Five Winters(4)

Rosie had netball practice—unlike me, she wasn’t hopeless at sports—so I walked back to her house on my own after school, wondering all the way whether I could lose the note somehow without suffering any consequences. But short of the earth opening up and swallowing both me and my schoolbag with the note inside it, or Rosie’s family deciding to relocate overnight to the Costa Brava and taking me with them, I couldn’t think of any way at all.

No, the note would have to be given, and I would have to take whatever response I got back to Donna.

Sylvia, bless her, could tell something was wrong as soon as she saw me. “Are you all right, Beth, love?” she asked.

I just nodded, asking, “Is Mark home yet?”

“Yes, he just got back. He’s up in his room. I’m making him a hot chocolate. D’you want one?”

“No thank you.”

I left her and her concerned glance behind me and went upstairs, my legs like lead.

Music was coming from Mark’s room. I hesitated, unsure whether to knock or go straight in. In the end, I knocked and waited.

Mark opened his door, looking puzzled when he saw me. “Beth? Hi. Everything okay?”

I got straight to the point. “Donna Baker gave me this for you.”

I held the note out. He took it.

“Donna Baker. She’s the tarty girl with the short skirts and the tight jumpers, isn’t she?”

I nodded, but Mark was too busy unfolding the note to see. Miserably, I watched him read, waited for the smile I’d imagined would light up his face. It didn’t happen.

“She . . . Donna . . . said I had to get a reply from you,” I said falteringly.

Mark looked at me, his eyes searching, and it was then, at that precise moment, that I realised Donna was right. Mark was hot, if “hot” meant “attractive.” Beautiful, even. His face had changed recently, lost its puppy fat to reveal cheekbones and interesting angles. He was tall and broad shouldered from being on the school swimming team, and his eyes were the green of the moss on the garden wall. He was better than any pop star or actor I’d seen. And he didn’t feel like my brother. Why should he? He wasn’t. If I’d had a brother, he probably would have been blue eyed and auburn haired like me. Shorter, too, since neither of my parents had been tall.

“I’ll give Donna my answer myself tomorrow at school,” Mark said, reaching out to put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.”

Mark was waiting to walk to school with me and Rosie the next morning. We didn’t talk much, although Rosie babbled on; I can’t remember what about. But it felt good to have him by my side, even though I was bursting to know what he was going to say to Donna.

When we reached the playground, Donna and her friends were waiting for me.

“What do they want?” Rosie asked as I instinctively slowed down.

But when Mark went over to them, I followed.

“Hi, Donna,” he said, and he sounded so much like his usual self, I still couldn’t tell what he was going to say.

“Hi,” Donna managed, and when I looked at her, it was obvious she was nervous. Donna, nervous. Maybe she was human after all.

“Thanks for your note,” Mark swept on. “I’m very flattered. The thing is, I’m not actually looking for a girlfriend at the moment. I’m really busy with swimming practise and homework and stuff. But if that changes, I’ll let you know, okay? Especially if I hear you’ve been nice to my sisters.”

Donna pouted, glaring in my direction. “Beth says she isn’t your sister.”

Mark shrugged. “Maybe not, biologically,” he said. “But she’s my sister in all the ways that count.”

Then he turned to smile at me, and right there, right then, the deal was sealed. I was Beth, Mark’s sister, and that was the way he would always see me from then on. No matter how I felt about it.





3


At the wedding, I was about to rejoin Jaimie when Grace’s two young nieces raced past, almost sending my plate of food flying. Grace had presented them with disposable cameras at the beginning of the reception and told them they were both official wedding photographers. As a distraction technique, it had worked well for about five minutes. Now their cameras were abandoned who knew where, along with their weary parents. I couldn’t help but smile at how much fun they were having.

My smile soon faltered, though, wiped out by a pang of longing. I’ve wanted a family—kids of my own—for almost as long as I’ve wanted Mark. Well, okay, not quite as long as that. I suppose I was about twenty-three or twenty-four when I first started to feel broody. But now I was thirty-five, and my biological clock was ticking so fast I could hear it in my ears.

“You’re eating them up,” said Rosie, joining me.

I knew she wasn’t referring to the mountain of vol-au-vents stacked on my plate.

“You have to admit they’re cute,” I said.

Rosie considered the little girls dispassionately. “If you like that sort of thing.” She gave me a quick hug. “Never mind. I’m sure you’ll find someone to give you babies soon, kiddo,” she said. “What about that guy you were just flirting with for ages?”

“Who, Jaimie?” I looked over at him, noticing a look of pain on his face. Obviously, kids and custody had to have been on the agenda at the divorce courts. Poor guy.