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

Kian with a lass on his arm?’ says a voice from the illuminated porch of the church hall.

‘All right lads? Just helping Ava navigate the potholes. How you doing, Gary? Allan, good to see you.’

‘I’m fine from here,’ I lie, my heel sinking into a puddle rippling with droplets of rain.

‘So, this is the reason you’re not down The Banshee anymore?’ says Gary or Allan. I’ve taken an instant dislike to them both, seeing as they’re referring to me through objective pronouns despite the fact that I’m standing right in front of them.

‘No, boys. Got a lot on at the farm. Ava’s been volunteering.’

‘Oh, aye? Not even paying you? You’ve got to save money somewhere, right, Kian? He buys all the runts destined for the sausage factory when we’re down at the cattle market, so it figures,’ says Gary, finally addressing me. Well, someone’s already won the Biggest Bell-end of the Week Award.

Kian drags a hand through his hair and forces a smile.

‘Any chance we can go inside? It’s freezing out here,’ I say.

‘Oh, aye. After you.’

I nod to the two men and step over the threshold, where the metallic fizz of rain is replaced with the thwack of a drum and the chattering of voices greeting each other. The strip lighting that illuminated my corned-beef legs during aerobics has been replaced by fairy lights wound round the ceiling beams. Below, plastic tealights on each table flicker with an almost believable flame. A man at the back of the hall plucks violin strings and plays with amplifier dials, as other musicians pause every now and again to sip ale, stepping forward in turn to test their sound levels. Ross chats to an accordion player, his arms folded over the instrument like it’s a protruding belly. I shuffle out of my coat and hang it on a peg as Ross snatches a glance at me. He rolls his sleeves up to the elbow, something I’ve noticed he does when nervous.

‘Hey, thanks for that,’ says Kian, nodding towards the porch.

‘Oh, no worries. Thought you might need a good excuse to flee.’

‘It’s all banter, but it does get boring after a while. They’ve been dining out on the fact that I’m vegetarian since I came back to Kilroch.’ He pauses, raising a hand to John, who has a small child balanced on each hip. ‘Ah, best say hello. John never gets a night off. Shout if you see Moira, all right?’

Kian heads over to one of the tables set up around the edge of the hall, paper tablecloths scattered with cardboard coasters, bowls of crisps, and salty peanuts. Everything looks better with fairy lights and bunting. It’s the cheapest way to disguise the peeling magnolia paint of community halls. Mum knows this fact well, which is why we have an entire cupboard full of them at home.

I step to the side as Allan and Gary push past, each with a keg balanced on their shoulder. There’s a whoop of support from the men in the room, but it’s only now that I notice how outnumbered they are by women. It’s the most people I’ve seen in one place since I left London. Three red-headed boys run from one side of the hall to the other, dropping down to their knees to see who can slide the furthest across the parquet floor. Concerted as their efforts are, they’re beaten by a small girl with a mass of curls that flops in front of her eyes as she skids across the floor in thick woollen tights. She comes to a halt near my feet with a sudden loss of momentum that forces her back onto her heels. I offer a hand to help her up, which she takes, glancing over her shoulder to grin smugly at the boys who have lined up at the back of the hall to try again, their elbows up by their armpits.

‘I’m the best at this,’ she says, pushing her hair off her face with a flat palm.

‘You are. I bet you can get even further next time.’

The little girl nods vigorously and runs off, leaving me squatting on the floor.

‘You all right down there?’ says Ross.

I stand up and reach for his arm, which I use to pull him into a hug. He raises a hand behind my back to acknowledge some newcomers. Oh. We haven’t done this in public. I shift my stance and pat him on the back.

‘If I linger here for too long, will Eileen have words with me?’ I whisper, on tiptoes. By the kitchen hatch, Eileen folds her arms and makes a comment to Jacqui, who tightens her apron strings and catches my eye. Hmm. If Jacqui is here, Moira must be.

‘If Eileen asks you to try the sausage rolls, say no,’ says Ross.

‘Why? Did someone leave them next to a radiator?’

‘She may have tucked a razor blade between the pastry layers. Take out the competition, you know?’ he says, his eyes drifting down my body. Dear Lord, give me the power to get through an evening without gaining the reputation of a village harlot.

‘Oh, have you seen Moira?’

‘No, actually. I thought she was really keen for a ceilidh.’

‘I’m telling her tonight,’ I say, dropping my voice. ‘As soon as she arrives.’

Ross breathes in slowly and squeezes my arm. ‘Good luck. You’ll be fine, just be honest. And patient. She’ll have a ton of questions, I’m sure.’

The drummer taps out a staccato beat and there’s a whoop from the edges of the room as the band kicks into a folk song. Amongst the noise of shuffling feet, there’s a groan from a handful of middle-aged men who anchor themselves to their pints, draining their glass like there’s someone drowning in it before being physically dragged away from the table.

‘Need a partner?’ says Ross.

I nod and follow him to the middle of the room, where we join four others in a circle, all of whom look far more prepared than me.

‘I haven’t got a clue