Free It Would Be Wrong to Steal My Sister's Boyfriend by Sophie Ranald

positively loquacious.
    “Family is enormously important to me and Serena,” he said. “She’s become a wonderful and close friend to Ellie” – true, she has – “and Rose” – steady on, Dad – “and Gill and Michael have welcomed me as a son, albeit an ageing, crusty one.” He was really getting into his stride. I dug my fingernails into my palms and willed him to wrap it up. Or better still shut up, but it was too late for that.
    “And we’re so excited that we are going to be adding a new generation to the family,” Dad blurted out in a rush. “Serena’s going to have a baby in June. Actually she’s going to have twins, and we’re both so delighted and proud.”
    The crowd, as they say, went wild. Granny and Grandpa pushed back their chairs and went over to Dad and were careful to tell him how happy they were for him and Serena, and Granny wiped away a tear and said it felt as if Elizabeth were in the room giving themher blessing. I got up, wanting to give Serena a proper squeezy hug so she’d know I was genuinely pleased and didn’t mind and wasn’t in the least bit upset or jealous. Gill and Michael were holding hands, looking terribly chuffed with each other and their daughter who, at the ripe old age of thirty nine, was going to present them with not one grandchild but two. Stu stood to go and congratulate God knows who, and caught his foot in the legs of his chair and went flying, taking the jug of punch with him. I rapidly changed direction and went to see if he was okay, because nothing would fuck Christmas up like a guest with concussion.
    Only Rose stayed in her place. She sat there, immobile, for a few long moments while the drink Stu had spilled cascaded over the crimson tablecloth and soaked into her cream dress. Then she stood up very, very slowly, holding on to the edge of the table as if she needed it to balance by, which perhaps she did, she’d had an awful lot of champagne.
    “How fucking dare you?” she said quietly, yet amidst the mayhem we all heard every word. “How fucking dare you do that to Mum?” And she turned around and left the room, dripping punch off her lap all over the beautiful wool rug that Serena had bought on her travels in Tibet, of which she was immensely proud, and walked slowly and gracefully up the stairs, her piled-up golden hair and her long neck and her straight slim back gradually disappearing as she reached the landing. Then the glasses and dishes on the table and the baubles on the Christmas tree shuddered with the force of our bedroom door slamming against its frame.
    There was a moment of total silence. Then Stu scrambled to his feet and started apologising for the mess and Serena and I rallied round and fetched cloths and sponges and Serena told him it didn’t matter, and Granny suggested to Gill and Michael that they all gothrough to the sitting room and she would take the Christmas pudding and mince pies out there on a tray with some coffee and port, and really it would be best to leave the two of us to get on with clearing up.
    Dad sighed heavily and said, “I suppose I’d better go up and have a word with Rose.”
    I didn’t say anything. I carried on sponging the carpet with stain remover, and feeling a bubble of resentment gradually building inside me. I was furious with Rose – not just for hurting Dad and being a bitch to Serena, but for taking the role of the sister who was special, who was different and sensitive and needed to be treated as such, otherwise she would withdraw herself and her affection from the family. Where did that leave me, I fumed? Being the one who cleaned up the mess and didn’t get the rich handsome men and smoothed over the hurt feelings, all my life for ever and ever, like some kind of latter-day Cinderella?
    I got up and tipped the bucketful of water down the kitchen sink, dried my hands and went into the front room, where everyone was sitting around rather awkwardly with cups of coffee and plates of