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

I can wait,’ I say, glancing over her shoulder to a wood burner set in the corner of the room, its grate glowing with amber coals.

‘Well, he’s in the middle of a clear-out, you see. I’ve got to prepare the house for—’

‘Ava!’ says Ross, appearing at Eileen’s shoulder.

‘Hi,’ I say, on an outward breath.

Ross is wearing a thick cable-knit jumper with the sleeves rolled up, a week’s worth of facial hair sharpening the edges of his jawline. I’m not sure how, but it seems like the more layers he puts on, the more attractive he gets. I can’t imagine what would happen to my resting heart rate if he put on a hat.

‘This young lady has a question of faith to talk through with you, Minister.’

‘Does she? Well, we can’t let that stew. Eileen, you’re an angel, truly. I can’t thank you enough.’

Eileen pats her hair and clutches Ross’s wrist. ‘Oh, but the study is a mess with the treasury files. I best finish that off, don’t you think?’

‘Please, you’re making me feel terrible. She won’t even let me make the tea,’ says Ross, looking to me with a glint in his eye. ‘I insist you take a break. Glen’s playing bridge next door.’

‘Oh, I can’t play with Glen,’ says Eileen, her hands aloft in protest. ‘He’s an awful cheat. In God’s house, no less. I’ll be over tomorrow, Minister. Does seven o’clock suit?’

‘Seven it is,’ he says. Eileen pulls on a sheepskin coat and heads round the corner, Ross and I waving until she’s fully out of sight.

‘Seven? In the morning?’ I ask.

‘Don’t. I’m exhausted. I sent her off so I could have a nap. Might have to unplug the main line, too, because she’s bound to call. Anyway. You didn’t come here about Jesus, did you?’

‘No …’

Ross leans against the door frame and lifts an elbow to let me in. I duck and step into the kitchen, shivering with the sudden change of temperature, despite the flames licking at the stove door.

‘Do you want to take your coat off?’ asks Ross.

‘No.’

‘OK.’ He pauses, his hands in his pockets. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Not really.’

‘I didn’t think so.’

He steps forwards, tucks me into his chest, and rests his chin on the top of my head. The contact feels immeasurably good, like sinking into a bath so perfectly warm you can’t feel where your body ends and the water begins. ‘Can I check that this is definitely not a church thing, because I don’t include hugs as part of my parish duties, as a rule.’

‘It’s not a church thing. It’s a what-the-fuck-am-I-doing kind of thing?’

‘Ah, one of those. Will tea help?’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Shall we start with tea and if you still feel bad after one, we’ll move onto a bottle of McCallister’s.’

A few minutes later, I’m sitting in the corner of a brown velvet sofa, ugly enough to be ditched at a roadside, comfy enough to sink into due to its sagging frame and excess of cushions. Ross moves a stack of boxes half-filled with books and pulls out a blanket from a Jenner’s bag tucked under the coffee table. He throws it over my legs and sits down, seemingly unconcerned that I’ve railroaded his day. I slide my toes underneath his leg to try and thaw out, the cold tacked tight to my bones. It’s quite possibly the most intimate I’ve ever felt, in the proper sense of the word. He rests an elbow along the back of the sofa and waits for me to get halfway down my mug before asking me what’s wrong.

When I start, I can’t stop. I tell him everything, from the live stream, to finding out about having a half-sister, and why I’ve come to Kilroch. I speak in guilty half-sentences that tumble together.

‘So, it’s Moira? She’s your half-sister.’

‘I hadn’t reached that part yet,’ I say.

‘It’s kind of obvious.’ Ross props his head on his hand.

‘Is it? How?’

‘I’ve got two younger sisters. The way they go about with each other – I don’t think you can replicate that kind of dynamic anywhere else, even if you grow up apart. They had their moments, though. They scratched each other’s eyes out as teenagers. It’s something about the way their brains work; they’re hardwired to band together. Also, you have to have noticed this …’ says Ross, drawing a circle in front of his own face.

‘We’ve both got massive chins,’ I admit.

‘Not my words,’ says Ross, quickly. ‘You have a great chin.’

‘Thanks.’

‘How did you tell Moira?’

‘Hmm. That’s the thing.’

‘Ah. You haven’t told her,’ he says, putting his mug down on a tiled end table.

‘No.’ I scrunch my face up and tuck my knees in, scratching at an embroidered dove on the cushion that I’ve pulled onto my lap. ‘I’ve left it too late. It’s like forgetting someone’s name at the beginning of a party, except fifty times worse. If you ask again as you’re heading out the door, you look like a right twazzock.’

‘So, what are you going to do instead?’ he asks.

‘I don’t know. I’m delaying the inevitable, aren’t I?’ I bite my thumbnail and look at Ross.

‘What is the inevitable?’

He lets his question hang in the air and rubs his bristled chin with a curious look in his eye. It’s not the neutral expression I’ve seen him use with parishioners, like an ITV weatherman unfazed by gale force winds. I draw in a deep breath and exhale until my lungs feel small and empty.

‘I think that … I worry that Moira will see it as really underhand that I’ve come up here to “see what she’s like” before telling her that I’m her half-sister. I didn’t have a clue what I was walking into when I got the sleeper train at the start of the month. Oh, and as well as that, I’ve got no idea how I’m going to convince my boss to let me stay up here longer, especially if I keep leaving Moira out of my diaries. Snooper wants the whole trip