LITMIR.BIZ

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fun to hear her younger sister treated like a toddler.

      Their mother groaned in frustration. ‘What on earth is she doing out there?’

      ‘Trying to catch a frog, probably,’ Sarah muttered, sticking out her tongue in concentration as she focused on the earring. The loop was almost closed. One. More. Tiny … tweak would do it.

      ‘A frog? God, no. What does she want a frog for?’

      ‘Dunno. I think she wants to cut it up at school.’

      ‘What? You’re joking?’

      Sarah cursed as her pliers crushed the delicate wire into a pretzel. ‘Oh, shit!’

      ‘Sarah, stop swearing,’ her mother called but she was already on her way onto the lawn. Her voice rose higher. ‘Molly! Stop that. Leave that poor creature alone.’

      With a sigh, Sarah laid down her pliers next to the wire and beads. She should really be revising for her upcoming A levels, but creating jewellery from shimmering shells and beads was far more fascinating than poring over Business Studies papers. She got up and stood in the doorway, peering out into the shadows.

      Her mum’s new heels sank into the turf as she tottered over to the bush, which Molly was crawling out of backwards like a demented crab. Sarah rolled her eyes as her sister scrambled to her feet, brushing blossom and leaves from a sweatshirt with a graphic photo of a giant tarantula on the chest.

      Sarah despaired. Her younger sister was a fully paid-up member of the Geek Club. Seeing that horrific sweatshirt and her dirty jeans, Sarah wondered if Molly would even wear the earrings that she’d been making for her upcoming fifteenth birthday. Judging by Molly’s taste for things that crawled and skittered, the earrings ought to have featured snails and tarantulas, but shells and starfish were as far as Sarah was prepared to go. She went inside as Molly trudged to the house, their mum tottering after her.

      Molly leaned against the kitchen worktop and Naomi folded her arms. ‘Molly. Is it true you want a frog to dissect? Please tell me now,’ she said.

      Molly laughed. ‘Shit, no. Not to dissect, anyway. To study.’

      ‘You can’t take a live frog to school and please stop swearing.’

      Molly slid a sly glance at Sarah. ‘Maybe I could take Sarah’s hamster instead?’

      Sarah shrieked. ‘You dare!’

      Their mum groaned. ‘Girls. For God’s sake, will you please hurry up and get ready? Dad and I have to leave very soon or we’ll be late for our very special anniversary dinner.’

      ‘I was only joking about Roger,’ said Molly, as their mother locked the back door.

      Sarah snorted. ‘I wouldn’t put anything past you.’

      Molly gave a smug grin and pointed at Sarah. ‘Ah. Got you. Actually, I wasn’t after a frog, I was looking for my cuddly Ebola germ.’ She turned to her mother who was brushing pollen off her new dress. ‘Sarah’s been winding you up, Mum.’

      ‘Maybe but I’m not the one with fox poo on her jeans,’ Sarah shot back, angry for letting herself fall for Molly’s teasing.

      Molly glanced down at her muddy jeans. ‘What? Shit!’

      Their father stuck his head around the kitchen door. ‘Molly. Can you not use that word quite so often, and can everyone get a move on, please?’

      ‘I am trying, Will,’ said their mum, then caught sight of her feet. ‘Oh shit, look at my new heels. They’re covered in mud and grass. I’ll have to clean them before we set off for Carol’s.’

      ‘Can you not use that word quite so often, Mum?’ said Molly, picking a biscuit out of the barrel. Sarah tried not to giggle. She could strangle Molly sometimes but her one-liners were very funny.

      ‘Molly, don’t try to be too smart,’ said their dad and tapped his watch. ‘The traffic will be murder if we don’t get a move on. It is our anniversary, after all. The first time we get a weekend away from the girls in years and we might be late.’

      ‘Yes, it is our twentieth wedding anniversary,’ said their mother, emphasising the words in a dramatic way. ‘And we’re off to a very posh hotel for the weekend if we can ever get our daughters to leave the house.’

      ‘OK, OK. Enough with the guilt trip. I get the message,’ said Sarah, rolling the pliers and other tools up into their felt case.

      ‘Thank you,’ said her father. ‘Now, I’m going to pack the car and I expect everyone to be ready by the time I’m finished.’

      Ignoring her father, Molly’s bottom lip jutted. ‘I do not have fox shit on my jeans,’ she said mutinously.

      ‘Ha. Got you,’ Sarah said with a triumphant grin that she knew would drive Molly mad.

      ‘Molly, wash your hands and change your jeans,’ her mum said.

      ‘It’s not fox poo. It’s only mud.’

      ‘I don’t care. You can’t go to Auntie Carol’s in filthy clothes. Go upstairs, get changed and hurry up.’

      Sarah snorted.

      ‘And you, Sarah, can tidy all your junk away and make sure you have your overnight stuff. I don’t want to have to come back because you’ve forgotten your phone or your pyjamas or something.’

      ‘It is not junk!’ Sarah protested.

      ‘You know what I mean,’ said her mum, adding an indulgent smile that did nothing to soothe Sarah’s ruffled feathers.

      ‘My bag has been ready for hours, Mum,’ said Sarah. ‘Unlike Mol, who hasn’t even started packing. And I don’t see why I have to stay at Auntie Carol’s tonight. I’m eighteen. I could stay here on my own and I’d be fine. I could have mates over for the evening or I could have gone with Tilly to Ibiza. It’s Molly who needs the babysitter.’

      Molly gasped. ‘No, I do not. You’re the one who’d end up in A&E or a police cell if you were left on her own. I’m the responsible one. Everyone knows I’d have my head in a book the whole time Mum and Dad were away.’

      ‘More like blow up the whole house and experiment on Roger,’ said Sarah.

      ‘I love Roger. He’s my hamster too.’

      ‘This is pointless because I’m not letting either of you stay here on your own,’ said their mother, rubbing at the heel of her shoe with a piece of kitchen paper.

      ‘I can manage without you and Dad, you know. I’m not a little girl,’ Sarah muttered, knowing she was pushing her luck.

      Their mother stuck her hands on her hips. ‘No, but I’m turning into a very old lady waiting here. Get your stuff, both of you, and get into the car!’

      Twenty minutes later, Will Havers drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for the girls to finally climb into the car. The engine was running as Sarah shoved her overnight case into the boot and Molly climbed in behind their mother, clutching her rucksack to her chest. Sarah shut the car door, fastened her seat belt and stared pointedly out of the window. Maybe, she thought, watching raindrops gently spatter the window, she wouldn’t give Molly the earrings after all.

      As they drove the short distance to Auntie Carol’s, their parents turned on Radio Five. Sarah risked a sideways glance at Molly who had her nose stuck in a thick paperback entitled Guns, Germs and Steel.

      Sarah shook her head. Guns, Germs and Steel? What was that all about, for God’s sake? Molly was barely fifteen. Why wasn’t she into Sweet Valley High or Twilight like Sarah had been? Her sister really was weird, sometimes. Not the gifted genius everyone said, just a freak.

      Unexpectedly, Molly glanced up and their gazes met. Molly’s

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