The Wrong Mother by Sophie Hannah

Author:Sophie Hannah
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.

When Charlie opened the door to her sister, the first thing she noticed was what looked like a large book in Olivia’s hands, roughly the size and shape of the Spilling and Rawndesley telephone directory. Olivia held it up; it was a Laura Ashley catalogue, Spring/Summer 2007. ‘Before you complain, their prices are very reasonable. You’d be surprised. I know what a skinflint you are, and you know I don’t settle for second-best. Laura Ashley is perfect—affordable designer.’

Charlie waited for Liv to notice her red nose and puffy eyes, but Liv pushed past her into the hall. She stopped when she drew level with the radiator, eyeing the stained plaster all around her. ‘I know the look I’d go for,’ she said. ‘I’ve given it a lot of thought, and picked out a few goodies, nice fabrics and stuff. Obviously it’s your choice . . .’

‘Liv. I don’t give a shit about fabrics.’

‘. . . but I’m almost going to insist on Allegra Gold wallpaper for the hall, with a basketweave nutmeg carpet. And for the lounge, a Burlington distressed leather three-piece suite. Laura Ashley’s not all country-spinster chintz and flowers, you know. They’ve got some strong, solid stuff too. They do everything—literally everything—and the beauty of getting it all from one place is that they come and—’

Charlie pushed her sister aside and ran up the stairs. She slammed her bedroom door and leaned against it. Spinster. That was her, would always be her. She heard Liv huffing and puffing her way up the stairs; more exercise than she’d done in years, probably. Charlie walked over to the bare, curtainless window. She took hold of one end of the curtain rail and ripped it off the wall. There. Now Liv wouldn’t be able to hang any Laura Ashley curtains from it.

‘Char?’ A small knock at the door. Olivia pretending not to want to intrude. ‘Look, if you don’t want me to interfere, why not take charge of the decorating yourself? You can’t live with bare floorboards for ever.’

‘It’s fashionable,’ Charlie told her. ‘Carpet’s out. Wooden floors are in.’

Olivia flung open the bedroom door. Her face matched her pink scoop-necked sweater. ‘Properly sanded and polished ones, yes. Not ones that look like this. You haven’t even got a bed!’

‘I’ve got a mattress. King size.’

‘You’re living like . . . like someone who’s plotting a terrorist atrocity in a squat! Do you remember the shoe bomber, that ugly git with long hair and a turnip nose who tried to blow up a plane? I bet his bedroom was nicer than yours!’

‘Liv, I’m upset. That’s why I asked you to come round. Not so that we could talk about floorboards. Or terrorists.’

‘I know you’re upset. You’ve been upset for over a year. I’m used to it.’ Liv sighed. ‘Look, I know why you gutted the house, and I understand that you can’t be bothered to sort it out. I’m happy to project-manage it all for you. I honestly think you’d feel better if you—’

‘No, I wouldn’t!’ Charlie yelled.

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