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

stumble sideways, my hip bumping against the pantry shelf. A bag of flour plops to the floor and splits, a white molehill on the flagstones.

‘Oops.’

‘What?’ says Ross, his lips full, eyes searching my face.

‘Your dog collar has popped out.’

He looks down and laughs, but when he meets my eyes again the intensity is gone, like we’ve shifted into the wrong gear.

Ross steps away and taps my arm like I’m a horse he’s pleased with, frowning at the flour dust settling on the tiles as he buttons his dog collar back into his shirt. I pull my T-shirt straight and swallow.

***

‘What took you so long?’ says Moira, following me down the driveway.

‘I was fetching egg boxes from Ross.’

‘What egg boxes? Did you leave them inside, or—’ Moira grabs my elbow and squints, interrogating my face in a way that reminds me of Jacqui.

‘OH MY GOD,’ she exclaims.

‘Shhhhh!’

‘I will not! You kissed, didn’t you? What was it like? Oh! Oh! Was it heavenly?’

‘Ha, no. Yes. I don’t know!

‘Oh, come on.’

I kick through dry leaves that have gathered in a drift along the wall, the sound crunchy underfoot like Bonfire Night sparklers.

‘He does not kiss like a priest,’ I say.

‘That’s because he’s a minister. A young, fit, highly desirable minister.’

‘Hmm. I don’t know. He was acting weird afterwards.’

‘Oh yeah?’ says Moira, misinterpreting me.

‘Not sexy weird. Like he regretted it.’

‘I’m going to throw one of your lines back at you now. Don’t overthink it. He’s got his own issues to deal with, just like everyone else.’

‘Yeah,’ I say, pulling my scarf tight. ‘That’s about right.’

‘What do you think about this?’ she asks, pulling her phone out. ‘I’ve been writing and rewriting this text message to Kian, but I don’t know if it sounds right.’

‘Give it here,’ I say, taking the phone off her. It takes three thumb scrolls to reach the end, which is concerning to say the least. ‘You know this is a text and not a letter, right?’

‘Is it a bit long?’

‘Yeah, I’d say so. One more thing. Do you know what these emojis mean?’ I say, flicking to the bottom of the text.

‘I’m not sure I get you,’ she says, her brow furrowed in confusion. ‘Mum made a peach pie and I said I’d drop some round, so I added them in.’

‘He might get the wrong idea if he reads. “Just wait until you eat this” followed by a string of peach emojis and water droplets.’

‘But … they’re juicy.’

‘Oh, your innocent mind,’ I say, deleting them for her and handing the phone back. ‘Keep it simple. “Hey, would be cool to hang out soon”, you know?’

‘Fine. But you’ll have to press the send button because I don’t have the nerve.’

I’m about to open my mouth when my phone vibrates in my pocket, making me jump. I wiggle it free and squint at the number as Moira crosses the road to greet a woman walking a wiry dachshund. I answer it, my stomach twisting at the name.

‘Hi, Max,’ I say, trying to sound more upbeat that I feel.

‘Ava! How’s the family?’ he says, badly disguising laughter by clearing his throat.

‘Did you call just to wind me up?’

‘What happened, banter buddy? Have your turned feral up there? Olz! Put me down for a kombucha. No, cherry plum, please, mate,’ he says, turned away from the mouthpiece. ‘Sorry, rushed off my feet, seems like we’re both riding off that ancestry video, eh? I did some more digging and it turns out I am related to the Plantagenets, so I’m basically royalty. Not a surprise, eh?’

‘Is there something you needed to tell me? Because I’ve got to get on.’

‘Yeah, sorry. Hang on, let me go somewhere quiet.’

Blood throbs in my temples. I hear the sound of chatter, clacking keyboards, and the rustling of Max’s shirt as he moves through the office. I hold the phone tight against my ear, paranoid that Max’s voice will leak out into the street.

‘You still there?’ I ask. I hear the clunk of a door.

‘Yeah. I’m in the plant room. Brings back nice memories. Ones involving Saskia, actually. Do you remember her, she had massive—’

‘Max! Please.’

‘Yep, sorry. I just wondered if I could read you back one of your diary entries?’

I close my eyes and rub my brow. ‘I know what it says, I wrote it. Look, it’s not my best, but I had to send something whilst—’

Max ignores me and launches into a breezy reading voice. ‘“The Hilltop Sasquatch of Kilroch greets me with a glowering eye and thick hands, all the better to push birch saplings out of the way”,’ he says, over-enunciating in a slow and painful rendition of words that I don’t recognise. ‘And this bit. “Between a constant series of favours and a collective IQ that would puzzle evolutionary historians, it’s a wonder the village functions at all. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out that the ale is cheap because they put the decimal in the wrong place.’

‘Hang on, Max. Wait. I didn’t write that.’

‘You did, according to the byline.’

‘Duncan said my first few diaries were too dry. I changed them a bit, to be funny, but I definitely didn’t go that far. I know people up here. I wouldn’t write that, it’s fucking rude.’

‘What about Jenny the Wink?’ interjects Max. ‘Does she really wink every three seconds?’

‘No! Well, yes. But that’s not why I included her. It was meant to be observational. She’s got a twitch,’ I gabble. I fumble in my tote bag and plug some earphones in, allowing me to jab my web browser open. I click through to my diary series on Snooper, but I only manage to skim-read the first entry before my signal drops and the web page times out. The mocking, mean-spirited passages that have been published under my name aren’t anything like the work I sent in.

‘Fucking hell. Someone’s edited them,’ I say, my voice small.

‘Y’think? It’s not a light touch. Pummelled to shit like an overworked bread dough is how I’d put it. I knew