Читать книгу Make My Wish Come True - Фиона Харпер - Страница 16

Gemma stopped her car outside Juliet’s house, engine still running, but didn’t pull onto the drive. She sat there for a few moments, staring at the neatly-clipped evergreen hedge.

This was stupid. She was a grown woman in her thirties, but every time she approached Juliet’s front door the same thing happened: the years peeled away and suddenly she felt like a little kid who was merely something to be tolerated, a problem to be managed.

She drew in a long breath and blew it out again. This was no big deal. Just Juliet. She handled tougher situations on a daily basis at work.

Don’t care. It doesn’t matter what she thinks of you.

She pulled down the sun visor in her sports car and checked her reflection in the mirror. Apart from a couple of blonde ringlets, only her eyes were visible. As she stared at herself they transformed from round and wide like Bambi’s to apathetic and hooded like Garbo’s.

Good. She was ready.

Visiting one’s relations shouldn’t really involve goals and manoeuvres and tactical planning, but Gemma had learned the hard way that going in and dealing with Juliet without a battle plan was like going to war with a water pistol. The plan for today: a flying visit. She would swoop in, deliver the kids’ Christmas presents, chat for as long as she absolutely had to, then exit by fourteen hundred hours. It should be a piece of cake.

She took a deep breath and let it out again before edging her car onto the noisy gravel drive. She was sure Juliet had resisted paving, not only because she liked the old-fashioned look of the little stones, but because no one could approach her domain without her knowledge.

The place looked gorgeous, as it always did at Christmas. The steep gables and red brick of Juliet’s Victorian house suited the season so well. Plain white fairy lights were wound round a tree in the front garden and the struts of the covered porch. An evergreen wreath, complete with pine cones, silver jingle bells and a big red velvet bow graced the glossy black front door with its stained-glass panels, and the lights of a Christmas tree twinkled tantalisingly through the leaded windows of the living room. No doubt, half a forest’s worth of greenery would be inside, tastefully draped on fireplaces and wound round the banisters.

Gemma turned off the engine, got out of the car then went round to the boot to retrieve the two big bags of presents she’d bought for her nieces and nephews. When she’d been shopping for them she’d felt warm and fuzzy – generous – but now the overflowing bags just seemed a little bit much, as if she was trying to make up for something.

Which she was. Not that Juliet knew that yet, of course.

As she closed the boot, Juliet opened the front door and stood waiting for her on the front step. She smiled – albeit thinly – and wrapped her arms across her middle to stave off the chill of the December afternoon. Gemma wished she could experience a little lift of joy at their reunion, but her stomach began a downward journey, like a lift travelling all the way to the basement.

‘Hi!’ she said, walking towards Juliet, her own smile feeling just as brittle and fake. She avoided a full hug, using her laden-down arms as an excuse, and just leaned in to kiss Juliet’s cheek.

There was a stampede of feet once she got into the hall and three small forms came racing towards her and flung their arms around her hips and legs and middle, emitting squeals of, ‘Auntie Gemma!’ ‘Here, let me take those,’ Juliet said, and began to relieve Gemma of her bags before she’d even given an answer.

‘Hey, Josh …’ Gemma said a little breathlessly. ‘You’re squeezing a little hard, mate.’

He looked up at her, still squeezing. He was surprisingly strong for someone that small. ‘I’m Jake. That’s Josh,’ he said, and the other twin just giggled and started squeezing just as hard.

‘Whoever you are, cut it out!’ she yelled. ‘Or I’ll put those Christmas presents back in the car and take them back home.’

That did the trick. Both boys released her and stood watching her hopefully, faces a picture of angelic innocence.

Juliet shook her head. ‘You know the rule, boys. No presents until Christmas morning.’ And she disappeared upstairs with the parcels, much to the very vocal disappointment of the twins. With no brightly wrapped incentive to keep them hugging her, the smaller ones ran off again, leaving the way open for their older sister.

Polly was staring at her in a most unnerving fashion. Gemma smiled at her.

‘You sent me a card that said “Happy Birthday Groovy Eight Year Old”,’ Polly said in an accusing tone. ‘I’m ten.’

Whoops. To be honest, Polly was lucky she’d got one at all. Gemma wasn’t very good at that sort of thing. ‘Sorry,’ she said with a big smile, ‘but you’re growing up so fast I can hardly keep track! Look at you!’

Thankfully, Polly seemed appeased by that answer. ‘You can make it up to me next year,’ she said matter-of-factly.

Gemma smiled and gave her a kiss. ‘I promise I’ll get you one with a big eleven on it.’

