‘You are sure your mum likes scrambled eggs?’ Sophie asked Ella early the next morning.
Pulling the bowl from the microwave, she examined the contents uncertainly. It didn’t look appetising. She was going to have to brush up on her cooking skills if she was going to impress Claire. She desperately wanted to do that; prove she could be helpful and gain her complete trust. She needed to gain her trust where Bernard was concerned, too. She was sure Claire had only had everyone’s best interests at heart advising her not to see him, but she’d actually found that a bit hurtful. She’d decided not to say anything. Claire had been his sole carer, after all. She would hate her to think she was challenging her.
‘Uh huh.’ Ella nodded across from the table, where she was busily arranging the breakfast tray. She’d been thrilled at the idea of allowing her overworked mummy an extra hour in bed while she and Sophie cooked breakfast together to take up to her. She’d even insisted on going out into the garden to pluck a barely open rose for her. She was a pleasant little thing. The two of them would get along fine.
‘I’m not sure she’ll like mine.’ Sophie sighed, thinking her efforts looked more like egg soup.
‘You just have to give it a few more minutes, like Mummy does,’ Ella informed her knowledgeably, leaving Sophie feeling a bit deflated. Was it her fault she’d had nobody interested enough in her to show her the basics in the kitchen? Her gran’s idea of haute cuisine was to pour curry sauce on her chips.
Whamming the bowl back in and setting the timer, she tried to resign all that to history. It only ever upset her to think about it.
‘Did you stir it?’ Ella asked, pausing in her folding of kitchen towel into napkins.
‘Drat. No, I didn’t. Thank God for someone who knows what they’re doing.’ Sophie indulged her, rolling her eyes theatrically and pulling the microwave door open.
She was about to dip the spoon into the bowl when Ella piped up, ‘You have to use a fork. Mummy says it fluffs it up better.’
Does it indeed. Well, pardon me. Suppressing another sigh, Sophie ditched the spoon and grabbed a fork. Plainly Ella’s mother was competent in all areas. An art therapist, helping special needs children to express their emotions through their art, doting daughter, loving mother loved by her own doting daughter. Not so great at holding on to her husband, though. But then she was well shot of him. Men were all the same in Sophie’s experience. What was utterly incomprehensible to her was that they imagined they had a right to abuse women. Even when you indulged their warped little fetishes, they had to push the boundaries. Peter had ignored her safe word. It had been bloody infuriating, even if the resultant bruising had worked in her favour.
Dutifully stirring the eggs – possibly a little too aggressively – she beamed Ella a smile, then bunged them back in. After wiping up the slimy gunk that had spilled onto the work surface and popping the bread in the toaster, she was about to make the coffee when someone knocked on the front door. Hell. Sophie froze. She hoped it wasn’t Luke come to harass Claire again.
Heading tentatively for the hall, she was wondering what do when she saw Claire padding barefoot down the stairs.
‘Was that the door?’ Claire blinked groggily. God, she looked exhausted, as if she’d slept the sleep of the dead, pale and disorientated, her hair sticking out at all angles. It was a great colour: scorching red. The cut, not so great. It would look good short. Sophie might suggest it.
She’d thought Claire would sleep well. She’d been yawning her head off last night after their chat about Bernard, during which she had asked a few questions Sophie suspected might have been designed to test her. She knew enough about him to allay any lingering suspicions, of course: when he’d started his job as regional sales manager, what colour suits he liked to wear. Telling her he’d hated the endless lonely road trips he’d had to undertake had clinched it. Claire had agreed with that, confiding that he sometimes took her along with him for company.
Sophie herself hadn’t slept. She rarely did. The second she began to drift off, it would emblazon itself on her mind: her mother’s body, suspended in petrified limbo for an instant before the fireball consumed her, eating her whole, flames licking and spitting and peeling the flesh from her body. Her scream of pure primal fear resonated through her, causing her blood to thrum through her body, her throat to constrict and the air to be snatched from her lungs. Her Sindy doll was the worst. Sophie could see herself as a child standing over it in her gran’s kitchen. It had been with her mother’s effects. Her gran had kept it in a shoebox, which she’d left out one day. Sophie had never been sure why she’d done that. Why she would do that to a child. Sindy’s beautiful blonde hair had been scorched to a crisp, one side of her flawless face blackened and blistered and melted.
