Read Online It Would Be Wrong to Steal My Sister's Boyfriend by Sophie Ranald - Free Book Online
Authors: Sophie Ranald
Tags: Humorous, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Romantic Comedy, General Humor, Humor & Satire
Ads: Link
wanted to go away to boarding school.
I have no idea what Mallory Towers-inspired fantasies led to this decision, but in spite of all Dad’s gentle discouragement and my shameful emotional blackmail, Rose set her face in a stubborn mask and insisted she wanted to go, and in due course she did. I suppose that was the beginning of Rose and me becoming so different. It was during her time at Cheltenham Ladies’ College – because Rose didn’t want just any boarding school, she wanted that one – that my sister first acquired her poise, her graceful straight-backed walk, her ability to ‘get on’ with strangers, her careful neatness and love of art and fashion. All the things that set her apart from me.
Of course at the time I was just another teenager, happy enough if isolated at the local grammar school, studying hard and getting the results that would eventually win me a place at UCL to read English Lit. It didn’t occur to me that my sister was working towards a different goal. I’m not even sure if she knew it herself at thetime, but Rose was aiming high, above where she perceived Dad and me to be, and if she left us behind she would be sad, but not regret it.
Anyway as I said, Dad was really noble and dedicated himself full-time to us. I don’t know if he had any girlfriends – if he did he certainly kept them away from his daughters. I suppose he felt that we were bound to resent any woman who aspired to take Mum’s place. It was only after we’d both gone to university and Dad had plunged back into the world of work (he started writing software for web-based interactive war games as a hobby and predictably he’s been hugely successful at it; for a man who genuinely couldn’t care less about money, Dad has an unfair share of the Midas touch) that Serena came on the scene.
She’s a graphics animator and she and Dad met when she pitched for the design of his latest game – apparently when the fire-breathing dragon she’d created burst on to the screen Dad literally screamed with fright. Anyway, Serena’s great. She’s quite a bit younger than Dad, when they got married she was thirty-four, the same age Mum was when she died (make of that what you will, Freudians), and Dad turned fifty last year so there’s twelve or thirteen years between them, but Dad is so young in every important way it really doesn’t matter. Serena is tiny and dark with close-cropped hair that she styles into artful disarray with wax or pomade or something, and designer steel-framed glasses. She’s never attempted to mother Rose and me, instead approaching us with calm friendliness, presumably hoping we’ll see how happy she makes Dad and accept her for that if not on her own merits. This has never been a problem for me – I think she’s fab and really, although we miss Mum, it would have been mad to expect Dad to have stayed single for ever. It’s been a bit more of an adjustment for Rose, though, and sometimes she makes things very difficult for poor Serena.
I was musing on all this whilst I unpacked my little wheelie case of four days’ worth of clothes and folded everything carefully away in the cupboard – Rose goes a bitmental if I’m messy when we’re sharing a room – but mostly I was just excited. All the traditions started by Mum, faithfully continued by Dad and sensibly left unchanged by Serena were set to unfold over the next few days. There would be the spag bol supper on Christmas Eve followed by a walk to the pub. The midnight service in the village church for those who wanted to go, which means Granny and Grandpa and occasionally Rose or me, but never Dad. The Christmas stockings that Dad still makes for me and Rose although we really, truly are too old for them now (and the bits of lovely Benefit make-up, cashmere mittens and the like that have started appearing in them in recent years lead me to suspect that the responsibility for assembling them has been passed to Serena). The turkey and bread sauce
I have no idea what Mallory Towers-inspired fantasies led to this decision, but in spite of all Dad’s gentle discouragement and my shameful emotional blackmail, Rose set her face in a stubborn mask and insisted she wanted to go, and in due course she did. I suppose that was the beginning of Rose and me becoming so different. It was during her time at Cheltenham Ladies’ College – because Rose didn’t want just any boarding school, she wanted that one – that my sister first acquired her poise, her graceful straight-backed walk, her ability to ‘get on’ with strangers, her careful neatness and love of art and fashion. All the things that set her apart from me.
Of course at the time I was just another teenager, happy enough if isolated at the local grammar school, studying hard and getting the results that would eventually win me a place at UCL to read English Lit. It didn’t occur to me that my sister was working towards a different goal. I’m not even sure if she knew it herself at thetime, but Rose was aiming high, above where she perceived Dad and me to be, and if she left us behind she would be sad, but not regret it.
Anyway as I said, Dad was really noble and dedicated himself full-time to us. I don’t know if he had any girlfriends – if he did he certainly kept them away from his daughters. I suppose he felt that we were bound to resent any woman who aspired to take Mum’s place. It was only after we’d both gone to university and Dad had plunged back into the world of work (he started writing software for web-based interactive war games as a hobby and predictably he’s been hugely successful at it; for a man who genuinely couldn’t care less about money, Dad has an unfair share of the Midas touch) that Serena came on the scene.
She’s a graphics animator and she and Dad met when she pitched for the design of his latest game – apparently when the fire-breathing dragon she’d created burst on to the screen Dad literally screamed with fright. Anyway, Serena’s great. She’s quite a bit younger than Dad, when they got married she was thirty-four, the same age Mum was when she died (make of that what you will, Freudians), and Dad turned fifty last year so there’s twelve or thirteen years between them, but Dad is so young in every important way it really doesn’t matter. Serena is tiny and dark with close-cropped hair that she styles into artful disarray with wax or pomade or something, and designer steel-framed glasses. She’s never attempted to mother Rose and me, instead approaching us with calm friendliness, presumably hoping we’ll see how happy she makes Dad and accept her for that if not on her own merits. This has never been a problem for me – I think she’s fab and really, although we miss Mum, it would have been mad to expect Dad to have stayed single for ever. It’s been a bit more of an adjustment for Rose, though, and sometimes she makes things very difficult for poor Serena.
I was musing on all this whilst I unpacked my little wheelie case of four days’ worth of clothes and folded everything carefully away in the cupboard – Rose goes a bitmental if I’m messy when we’re sharing a room – but mostly I was just excited. All the traditions started by Mum, faithfully continued by Dad and sensibly left unchanged by Serena were set to unfold over the next few days. There would be the spag bol supper on Christmas Eve followed by a walk to the pub. The midnight service in the village church for those who wanted to go, which means Granny and Grandpa and occasionally Rose or me, but never Dad. The Christmas stockings that Dad still makes for me and Rose although we really, truly are too old for them now (and the bits of lovely Benefit make-up, cashmere mittens and the like that have started appearing in them in recent years lead me to suspect that the responsibility for assembling them has been passed to Serena). The turkey and bread sauce
Similar Books