Polly just blinked. ‘I was thinking more in terms of cash. And notes are better than coins.’

Gemma bit back a giggle. She’d got her old man’s wheeler-dealer instincts, this one. But she remembered how galling it was to be thought younger than you were at that age, especially when you were the younger sister, always straining to catch up to your older sibling and never getting any closer. She pulled a ten-pound note out her pocket. ‘Why don’t I start now?’ she said in a whisper. ‘But don’t tell the others.’

‘Don’t tell the others what?’ a voice said from the top of the stairs.

Gemma spun round. ‘Violet!’ She waited while her eldest niece descended the stairs then scooped her into a hug. She didn’t always get it right with the little ones, but she and Vi got on like a house on fire. She pulled back and took a good look at her niece. ‘Nice outfit, and I would kill for those legs!’

Violet was wearing a Fearless Vampire Killers T-shirt and skinny jeans that looked sprayed on.

‘I’d kill for a pair of those shoes,’ she said, indicating Gemma’s bright red suede heels, ‘but Mum won’t let me.’

‘You’ll have to forgive her,’ she said, glancing up, ‘she’s too old to remember what having fun is like.’

‘But you’re old too!’ Violet protested. ‘And you know how to have fun.’

‘Thanks … I think,’ Gemma said, laughing softly, and then she leaned closer. ‘Has that cute boy you mentioned in your last email asked you out yet?’

Violet blushed and shook her head. She started to answer, but Juliet appeared on the landing at that moment, so they just shared a conspiratorial smile.

Juliet frowned as she came back down the stairs and Gemma could feel her sister’s disapproval radiating stronger with every step. She knew Juliet and Violet had been going through a bit of a bumpy patch – didn’t all fifteen-year-olds do that with their mothers? – but she couldn’t really help it if Vi saw her as the cool auntie she could talk to about stuff.

When Juliet reached the hall she smiled sweetly and said, ‘It’s really lovely to see you after such a long time.’ But Gemma heard the reproach beneath her words, as only a sibling could. That was the way Juliet did things. Nothing showed on the surface; all the negative stuff simmered unhealthily underneath. Gemma couldn’t stand all that passive-aggressive business.

‘Lovely to see you too,’ she said, smiling back and wishing Juliet’s perfect shell would crack just once, just to see if she was really human.

‘Tea?’ Juliet asked, and led the way through to the kitchen.

Gemma nodded, but braced herself while Juliet filled the kettle. In her experience, her sister always asked the most dangerous questions while doing mundane tasks.

And here it came …

‘It’s very early for you to be bringing the kids’ Christmas presents,’ Juliet said as she flicked off the tap and placed the kettle on its stand.

Translation? How have you managed to deliver actual presents more than a week before the day, instead of sending guilt-inflated gift cards that arrive in the first week of January?

Gemma tried to ignore it. She wasn’t as heartless as Juliet made her sound. She nearly always worked right up until Christmas Eve and then dashed off on her annual Christmas holiday – the only proper break she had all year, because she always seemed to be working in the summer. And the kids never complained about having plenty of money to spend on iTunes or in the toy shop.

She shrugged. ‘Just trying to be a bit more organised this year. How’s Aunt Sylvia?’ she added, attempting to deflect the conversation elsewhere. She’d tell Juliet the real reason for delivering the presents at some point. But later. After she’d had a chance to soften her up a little.

A slow, slightly un-Juliet-like smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Almost a naughty smile – except that couldn’t be. Because, Gemma knew that if she and Juliet had been born on the same day, her sister would have been the good twin and she would have been the evil one.

She decided to probe what that strange little smile was all about. ‘What’s up? Is something the matter with Aunt Sylvia?’

Juliet picked up the kettle and poured boiling water into a waiting teapot. ‘Oh, she’s about the same as she has been for the last few months. Actually, I thought we could pay her a visit this afternoon. Violet’s going to mind the little ones for a couple of hours.’

Gemma glanced at the clock in dismay. A couple of hours?

So much for a flying visit.

Juliet led the way into the day room at Greenacres and pulled out one of the high-backed armchairs so Gemma could sit opposite their great-aunt. As much as the thought of that fluffy sweet waiting patiently for Gemma in the depths of Aunt Sylvia’s handbag tickled her, she had more serious reasons for insisting Gemma came here this afternoon.

She wanted her sister to see just how far their great-aunt had deteriorated, hoping – in vain, maybe – that it’d prompt Gemma into spending more time with her family. It wouldn’t be long before Sylvia forgot them both completely.

