Chapter Twelve
C HLOE WAS ALREADY nervous about spending time with Gwen. Her sister was still new to town, and the thought of her sitting at home alone was strangely sad. Gwen was used to sunshine and yacht rides, not cold little English towns.
Music was playing when Chloe stepped into the house. The heating was on far too high, and she scowled, shrugging off her jacket. ‘Gwen?’ she called, turning down the radiator.
Gwen was in the kitchen, the music too loud for her to hear Chloe coming in.
Chloe swallowed the gasp of horror that crawled up her throat.
The kitchen counters were a mess. A dirty cutting board was covered with carrot and potato peel, and the counters held broken eggshells, dirty bowls and measuring cups and spoons.
Free parts of the counters were covered in splashes of liquid, the sink somehow full, and even the dining table was a mess.
Gwen was in the middle of it all, standing at the hob over a steaming pot, tutting to herself as pop music blasted from her phone.
‘Hi,’ said Chloe, and Gwen jumped.
‘Oh, Chloe! I didn’t even hear you come in.’
‘Probably because of the . . . music.’ She just stopped herself from saying ‘noise’. ‘Erm, what are you making?’
The contents of the pot, the largest one in the house, were a bubbling brown mess with what she supposed must be carrot and potatoes inside.
‘Well, it’s supposed to be stew.’ Gwen stirred it with the wooden spoon. She lifted it and several thick splodges sluiced off. ‘Mr Richardson gave me some potatoes he’s grown in his garden. Isn’t he cute? I can’t believe he’s still alive.’
‘He wants us to call him Joe now,’ said Chloe, silently apologising to Joe for the sad fate of his homegrown potatoes. ‘The hob’s on too high,’ she added and reached to turn it down.
‘Oh crap, it’s burnt!’ Gwen howled and started scraping the bottom of the pan. It didn’t smell great, not that Chloe said anything.
The living room was reasonable, though there was a bottle of skin cream, some mascara, Gwen’s phone charger, and a dirty mug on the table.
The paperback Chloe was reading was on there too, half hanging off the side.
She straightened it all up and then went to get changed, more than a little anxious at what Gwen had planned for the evening.
Chloe felt a bit better when she had tugged off her work clothes and pulled on a cosy pair of sweatpants.
She slowly went back downstairs, thankful that Gwen had at least switched off her music. Gwen brought her a steaming bowl of . . . whatever she had made. Chloe tried to smile as she said thanks, though it probably looked like she had a toothache.
The dinner didn’t taste great. Gwen put a movie on as Chloe ate in silence, wondering if Gwen had dropped the salt into the stew.
And the sugar. Would it be better to gulp it down as quickly as she could, or would she succumb to poison if she did that?
After choking down half, she subtly placed it on the table beside her book.
At least Gwen had brought wine. She got her glass from the table beside its bottle.
Chloe wished Gwen had kept the thought of dinner to herself.
She couldn’t bring herself to feel grateful.
The movie Gwen had put on was her own favourite, one Chloe didn’t care much for.
She swirled the wine in her mouth. At least it was better than the so-called stew.
Gwen sat with her knees up, her glass in her lap, engrossed in the movie.
Chloe tried watching the film, but her focus slipped as her thoughts wandered to Harry. She hoped his dinner tonight was better than this, though perhaps he had opted for a frozen tikka masala this time.
He had remembered the little detail she had told him at the pub that day.
He had remembered she liked caramel lattes, had made the effort to go to the Brew House to buy her one.
Maybe he wasn’t all bad after all. She wondered what would have happened if he had been there during the robbery instead of her comic-book hero.
Why am I thinking about Harry?
She shifted to get more comfortable, thoughts drifting to the library again. Her special powers. The strangest mystery of all.
Who would she pull out next? Did Chloe want to use the power again?
It had certainly come in useful at the café.
She amused herself for a moment, thinking of all the book boyfriends she had encountered over the years.
Or maybe she’d pull out a villain, a scary one who would attack the library, and Chloe would be the hero who . . .
‘Chloe.’
She glanced over at where Gwen was sprawled on the couch. She looked annoyed. ‘I just said your name twice.’
‘Oh, right. I didn’t hear you.’ Chloe straightened. ‘What’s up?’
