The Sister Surprise Abigail Mann (most difficult books to read TXT) 📖

read him. It could be that he’s just being nice to me and I’m interpreting it wrong.’

‘Now you understand my predicament with Kian.’ She claps her hands to her mouth. ‘He’s not here, is he?’

‘No, he’s down at the pigs.’

‘Good. Things are not going in the right direction there. He popped round yesterday, right? I came through to fill up my hot water bottle and he was stood in the porch talking to Mum, then when he saw me, he said he had to leave because Big Bertha was having phantom contractions.’

I laugh, but Moira looks so disheartened that I want to scoop her up and tuck her in my pocket.

‘I’m worried he’s going to throw his hands up and leave Kilroch again,’ she says in a quiet voice.

‘No way – no negativity here! He’s probably just preoccupied. Keep at it. I know we haven’t known each other long, but if he doesn’t sit up and notice how bloody cool you are, he isn’t worth the effort, quite frankly.’

Moira’s grin pushes dimples into her cheeks.

‘Stop now, or you’ll give me a big head.’

I tuck my laptop on a shelf, laughing.

‘I’ll get Mum to pester him about this,’ she says, pointing to the files. ‘She can be pretty intimidating when she’s got a bee in her bonnet, so it might make Kian more likely to sit down and do the application.’

‘I can believe that,’ I say, feeling sorry for Kian already.

***

After a morning spent picking up sacks of animal feed from a carefully curated list of eco-friendly, Kian-approved suppliers, I take Moira up on an offer of breakfast. Although scoffing Jacqui’s leftovers is of clear appeal, I can’t shift the low-key anxiety that has crept in since I skimmed through my emails an hour ago. Duncan’s most recent request to ‘curb the cutesy village larks and get back on the sister search’ was followed by an ultimatum: I have two days to give him a solid update or he’s pulling me back to the office. For now, I’ve fobbed him off with a line or two to buy myself a bit of time. I had intended to film our reunion, but it’s not like I could whip my phone out mid-pig debacle without it feeling weird and inappropriate, like I was using her for an internet sideshow. The problem is, the closer I get to Moira, the more I want to protect her. As a result, I’m so on edge that it feels like I’ve permanently got an ice cube slipped down the back of my shirt.

‘It’s here, isn’t it?’ I say, recognising Moira’s whitewashed cottage from a drop off last week.

‘Aye.’

‘Are we all right leaving the chicken feed on the back seat?’

‘Yeah, of course. Why?’

‘I don’t want someone to steal it.’

Moira scoffs, unclipping her seatbelt. ‘Who? The poultry bandits?’

She scrapes the mud off her boots by the doorstep and gestures for me to go inside. In the kitchen, she flicks the heating on, and pulls out a loaf of bread.

‘I’m so hungry I swear I’m ingesting myself,’ she says, waving a bread knife at me ‘I hope you’re ready to challenge your arteries.’

Twenty minutes later, Moira clunks a plate down on the scrubbed kitchen table. The oiled monstrosity she’s piled on top oozes blobs of cheese between two thick slices of bread, a circular round of sausage, and a slab of potato scone. It’s a coronary in a mouthful, with a side order of extra cholesterol. It’s also completely and utterly delicious.

‘I know I’ve got food all over my face, but honestly I couldn’t give a sheep’s arsehole,’ I say.

‘It’s good, isn’t it,’ says Moira, grinning, her chin smeared with ketchup and a sheen of grease.

‘No wonder the life expectancy is lower up here,’ I say without thinking. I blink stupidly, but Moira doesn’t notice my clumsy phrasing.

‘But it’s a good life. Worth knocking a few years off, don’t you think?’ she says.

We eat in comfortable silence as I scan the walls for clues that might tell me something about the way Moira grew up.

‘Have you been to all these places?’ I ask, pointing at the fridge door. Each inch boasts a different tourist destination in magnet form, from novelty Dutch clogs to the garish skyline of Las Vegas.

‘No. They’re from family friends. My cousin, mainly. He plays electro-folk violin in a band and tours a lot, so he posts a souvenir back when he visits somewhere new. I’ve not been abroad myself.’

‘Do you want to do something like that? Travel about?’ I say, picking Moira’s plate up and taking it to the sink.

‘I mean, sure. Who doesn’t? I’ve nae seen England, let alone crossed the Channel,’ she says, crossing a leg over the other knee. She unzips her hoodie, her cheeks so pink it’s like they’ve been drawn on with a wax crayon. ‘If I study equine dentistry, it’ll be my first time over the border. The thing is, I don’t know if there’s any point going to the interview.’

‘Why?’ I ask, pulling on a pair of pink Marigolds from the cupboard under the sink.

‘Ava, you don’t need to wash up.’

‘Don’t be silly, I’m up now. Go on.’

‘Well, even if I get a bursary, it won’t cover everything. If I get a place on the course, Mum will insist I take it up. That’s why I don’t want to tell her.’

‘OK, I’m not quite following …’ I say, picking up a wire sponge to scrape cremated cheese from a skillet pan.

‘She’d convince me to do it, but then I wouldn’t be able to help her out with the bills and the tearoom. Gah, she’d hate me spouting off about our finances round the village,’ says Moira, wandering over to the kitchen window, ‘but Dad wasn’t always the most sensible with money. He used to leave his thumbnail long for scratch cards, so that sums it up, really. Mum has taken on a lot of the debts he racked up. Basically, money comes in and goes out on the same