‘Hello, Aunt Sylvia,’ Juliet said, watching closely as Gemma lowered herself into the chair. She then pulled one round for herself. ‘Look who’s here!’

Sylvia blinked and looked at her new visitor. ‘Gemma!’ she exclaimed and pressed her wrinkly fingers over her mouth while her eyes shone.

‘Hi, Auntie Syl,’ Gemma said. ‘Long time no see.’

‘Too long,’ Sylvia said sharply, but then smiled again. ‘Never mind. You’re here now – that’s all that matters.’ She turned to look at Juliet. ‘Hello.’

‘Hello.’

Sylvia’s brow wrinkled slightly.

Her aunt stared blankly at her for a few seconds before returning her attention back to Gemma. ‘Oh,’ she said suddenly, ‘I just remembered! I’ve been saving something special for you.’ She reached down beside her chair for her handbag and rummaged inside for a few seconds before dropping something small into Gemma’s hand.

It was the punchline Juliet had been anticipating for more than a week, but now the moment had arrived, she really didn’t feel much like laughing.

Of course Sylvia would remember Gemma. Everybody did. It was Juliet who was turning shades of grey, disappearing quietly into the wallpaper of her humdrum life.

Gemma was looking at the object in her palm, a bemused expression on her face. Juliet held out her hand to take it from her. She knew where the bin was and Gemma didn’t. ‘Here, let me …’ She began to rise, but then Gemma dropped the item into her waiting hand and she discovered it was neither sticky nor fluffy. In fact, it was slightly heavy and the tiniest bit cold. Delicate. She looked down at her palm and found a gold and diamond ring sparkling there.

‘I couldn’t possibly …’ Gemma was saying.

Juliet dropped the ring back into Gemma’s hand then stood up and backed away.

Her grandmother’s engagement ring – the one she’d left to Sylvia on strict instructions that their eldest granddaughter would get it when they were both gone.

Despite the protestations, Aunt Sylvia pressed Gemma’s fingers closed around the three diamonds in their rose gold setting. ‘No, you have it. It would look better on a pretty thing like you than on my bony old fingers.’

Gemma’s eyebrows raised slightly, but she didn’t look shocked, or guilty, Juliet realised. Didn’t she know?

Of course she didn’t know. That would involve being present for family events and listening to what other people said, and neither of those things were Gemma’s strong suit. Juliet scowled as Gemma kissed their great-aunt and slid the ring into her pocket. ‘Thank you, Auntie Syl. This means a lot to me.’

And she said it with such a sweet sincerity that Juliet wanted to scream. In fact, she must have made a muffled noise of some sort, because Sylvia turned to look at her again. ‘Didn’t you say you were going to get the tea, dear?’

‘Uh …’ Juliet’s mouth refused to work properly. She swallowed and tried again. ‘I just …’

She had to get away, get out of here. Otherwise she was going to create a scene. And Juliet never created scenes. Even when Greg had left she’d only let big silent tears fall down her face as she’d watched him climb into his car, slam the door and drive away.

She looked towards the day-room door, and then, without deciding to, she was walking. Out of the room, down the corridor and into the small kitchenette that the nurses used to make their tea. Juliet was here so often that they let her use it whenever she visited. She stared at the dull white cabinet in front of her. She knew the teabags were inside, but she didn’t reach out and open the door.

She felt something rising inside her chest, something bitter and dark. This was no bubble of naughty laughter at a fluffy sweet. It was cold, tasting of emptiness. It scared her so much that she squashed it down again, closed her eyes and concentrated on making it disappear.

When she thought she’d finally regained control, she opened the cupboard door, retrieved the cheerful Union Jack teabag tin someone had saved after the Jubilee and made tea for three.

What else could she do?

Helping was what Juliet did. And if people only half-remembered her when she did that, she’d probably disappear completely if she stopped.

Gemma glanced across at Juliet as they drove back to her house from the nursing home.

‘What’s up with you?’

Juliet’s face was a picture of calm, but she was clutching the steering wheel so hard the tendons were standing out on the backs of her hands. She flicked the indicator and sailed round a corner at an even speed. ‘Nothing.’

Gemma could let this drop. That’s what Juliet obviously wanted her to do. And it was the option she usually chose. There was enough tension between the two of them without adding more issues into the mix, but today – because she was feeling a little guilty maybe – she decided to press on. ‘Well, it’s obviously not nothing, because you’ve got a face like a smacked fish.’

Beautifully done, Gemma. You waded in nice and gentle-like.

And then she just kept going: ‘You wanted the ring, didn’t you?’

