Free Letters From My Sister by Alice Peterson Page B

is going to come in.
    ‘Shall I, er, do it again?’ he asks with enthusiasm. ‘I’ll give you, um, another clue,’ he adds generously. ‘OK. OK.’ He positions himself.
    Bells starts rocking forwards and backwards like Mr Vickers. It’s the first time I have seen her enjoying herself since she arrived. He still makes those odd noises as he rocks back and forth. ‘Mind the gap,’ he announces sporadically. ‘That is,’ he pauses, ‘er, the clue,’ and he smiles at Bells and Eve.
    ‘
Bien sûr!
You are on a train!’ Eve claps.
    Bells claps too. ‘Choo-choo train!’
    ‘I am on the, er, underground at Waterloo.’ He talks slowly, emphasizing every word, in between his stammering. ‘I could not get a seat so I am er … er …’
    Oh good lord. Is it only me who thinks this is insane?
    ‘I am holding on to the, er, strap.’
    He is about to do another role-play and I have to say something now, I’m at breaking point. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Vickers, we’re busy …’ Eve, Bells and Mr Vickers look around the empty shop.
    ‘Er, nice to meet you, Isabel, Eve.’ Mr Vickers looks at me and nods before he leaves.
    ‘You come back?’ Bells calls after him.
    When he is out of sight, Eve looks at me disapprovingly and I shrug my shoulders. This is my shop, not a community centre.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    ‘I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t realize it was your turn to host the poker night,’ I apologize again. Sam watches me as I throw down my handbag, newspaper and house keys on the sofa. Today felt about a week long. No visit from Mr Vickers but the thing that really gets to me is when Bells touches the clothes with her gummy fingers. Thank God most of them are black, but even so, no one wants sticky grains of sugar on their dress. Eve took her up to the box room, a tiny room off the second floor where I keep a kettle, coffee and my delivery boxes. She said she’d help Bells wash her hands. ‘Hot soapy water,’ I could hear my sister saying.
    ‘You bite your nails? You should eat raw jelly,’ I overheard Eve suggest. ‘I will treat you to a French manicure. You would like?’ Sometimes I wonder what I would do without Eve. That manicure gave me enough time to refold all the clothes.
    Now Bells sits down on the sofa and opens her Magnum ice-cream wrapper, oblivious to my conversation with Sam. Sam is eyeing the sticky chocolate wrapper that is precariously close to his cream-coloured cushion. ‘Why do you plonk your crap on the sofa, Katie, when there’s a perfectly good table next to it?’ He frowns. ‘Isabel, give me that wrapper.’
    ‘You like Stevie Wonder?’ Bells asks him.
    ‘What?’ Sam squints at her.
    ‘You like Stevie Wonder?’ Bells repeats, holding the CD towards him, ice cream wobbling in the other hand.
    ‘Not a fan,’ he says. ‘That “Ebony and Ivory” song he did with Paul McCartney was a pile of pants.’
    So charming.
    ‘What I really don’t like, though, is junk lying around the place. It’s my home, so if you could respect the rules? Good girl,’ he says, avoiding eye contact. ‘Wrapper, please.’
    She hands it to him and he marches off downstairs to the kitchen. I follow him. I can hear the television being turned on upstairs. Bells is watching Wimbledon.
    ‘I can’t go out tonight, Sam, I have to do my accounts. Bernard was on the phone today, putting the pressure on.’
    ‘Katie, it’s strictly a boys’ night,’ he tells me, lifting the bin lid, throwing the wrapper in and slamming it shut.
    ‘OK, what if I told you Kate Moss was coming over this evening?’
    A slight smile plays on his lips and then promptly disappears. ‘Not allowed access, I’m afraid.’
    ‘What if I’m really quiet … as quiet as a mouse?’
    ‘What’s Isabel going to do then? I thought Tuesday night was your girls’ night with Emma?’
    ‘I had to cancel.’ I open the fridge and look inside. Potatoes for baking are in the bottom drawer, as well as a head of organic broccoli and