‘What’s up with you ? You’re all distracted.’
Chloe didn’t want to tell Gwen anything. ‘I’m not.’
‘You are.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You are.’
It was like they were bickering children again. In this very living room, they had had arguments like this. Imitating each other, engaging in meaningless back and forth fights.
‘You’re staring off into space,’ said Gwen, pausing the movie so Chloe was forced to look at her. ‘What’s the matter?’
Chloe sighed. ‘I’m thinking about that terrific mess you made in the kitchen.’
Gwen’s cheeks reddened. ‘I was just trying to do something nice for you.’
Chloe didn’t have the heart to tell her that Gwen had made a bowl of mud, so she said nothing, sighing as she took the remote from the couch and played the movie, crossing her arms as she looked back at the TV screen. It wasn’t fair. She could be doing literally anything else right now.
‘All right, tell me. What’s up with you?’ Gwen snatched up the remote and switched off the movie. She tossed the remote onto the coffee table, where it landed next to Chloe’s book.
The noise startled Chloe. ‘What?’
‘You’re fidgeting and thinking about something weird, I can tell.’ Gwen put down her glass on the coffee table. Then she stared at Chloe with her elbows on her knees. ‘What are you sulking about? Is it me? Being here in your house?’ Gwen demanded.
Chloe laughed harshly. ‘Sure, yeah, Gwen. Everything is about you.’
Her sister scowled at her. ‘Out with it. What is with you today?’
‘It’s nothing to do with you,’ Chloe fired back.
‘Apart from the fact that you’ve used up all my food, made a huge mess in the kitchen that I’m guessing I will have to clean up, since you cooked.
’ She sneered at the sad bowl of food she had deposited on the coffee table earlier. ‘If you can call that cooking.’
‘I tried my best,’ Gwen said.
‘No, you didn’t,’ said Chloe. ‘I know you can cook. You took food tech lessons at school, then you made Dad that lasagne, remember?’
The women glared at each other.
‘If you must know,’ Chloe said when the silence stretched on too long, ‘I don’t know why you’re bothering to do all this. You never bothered to reach out before or make any effort.’
Gwen let out a loud sigh. ‘That’s what this is all about? You know, you never reached out to me, either. You’re supposed to be the big sister.’
Chloe scoffed. There was only a year between them.
‘I never heard anything from you all these years, Chloe. At least I’m trying. I want to know about you, or anyone you might be seeing.’
‘Uh-huh. Right.’ Chloe nodded mutely, snatching up her wine and taking a sip. Another awkward silence rang between them, and Chloe considered at least the background noise of the film would make this less painful. ‘Switch the movie back on, if you want. I don’t care.’
Gwen leaned forward to reach for the remote again, but in her anger, or clumsiness, her hand knocked her wine glass. It toppled over, spilling wine all over Chloe’s book.
She let out a cry as Gwen gasped, snatching up her glass as Chloe dived for the soaked paperback. Dark red stained most of the front cover, seeping into the pages. She held it up, wine dripping onto the table.
‘I’m sorry, Chloe. My hand – the wine,’ Gwen babbled.
Chloe grimaced, holding the book between her forefinger and thumb as she half-ran to the kitchen for paper towels. ‘Why would I want to talk to you about anyone I might be interested in?’ she snarled over her shoulder. ‘After last time?’
Gwen made a noise like an angry cat, and a bang from the living room sounded like she had thrown the remote control at the wall.
Chloe cleaned up the book as best she could, but the damage was done; the wine had soaked into most of the pages, covering over half of it in a red stain that smelt strongly of berries.
Gwen must have stormed out of the house because she wasn’t anywhere when Chloe went back into the living room.
Sighing, she gathered the half-eaten mush and the wine glasses.
As she grabbed a bin bag for the food waste, Chloe wondered if Gwen really had done all this to be spiteful, or if it was just a clumsy, failed attempt at peace. At an apology.
As Chloe cleaned the kitchen, marvelling at how a stew could have taken so many pots and pans, anger gave way to a prodding sense of guilt.
It had been cruel for Chloe to mock her cooking, and to bring up something that had happened so many years ago.
Even if it still hurt. Even if Gwen still hadn’t said she was sorry.