I love and admire my sister with all my heart. She’s steadfast and honest and she only wants to do good for the world. When she’s not researching rocks in Chile, she’s always off volunteering for unglamorous charities—she once spent a whole week digging latrines. (When I exclaimed, “Oh my God, Jess!” she just looked puzzled at my shock and said, “Someone’s got to do it.”)
She’s kind of serious, but when she cracks a smile you feel like she’s made your day. Basically, she’s awesome. It’s just that I do find it a tiny bit hard to live up to her principles.
Anyway, it’ll be fine, I tell myself yet again. It’s only Christmas. It’ll work itself out.
Putting my phone away, I head into the Letherby Gift Shop and glance around, checking that everything looks OK. We sell clothes, cushions, greetings cards, boxes of toffees…a bit of everything. It’s fairly random, but I’ve been trying to organize it into themes and displays, and I’m really proud of my hygge table. It has blankets, scented candles, tins of hot chocolate, Letherby organic-cotton pajamas, and some alpaca hoodies in a lovely soft gray.
I pause to tweak the display lovingly, then look up to see Suze striding in, wearing a Letherby pale blue tweed miniskirt that looks amazing on her. (It was my idea that we should all wear the merchandise. Mainly because if anyone can make a tweed skirt look hot, it’s Suze.)
“Hi!” I say. “Amazing euphonium!”
“Oh, thanks!” Suze’s face brightens. “Don’t you love Miss Lucas? She has such wonderful ideas for craft projects!”
“I suppose,” I say reluctantly. “Although there are quite a lot of craft projects, don’t you think?”
“But they’re such fun!” enthuses Suze. “I should have been a primary school teacher. I love all that stuff.”
She unlocks the till and neatens a pile of leaflets on local walks. Then she clears her throat. As I look up, I notice her long legs are twisted around each other. In fact, she looks really awkward. What on earth is up?
“By the way, Bex,” she adds in a super-casual voice, “I’ll take the statues after all.”
“What?” I stare at her.
“I’ll take the statues. We’ll have them here.”
“You’ll take them?” I say in astonishment. “Just like that?”
“Yes!” she says evasively. “Why not? It’s no big deal.”
“Suze,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “What do you want?”
“Why would I want something?” she retorts hotly. “God, Bex, you’re so suspicious! I’m volunteering to take your statues. I went to have another look at them, and I thought, Actually, they’re quite impressive.”
“No, you didn’t!” I reply disbelievingly. “You’re softening me up to ask me a favor.”
“No, I’m not!” Suze turns bright pink.
“Yes, you are.”
“OK!” She suddenly cracks. “I am! Bex, you have to ask us for Christmas. Tarkie’s Uncle Rufus has invited us to his castle in Scotland, and I just can’t do it. I can’t!”
She looks so despairing, I stare at her, wanting to giggle.
“What’s wrong with Tarkie’s Uncle Rufus? It can’t be that bad, surely?”
“It’s awful,” says Suze desperately. “He doesn’t believe in heating, and his housekeeper runs freezing cold baths for everyone each morning, and there’s no cornflakes for breakfast, only haggis, and the children have to peel potatoes all day.”
“The children?”
“He thinks it’s good for them. He brings in extra potatoes for them to do, and if they leave any peel on he shouts at them.”
“Wow.”
“Exactly! And he phoned last night to invite us. My parents are going to be in Namibia, so he knew we weren’t going to theirs, and I didn’t know what to do. So I said, ‘Gosh, Uncle Rufus, that sounds lovely, but my friend Becky’s mother has already invited us for Christmas Day.’ You don’t have to actually have us,” she adds hurriedly. “Just be our excuse. And I’ll take the statues,” she finishes breathlessly.
“Mum’s not hosting Christmas this year,” I inform her.
“Oh God.” Suze’s face falls. “Don’t tell me you’re going away or something. Can I still tell Uncle Rufus we’re spending it with you?”
“Even better, you can actually spend it with us!” I say with a flourish. “Because guess what? I’m hosting Christmas!”
“You’re hosting Christmas?” Suze’s face freezes in a stunned rictus.
“Don’t look like that!” I say crossly. “It’ll be great!”
“Of course it will!” Suze hastily recovers herself. “Sorry, Bex. I was just a bit…surprised. Because you’re not exactly…”
“What?” I say suspiciously. “I’ve hosted parties, haven’t I? And they haven’t turned into fiascos, have they?”