Vanilla Martinis (Sweet Cocktails Book 2)

CHAPTER One

Nellie

I rub my sweaty palms down my cropped light blue jeans before squeezing my hand back into a ball. Let this be good. Holding my breath, I wait for Ainsley to start her gymnastics routine. The blue and silver leotard took me months to save up for, but it was worth it. My fifteen-year-old sister looks beautiful.

We both have light blonde hair, and I tied mine in a bun to match hers. Synchronise the outside with how you want to feel on the inside—smart, bold, and ready for success. We follow a super superstitious routine since her new coach started giving inspirational pep talks. I haven’t washed my lucky socks since the last competition, which may be a step too far, but Ainsley said it worked a couple of months ago when she took home bronze, and I’d do anything to help her get where she wants to be in life.

Her gaze catches mine for a split second, and then the music starts. She inhales deeply and begins. Strong legs, pointed fingers, and the perfect spring in her step. She leans forward into her first set of somersaults, making it look effortless. Her body glides through the air like she was born to do this. When she lands near the end of the mat, my hands mimic hers as she adds her dance moves. Fingers together, tight arm movements. She turns and starts to relax into the moves she’s practiced a million times. This is going well. When she performs a double backflip with a twist and executes it perfectly, I’m excited.

Yes! She’s nailing this.

Two leaps and down into splits. More arm movements and then a forward roll. Every move she does is with precision, and by the time she does the last flip, my face hurts from smiling and my palms are throbbing from holding my fist so tight.

“Yes,” I say to myself, even though no one else can hear me. Everyone claps when she’s done, although my applause is the loudest.

She stands poised for a few seconds and then walks off the mat towards her coach. There are three more girls to perform before we’ll know her placing. I sit back in the uncomfortable plastic chair, my heart still pounding and adrenaline pumping wildly. The next two gymnastic routines are good, but not Ainsley good. Maybe I’m biased when it comes to her talent, but I’m feeling hopeful she’ll get high marks.

Ainsley stands with the other girls while we wait for the results. My already throbbing hands are now getting used as chew toys as I gnaw down on the edge of my index finger. Chatter breaks out amongst the parents while the judges deliberate on final scores. I can’t even focus on anyone else as I anxiously bite my nails. It’s taking longer than usual for them to announce the results.

Remembering I’m on a schedule, I pull out my phone from my pocket and check the time. I’ve got two hours before I need to get to work.

Sweet Cocktails is a high-end bar located on the Liverpool Docks. I’ve worked there since it opened five years ago. First as a glass collector and then, when I turned eighteen, I trained as a mixologist. It pays well and the shifts fit around Ainsley’s and my lifestyle. I’m not always home at night, but she’s a good kid and I have no other options. My mum isn’t always around and we have to adjust when she’s not reliable.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are ready to announce the winners,” one of the judges says.

The room falls into complete silence, and I hold my breath.

“The bronze medal goes to Beth Rodgers.”

Everyone claps to show support, and I smile with relief. That’s good. Ainsley was better than third. Her routine was more complex than Beth’s, even if she is an excellent gymnast. I cross my fingers; my girl has to place higher. Just one more name needs to be called and then gold will be within our grasp. She trained her hardest for today. Her school friends have been out having fun while she was training in the sports hall. The new coach has helped her with the routine, pouring in hours of extra mat time. Luck is the only other thing we have, and I’m wearing these socks hard.

“The silver medal goes to…”

I hold my breath, cutting off my oxygen supply. Please be gold.

“Ainsley Kendal.”

The air escapes my lips and I gasp for the oxygen I desperately need. It’s not gold, but it’s still a medal and better than the bronze she has at home. With a tight smile, Ainsley takes the prize and stands next to Beth. It’s easy to read her mind. She’ll be happy for silver, but disappointed hers wasn’t the best performance.

Harriet Reynolds takes the gold. She’s been on the circuit since we started coming to the competitions and has an award-winning coach. It helps that her parents have deep pockets full of money. Not that being rich can buy you everything. Hard work goes a long way, it just didn’t help Ainsley win today.

The winners pose for a photograph, which will probably feature in the local newspaper, and then I rush over to my girl. The moment of quiet in the room shatters as people start to move around the space.

“You were amazing,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can. It’s better to forget the what-ifs. Silver is fantastic.

“It wasn’t gold.” Unlike me, she isn’t able to hide her disappointment. A frown pulls across her face, showing her true feelings.

“It was almost first place. Silver’s a great colour. Besides, there’s no improvement if you get gold. Silver is a work in progress and will give you more determination for next time.”

