Page 8 of Good Sisters

She nodded. ‘Just tired all the time. I’m hoping now I’m in the second trimester I’ll get my energy back. Work is, like, super-busy so I need to be on my A-game. We’ve just signed a massive deal with the US to distribute my fake tan in all of the Walmart stores, so it’s, like, a really big deal. I’ll have to travel over as much as I can, before I get too big.’

I shook my head. This girl was unbelievable. When we’d first met her, we’d thought she was just another of Gavin’s flings. Dad thought she was from America because of her mid-Atlantic drawl. Mum thought she was ‘for the birds’ and that she was ‘too flighty for our Gavin’. Turns out we were all wrong, so wrong.

When she had set up her fake-tan brand four years ago, we all thought it was a ‘little project’, but she had turned it into a huge success in Europe and now she was planning to conquer the US. Shania had turned out to be a savvy and hard-working businesswoman.

‘Seriously, Shania, that is incredible.’

‘Well, having my whizz of an accountant dad helping me has been key in growing the business.’

‘Let’s not forget your fourteen-hour workdays and your great product. Gavin really landed on his feet with you. I hope my brother is being supportive.’

‘OMG, he so is. He literally does everything for me. I couldn’t do this without him. He’s my personal assistant and my rock.’

‘Good. You need support – you work so hard.’

‘Yeah, but when you love what you do it doesn’t feel like work.’ She smiled.

I liked what I did, but did I love it? No. Did it feel like work? Yes. In the early days, dealing with the young models had been challenging, but I was up for it. I was good at encouraging them, boosting their bruised egos after rejection, getting them buzzed before fashion shows and shoots … I got it, I’d been there. I’d been a young, naïve, clueless model, so I knew what it felt like. But lately some of the girls coming in had seemed so entitled, needy and over-sensitive. They expected everything to be handed to them on a plate. If they were rejected for a brand deal, a campaign or a runway show, they’d have a full breakdown in my office, then need to take a few days off to ‘recover from the hurtful rejection’, to ‘regroup’, to ‘meditate’, to ‘nurture my crushed self-esteem’, to ‘cleanse the negative energy from my personal space’ … It was relentless and utterly irritating.

Models were rejected on a daily basis. It was part of the job. I was very upfront about that when I signed them. I always told them that being rebuffed was a large part of a model’s life. If you can’t handle it, don’t sign the contract.

I’d stuck with the job because we needed the money. But even now that Jack was back in a well-paid job with his bankruptcy behind him, I would still never give up work. I would never again put myself in a position where I relied only on his salary. I’d learned the hard way how important it was for me to earn money too. I was absolutely determined that Jess would never make the mistakes I’d made by being completely dependent on her husband. She needed to earn her own money. She needed to have security in her life and never, ever end up on the floor, penniless, like I had.

‘There you are, Shania!’ Gavin’s head appeared around the corner. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Are you okay?’

Shania smiled up at him. ‘I’m fine, babe, just needed a little break.’

He helped her up and kissed her. Turning to me he said, ‘You have to come in, Soph. You have to see the way some of the women are flirting with Dad. They’re shameless. At Mum’s funeral!’

‘What? You’re kidding me?’

Who were these women, and did they have no respect? Mind you, Mum had always told us that when a wife died, which was rare as mostly the husbands died first, the widower was always mobbed. He was fair game and the numbers were in his favour. Seventy per cent of the golf-club members over the age of seventy-five were women. A freshly single man was manna from Heaven. It was every woman for herself. It was dog eat dog to see who could get their claws into a new widower first. Mum had chuckled and said it was like watching lionesses hunting an innocent antelope. It had been funny when it was about someone else, but now it was my dad and my mum and it wasn’t remotely funny.

I marched in and headed straight towards Dad, who was backed up against a wall as some woman, with silver-grey hair blow-dried like a helmet, talked at him.

‘I’ll drop a casserole in to you tomorrow. You won’t go hungry, George. We’ll play golf next week. I’ll book it all and let you know. Don’t you worry, George. I’m here for you.’

I elbowed my way between them. ‘Dad won’t need any casseroles. We’ll be looking after his meals.’ I gave her my best fake smile.

‘Oh, George, is this one of your beautiful daughters?’ the silver vixen asked.

‘Yes, this is my youngest, Sophie.’

‘Lovely to meet you, Sophie. I’m Daphne, a great friend of your mother and father.’

Really? I wanted to ask. Then how come I’ve never heard of you?

What I said was, ‘You must be devastated about Mum, then.’

‘Oh, yes. Anne was a lovely woman.’

‘Yes, she was. Herself and Dad had a wonderful marriage. We’re all heartbroken.’

She made fake-sympathy noises and refused to move away.

I decided to opt for the blunt approach. ‘I need to speak to my father alone.’

The shameless cow lunged at Dad, giving him a kiss on both cheeks, marking him with her awful pink lipstick.

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