Make My Wish Come True. Fiona Harper
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.
‘I can’t believe you!’ Juliet yelled, as she crashed through the front door and marched down the corridor. She wasn’t sure exactly where she was going, she just needed to keep striding. When she reached the study she turned round and headed back in Gemma’s direction, meeting her in the hall. ‘You’re jetting off to the Caribbean for Christmas and leaving me here on my own? Again?’
Her sister’s mouth opened and closed but no words came out.
‘Bloody St Lucia, as well!’ Juliet screamed. ‘Rub it in, why don’t you?’
She became aware of four pairs of eyes watching her from the living-room doorway, let out a shriek of frustration and strode off in the direction of the kitchen. Probably not a good idea. There were heavy things in there. And knives.
Gemma was either stupid enough or foolhardy enough to follow.
‘I’m sorry,’ Gemma said, her eyes looking large and moist and sorrowful. Juliet felt a tug of sympathy down in her gut, but she stamped on it. It wouldn’t work, not this time.
She sucked in a breath through her teeth, held it for a second and blew it out again. ‘You promised! I’m behind with the preparations, because every time I try to tick something off my list, something unexpected crops up. I’ve hardly got enough time to sleep before Christmas Day as it is – and that’s when I thought you were going to be around to help!’
‘Juliet, you make the whole thing such hard work. And that’s not what Christmas is about. It’s not called a holiday for nothing, you know. Why don’t you have a quiet Christmas, just you and the kids, and leave all the fuss for another year?’
Her sister really had no clue, had she? It was too late for that.
‘Aside from the kids – who have been behaving like monsters, by the way – I’ve arranged with the home for Aunt Sylvia to spend the day with us, Doris Waterman always comes because all her children now live in America, and then there’s a couple of au pairs who go to our church, and the last-minute additions of Uncle Tony and his new girlfriend.’
Gemma frowned. ‘Which one’s Uncle Tony?’
‘Gemma! You’re missing the point! I would never have invited so many if I’d thought you weren’t going to be here to help me.’
Juliet slumped down into a chair and laid her head on the kitchen table. Her right temple had started to throb right about the time Gemma had announced she had tickets to fly to St Lucia on the eighteenth and she was worried something was going to burst if she didn’t try to calm down a bit.
She felt like crying. Really crying. Not that eye-fanning, tissue-dabbing kind of crying, but the kind of sobbing that made one sound like a demented baboon and produced lots of snot.
Gemma swore softly, and Juliet heard the sound of a kitchen chair scraping on the flagstones before the rustle of fabric confirmed that her sister had joined her at the kitchen table. ‘I didn’t realise …’
Juliet lifted her head and stared at her sister. ‘You never do realise, that’s the problem.’ It was high time Gemma took responsibility for her actions. Juliet wasn’t going to let her off the hook because she’d mumbled out an apology and made puppy-dog eyes. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’
‘I don’t know!’ Gemma wailed. ‘It was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing! You sent me that snotty text and then there was a situation at work, and—’
‘Spare me,’ Juliet said drily. ‘We all know how wonderful your job is and how it’s so much more important than anyone else’s. It must be such a hard life sucking up to movie stars all day long. Boo hoo.’
Gemma glared at her. ‘There’s a lot more to it than that! I don’t just float around batting my eyelashes, you know. I’m one of the most sought-after Second ADs in the business.’
‘Oh, yes.