“Mmm. If you say so.”

I pull her into a hug, wishing I had a magic solution. When we break apart, she disappears into the changing room for a few minutes to trade her leotard for her tracksuit. Once she’s changed, we follow some of the crowd to the exit. We’re almost at my red, beat-up old Mini when a guy approaches us.

“Ainsley Kendal and Mrs Kendal, I presume?” He sounds like a posh toff, which already makes me think he’s not my kind of person. What could he possibly want from us and how does he know my sister?

Ainsley points at me. “This is Nellie, my sister.”

“Who are you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. We don’t need anyone to look too closely at us or our home life. He’s probably in his late sixties and wearing a business suit, but he doesn’t look like he’s from social services.

“My apologies. I should’ve guessed you were the sister. You don’t look old enough to have a teenager. I’m Fredrick Lightwood. I’m from the Berry Hill Gymnastics Club. I was hoping to speak to Ainsley’s mum about her career.”

I’m barely seven years older than Ainsley, so it would be impossible for me to be her mother. Our mum went to Benidorm a few months ago and hasn’t come back. She goes off the grid every so often, and we’re just left to cope. Ainsley’s a minor, so we have to be discreet about our situation. My mum wouldn’t win any parenting awards, but we get by.

“I bring Ainsley to gymnastics. I’m her guardian here,” I say, trying to avert the attention away from our mother.

He chews on his lip while he assesses me. “Your sister has a lot of raw talent and potential to be more than what we saw today. Berry Hill is for the elite and could turn that metal around Ainsley’s neck into a more precious material. Gold.” He stares at my sister’s medal like he can perform some kind of miracle before reaching into his pocket and handing over a card. Of course, the writing is in gold, highlighting the location of the club in bold. Unfortunately, it isn’t a few minutes away. It’s in Manchester. “I’d like you to consider my offer or pass this onto your mum. I’d like to speak to her.”

“Thanks.” I smile weakly, glad this conversation is over. The only place his details will be going is in the bin. We don’t have the time or money to travel to Manchester regularly.

He gives a sharp head nod, then walks away while Ainsley and I eye each other. We get into the car and I throw the business card on the dash.

“I’ve been dodging Mr Lightwood for a couple of weeks now. He turns up to practice every so often and asks to speak to one of my parents. I told him Mum is unavailable. Coach says Berry Hill has the best equipment and great trainers. It’s also pricey and for gymnastics wanting to try out for the Olympics. We obviously don’t have that kind of money. He should’ve known that from the sewn-up rip in my gym bag. Do you think he suspects anything with Mum?”

We fasten our seatbelts and I turn the key in the ignition. “I’m sure the club is great, but like you said, we don’t have the money to pay their rates or the time to travel to Manchester. The Kendal sisters have big dreams, but we understand our limitations. Nobody has ever gotten close enough to question where Mum is, so don’t worry about that. We’ll keep a low profile as always, and hopefully, Mr Lightwood will lose interest.”

She bites her lip. “Do you think Mum’s okay?”

I look her right in the eye. “She’ll be fine. As usual, she’ll be too busy thinking about herself to consider that we might be wondering where she is. Eventually, she’ll turn up like nothing has happened.”

Mum is at least consistent with her behaviour. The first time she left us, I was only ten. As the fridge was emptying, she returned as if she’d just nipped to the supermarket, even though her ‘trip’ lasted five days. Legally, I’m not Ainsley’s guardian, and to keep us together, I don’t want anyone to look too closely at our family situation. I’m over eighteen now, so it should be okay, but I work a lot and Ainsley has to fend for herself more than I’d like.

I drive back to our house on the outskirts of Sefton Park, Liverpool. Once inside, I take a quick shower before grabbing a slice of toast. “I’ve got to get to the bar. There’s pizza in the freezer for when you get hungry, and I’ll be back around two in the morning,” I say, kissing my sister on the head.

“Okay. I’m going to watch TV and chill.” She undoes her hair, letting it hang loose.

I point at her. “No boys in the house.” Her words remind me of the Netflix and chill saying, making it necessary for me to set some rules. Ainsley’s sensible, but that doesn’t mean I don’t worry. Neither of us could cope with a teen pregnancy.

“Have fun at work,” she says, blushing at my comment. I have faith that she’ll follow my guidance. Besides, I can’t watch her every second of the day. Time to dwell on what might happen isn’t something I have. Ainsley knows we need to stay out of trouble, and I’ve got to let her make her own mind up.