With those images haunting her, she’d had no hope of finding solace in sleep last night. She’d slipped out of bed in the end, once she was sure Claire was asleep, and taken the opportunity to familiarise herself with her surroundings. She’d found some of Claire’s concealer in the bathroom. That had been useful. She hadn’t wanted to scare little Ella with her bruised face. Her search of Bernard’s office had definitely been fruitful.
‘I was just going to answer it,’ Sophie glanced from Claire towards the door, as whoever was out there tapped on it again, ‘but I wasn’t sure whether you wanted me to with…’ She paused, shrugging awkwardly. ‘You know, the situation with your husband.’
‘It’s fine.’ Claire gave her a reassuring smile. ‘It’s just Gemma.’
Oh yes? And who’s Gemma? Sophie strained to peer past her as Claire pulled the door open and a woman with blonde, bouncy hair and a glowing complexion stepped in to pull her into a hug. A friend then, presumably.
‘Sorry I couldn’t get over sooner,’ the woman said, stepping back after a second. ‘I’ve been up to my eyes with wedding arrangements. How are you, sweetheart?’ she asked, her face creasing into a concerned frown as she looked Claire over. ‘I can’t believe you’ve had such a shitty time.’
Not a very caring friend, Sophie decided. Too busy plucking and preening and spending a fortune on silly wedding dresses to keep in touch.
‘I’m fine.’ Claire smiled stoically. ‘Coping.’
‘Bullshit. You look absolutely drained,’ Gemma said. She was clearly not one to mince her words – and clearly also totally thoughtless. Who wanted to hear that, for God’s sake? ‘Come on, tell me all about it.’ Hooking an arm through one of Claire’s, she all but dragged her in the direction of the lounge.
Sophie, who was loitering outside the kitchen door at the end of the hall, almost stepped back out of sight, but decided to stay where she was. She was entitled to be here, after all. Just because she’d spent most of her life feeling unwanted didn’t mean she was now.
‘Oh.’ Noticing her, Gemma stopped and blinked, surprised.
‘This is Sophie, my half-sister,’ Claire introduced her, smiling in Sophie’s direction.
‘Ah,’ said Gemma, her gaze immediately travelling judgementally over her, which did nothing to impress Sophie. ‘Pleased to meet you, Sophie.’ She manufactured a smile and extended a hand. ‘Gemma, Claire’s best friend. You don’t mind if we have a private chat, do you?’
‘No, not at all.’ Shaking her hand, Sophie smiled brightly. ‘I’ll keep an eye on Ella. She’s making you breakfast.’ Hoping that would hurry her up, she offered Claire a smile back and then took her leave.
Once inside the kitchen, she waited for the lounge door to close, as she’d guessed it would, and then went over to Ella. ‘Mummy’s friend’s here,’ she whispered, gesturing towards the lounge wall. ‘Do you fancy playing a game on my iPad until she’s gone?’
Ella’s eyes widened in delight. Sophie took that as a yes. ‘Do you have Disney Crossy Road?’ she asked, abandoning the breakfast tray and scrambling down from the table.
‘Do you know how to play it?’ Sophie asked.
‘Yes.’ Ella skipped excitedly alongside her as Sophie led her to the stairs. ‘My friend has it. It’s a bit like Froggy. You have to make sure you don’t fall in the river or get flattened by a train.’
‘Sounds delightful.’ Sophie smiled, relieved. That should keep her occupied for a while. ‘Let’s see if we can download it, shall we?’
Minutes later, the app downloaded and Ella sitting happily on her bed with the iPad, Sophie dashed back downstairs to eavesdrop – in Claire’s best interests, of course. She wasn’t sure a friend who couldn’t be arsed to be there for her would truly have her well-being at heart.
Which obviously she hadn’t. Standing outside the lounge door, ready to bolt back to the kitchen if it opened, Sophie bristled with indignation as she listened to Gemma’s advice. ‘Just be careful is all I’m saying. You don’t know that much about her, after all.’ The woman, who was plainly jealous, was already trying to turn Claire against her.