She regretted that comment the moment it left her mouth. Why had she said that? Why? She’d told herself she was going to tread round the subject carefully, give Juliet the opportunity to tell her herself. She’d guessed that her sister’s mood had something to do with Gran’s ring, because she’d been behaving almost normally up until that point.

‘No,’ Juliet said, but the serene mask was slipping. Her jaw was tense and she glared at the oncoming traffic as she waited to turn right at a junction.

‘Yes, you did. It’s just the kind of old-fashioned stuff you go all gooey over.’

Juliet suddenly swerved into the kerb and stopped, yanking the handbrake on before turning to look at Gemma. ‘It’s not about the ring! Not about the diamonds and gold, anyway …’ She shook her head and let out an exasperated sigh. ‘It’s about … Oh, forget it. You wouldn’t understand.’

‘I’m not a little kid any more, Juliet. You could try to give me the chance to understand, but you never do. So tell me … What is it that is so wonderfully complex that my poor little brain could never hope to grasp?’

Juliet kept her eyes on the road ahead, and when she spoke her voice was heavy. ‘I just wanted someone to think about me first for once, that’s all. I’m tired of being second best.’ She thought for a moment. ‘No, it’s not quite that … I’m tired of being the warm-up act.’

Gemma turned to look at her, nose wrinkled. ‘Huh?’

‘It’s the story of my life,’ Juliet said bitterly. ‘Take Greg – I feel like I was one he settled for until the real love of his life came along. I was keeping bloody Anoushka’s seat warm, basically.’

If Gemma didn’t know any better, she’d have thought Bloody Anoushka was the woman’s full name, because Juliet never called her anything else these days.

When she spoke again, her voice had taken on a grim tone. ‘And then there’s you …’

Gemma instantly rose to her own defence. ‘What did I do?’

Juliet looked over her shoulder, indicated, released the handbrake and started driving towards home again. ‘Don’t pretend to know you weren’t the favourite. Once you arrived Mum and Dad just doted on you and I just seemed to fade into the background, like I was the one they practised on until they were ready for you.’

Gemma’s mouth dropped open. How could Juliet believe such things? Didn’t she know that all their mother had talked about when Gemma had visited was how lovely Juliet’s wedding had been, and what a good cook she was, how adorable her children were and why didn’t Gemma find a nice man like Greg instead of wasting her time with all those losers?

Her stomach dived. Oh, hell.

If that was what Juliet believed, no wonder there was always a whiff of resentment in the air when they got together. Unfortunately, it was probably going to take another decade for them to unravel that issue, and Gemma had more pressing matters on her mind, like stopping a fully-fledged Juliet meltdown when she let slip what she’d been avoiding bringing up all afternoon.

First things first … She racked her brain to find a way to bring the conversation onto a happier note. She really needed Juliet to be feeling warm and forgiving when she broke the news.

‘I think you should have the ring,’ she said, nodding to herself. ‘After all, you’re the eldest. It makes sense.’

Juliet carried on driving, but at the same time she seemed to go very still, and Gemma suddenly realised that maybe she was the last one to catch on to who the ring had been intended for all along.

‘I meant it when I said it wasn’t about a couple of diamonds,’ Juliet said. ‘Anyway, it’s Aunt Sylvia’s ring now. She can give it to whoever she wants.’

Gemma frowned. ‘She did seem a little bit mixed up today …’

Juliet let out a weary sigh. ‘It’s more than that, Gemma! You’d know that if you were around more. I visit twice a week, and only a handful of times since October has she remembered who I was.’

‘Don’t be daft!’ Aunt Sylvia couldn’t possibly be that bad. At least, Gemma didn’t want to believe things had deteriorated so badly. Surely that couldn’t happen to the spunky old lady who’d always seemed so sharp, who’d always been able to beat her at rummy, no matter how hard she’d tried? ‘Of course she remembers you,’ she told Juliet. ‘She just has a bit of a problem with names now and again.’

‘You’re fooling yourself, seeing things from your own unique, Gemma-centred perspective as always,’ Juliet replied, regaining some of her usual self-righteous air. ‘Whether you want to admit it or not, she’s gone downhill very fast, and that’s just another reason why I really, really need your help this Christmas.’

Gemma’s eyes widened. On any other day she’d have been stupidly pleased to hear Juliet say something like that, but today that was the last thing she wanted to hear. All she was going to do now was prove Juliet right about her once again.

She swallowed. Oh, hell. She had to tell her. Couldn’t put it off any longer. She owed Juliet that at least.

So, as her sister pulled into her driveway and turned off the car engine, she blurted out the secret she’d been keeping all afternoon.