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

‘Christ, I don’t know where to start with all this,’ says Jacqui, hanging her head.

‘I do,’ says Moira. ‘Mum,’ she says, looking at Jacqui. ‘You keep saying that you’ve left things in the past, but you haven’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have treated Ava like she’s an invasive grey squirrel set on wiping out the native species.’

Jacqui sits back and folds her arms across her chest.

‘You have to admit that Dad hasn’t –’ she pauses, chasing a crumb around her plate with her little finger ‘– that he hasn’t exactly stepped up to the things he should have.’

‘He’s had his problems. He’s been working on it,’ says Jacqui.

‘I know,’ says Moira, choosing her words carefully. ‘But that’s just one part of it. Things have to be different now. You’ve got to stop blaming other people for the choices Dad made.’

Jacqui bites the inside of her cheek and glances up at Mum.

‘I’m one of those mistakes, aren’t I? That goes without saying,’ says Mum, her eyes glassy. ‘Truly, I did not know that you were together at the time him and I … you know. Think what you like, but I’m not that kind of person.’

I let out a breath that I didn’t realise I’d been holding in, relief unplucking the tight thread of worry stitched between my ribs. Mum looks at Jacqui, her chin held high.

‘I thought he had a right to know, so I sent a couple of letters. It’s not like I knew where he lived, so I looked up the firm he worked for and sent them there. I called his office to check he’d picked them up, which he had. I stopped trying after that. I’m no homewrecker.’

Moira clutches my hand under the table and glances at me. I squeeze her thumb in the hope that it communicates that the bulk of this is new information for me, too.

I assumed that Mum left Kilroch in a hurry because she’d stepped on someone else’s turf and wanted to flee before the pitchforks were out. If Andrew was the one who adopted an ‘Ask me no questions and I’ll tell no lies’ approach, he needs to shoulder the consequences. When it comes down to it, he didn’t want to know me. At that point, what other choice did Mum have? I think back to the times we’d awkwardly sat through adverts for Father’s Day on TV, the over-compensating when it came to birthdays, the obstinate self-reliance. She was trying to protect me from the disappointment she’d already borne the brunt of. In a different way, that’s exactly what Jacqui had protected Moira from too.

‘How much did Andrew tell you?’ Mum asks Jacqui.

‘He told me that you and he had … been familiar. And that was that. You were gone, he was back, and I didn’t want to think about it anymore. I didn’t know about Ava until I saw her on the cliffside, then I guessed your age roughly and put two and two together.’

Jacqui tilts her head to the side and looks at me. ‘You said you came here for a change of scenery, but the only folk that come up here to work on farms are the fruit pickers and the farm tourists who think it’s all bottle-feeding lambs and drinking home brew. They don’t last as long as you have. I underestimated your sticking power. That’s a compliment,’ she says, although she’s still scowling.

‘Oh right. Thanks,’ I reply.

‘Then there’s the small matter of you looking like him,’ says Jacqui, her voice less clipped and curt.

Mum nods in agreement.

‘I needed to know. Whatever the circumstances were,’ I say.

‘I still can’t believe you came all the way up here and didn’t tell me. You won’t even go out at the weekend without giving me an itinerary of where you’ll be and when to expect you back,’ says Mum.

‘I didn’t want you to worry about me,’ I say.

‘It’s the other way round, sweetheart. You worry about me worrying and it causes this angsty cycle of hand-wringing that’s not good for someone your age.’

‘Aye, that sounds familiar,’ says Jacqui, propping her elbow on the table. ‘This one does the same thing,’ she says, pointing to Moira with a butter knife. ‘I tell her all the time. Take when she was on placement down in Inverness, she came home every weekend,’ says Jacqui.

‘Yeah, but there was a good reason for that. You took on way too much between the tearoom and keeping Braehead afloat before Kian came back,’ says Moira.

‘I know, you bonnie thing. But Moira – you mother me too much. You need to get away for a while, see some different things. I don’t know what’s holding you back.’

I look at Moira, knowing exactly how she feels. If there was ever a perfect time to bring up the equine dentistry course, it’s now, but her candour is failing her. I can see it in the way she pulls her sleeves over her hands, her hair tucked tight behind her ears. I find her foot under the table and kick backwards with my heel, clipping her shin.

‘Ouch!’ she yelps.

‘Sorry! The rubber on these boots are so thick I can barely feel the floor,’ I mutter. ‘Tell her.’

‘About what? Oh. No, not right now …’ she trails off.

‘I think you should.’

Moira screws her face up as though she’s trying to teleport somewhere else.

‘Christ, there isn’t another sister, is there?’ says Jacqui.

‘No! I don’t think so. It’s something else. A course I’ve been offered a place on, but it’s down in Surrey and—’

‘Stop right there, lassie. Don’t go into any “buts” until you’ve told me all the good parts.’

Moira’s words tumble out of her mouth in a tangled mess, like nylon tights in the washing machine. She pauses, closing her eyes as though she’s lost a bet and is waiting for the consequential slap in the face.

‘It sounds great, you silly goose. When do you start?’ says Jacqui, her cheeks pink. ‘A dentist! Oh, me!’

‘Not a proper dentist,