‘She’s okay,’ Claire assured her. ‘I don’t know her that well yet, admittedly, but she’s great with Ella. She probably saved her life. I can’t imagine a woman who would instinctively throw herself into the sea to rescue a child would ever wish anyone harm.’
‘That’s as maybe,’ Gemma went on, as if Ella’s life was an insignificant nothing, ‘but what’s she doing here, Claire?’
‘She made contact on Facebook,’ Claire said, sounding confused. ‘I told you.’
‘Yes, but why now?’
Claire hesitated. ‘Because of Dad’s condition. I’d hardly have expected her not to once she realised that he might not be around for much longer.’
‘Precisely. Have you considered that she might be after what she can get? Funds from the house, for instance,’ Gemma suggested, causing Sophie’s heart to pitter-patter frantically in her chest.
‘But a huge chunk of the proceeds will have to go towards meeting the care home fees,’ Claire pointed out. ‘And anyway, she’d need proof of identity, wouldn’t she?’
‘Which can easily be obtained via a DNA test,’ Gemma pointed out, feeding Claire ideas. As if she had some right to come here and turn her world upside down. Sophie couldn’t believe Claire was listening to her. ‘She won’t even need that if Bernard’s named her in his will, though. Have you checked it?’
‘He wouldn’t have done that,’ Claire scoffed. ‘Not without telling me.’
‘It strikes me there are one or two things Bernard forgot to tell you about. Well, certainly one thing,’ was Gemma’s droll retort. ‘Where does he keep it, do you know?’
‘In his study, I think.’ Claire now sounded flustered.
‘I’d find it if I were you.’ Gemma’s tone was dour.
This was absolutely the last thing Sophie needed. The woman was trying to influence Claire, poison her mind against her. Paling, she backed away from the door.
‘Look, Claire, I can’t stop now,’ Gemma announced. ‘I have the bridesmaids’ dress fittings to get to, but before I go, about Luke…’
Luke? Sophie’s eyes sprang wide. Surely she wasn’t going to poke her nose in there as well.
‘Don’t you think you might be judging him too harshly?’ Gemma went on. ‘I mean, I know he’s been a bit of an idiot, but—’
‘A bit of an idiot?’ Claire laughed, incredulous. ‘He cheated on me with some slut! It was you who sent me the photo.’
‘I know I did.’ Gemma sighed expansively. ‘I meant about what happened afterwards. Have you given him a chance to explain? To tell his side of the story? I know he’s cocked up, majorly, but…’
Time to intervene, Sophie decided. And then make an excuse to go out. She would have to now, urgently, thanks to this interfering cow.
‘… he’s always seemed to be such a nice person,’ Gemma bleated on. ‘To genuinely care for you and Ella.’
Care, my arse. Sophie stepped forward, rapping quickly on the door and going in. ‘Sorry to interrupt.’ She smiled apologetically at the friend Claire would be considerably better off without, then turned her gaze towards Claire herself. ‘Ella’s upstairs, playing a game on my iPad,’ she said, making sure Claire realised she’d been concerned with her daughter’s welfare, while her friend appeared to be oblivious to her existence. ‘It’s just that I have to pop out to the chemist for a prescription.’
‘Oh no. You’re not poorly, are you?’ Claire looked at her, concerned. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Gemma, Sophie thought, pleased. She was the one who was close to Claire now.
‘No, nothing drastic,’ she assured her. ‘I had a chest infection a while back and it’s lingered a bit. It’s just that I forgot all about the antibiotics I was supposed to pick up, and as I’ve had a couple of bouts of pneumonia in the past…’
Now Claire looked stricken. ‘God, Sophie! You’d better go and get them. There’s a chemist on the high street.’
Walking towards the door, Gemma stopped in front of her. ‘I’m just leaving,’ she said, her eyes narrowed. ‘I could give you a lift if you like?’
‘That’s really kind of you, but I actually think I quite fancy the walk.’ Sophie declined the offer graciously. ‘Plus, it’s probably a good idea for me to find my way around now I’m staying.’
Offering Gemma another bright smile, she swung around, walking up the hall to grab her coat and bag from the pegs. She’d no intention of going anywhere near the chemist. Something else had just come up.