s start planning a Christmas sleepover!” It doesn’t just involve me, does it? I literally grew up in a household where the motto was “Don’t look back, look forward” and I know that’s largely because of my dad, even though Mum can’t bring herself to talk about him. Is it cool I have a sister? Yes. Could this have been timed better? Absolutely. Is this going to upset my mum? Probably, and that’s why my brain feels like scrambled egg.’

‘Why? Was she the sexy other woman?’ says Max, his chin tipped back.

‘It’s astounding that you can be pervy about someone who isn’t even here. Especially my mum.’

Max pulls me into a reluctant side-hug, squeezing my arms flat against my side.

‘There’s one tiny detail amiss,’ he says.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It wasn’t 35,000. If you count replays, yesterday we tipped into six figures.’

‘Oh, God. Shit. Are you serious?’

‘Yeah …’ says Max, somehow managing to look proud and sheepish at the same time.

‘Even the sick bit?’

‘Especially the sick bit.’

‘Ah, no. No, no, no,’ I chant, squatting to the floor. I tuck my head between my knees and breathe deeply.

He pulls me to my feet, his voice without the slick of bravado that he often uses at work. ‘I know yesterday might have felt like a very bad day in the office –’

‘That’s a total fucking understatement.’

‘– but trust me, it really kicked things up a notch or two around here,’ says Max.

‘Can you just tell me where I can find a cardboard box? I want to take my succulents home and I don’t