Plan B

Chapter Forty

“England’s been having a quiet week,” Caitlin observed, for once looking wide awake as she ate her breakfast on the balcony.  “You made the front page: look.”  She turned the newspaper around.

Brookie dumped his spoon in his cereal with a sigh.  Fran glanced up from her toast, threw a critical eye over the less-than-flattering photo of herself and Brookie that graced the front page of the newspaper, and returned to her food.

“‘Who is Brookie’s mystery belle?’ isn’t even news,” he said tiredly.  “And the answer to that question is not ‘as hotly anticipated as the identity of the next Doctor’.”

“True,” chipped in Bertie as he slurped down some yoghurt.  “The latest writers of that TV programme have been so shocking that people don’t care anymore, so knowing the identity of your new girlfriend is actually more hotly anticipated, not as hotly anticipated.”

Brookie and Caitlin turned to look at him.

“Where did you come from?” Brookie asked him.

“You’re supposed to be eating in the kitchen with the others,” Caitlin snapped.  “This is for grownups.”

“Frankie’s not a grown up.”

“She’s Brookie’s guest.”

“They’re making a mess downstairs anyways,” Bertie said as he licked his yoghurt pot clean.  “May accidentally fed the hamster some laxatives.”

“Oh, God.”  Caitlin grasped her head in her hands.  Fran tried to stifle a snort of laughter, but ended up spraying Brookie in crumbs.

Brookie wiped the crumbs away and fixed his little brother with a gimlet eye.  “You mean, you’re hiding away because you’re the reason May accidentally gave the hamster laxatives.”

Bertie just grinned at him.  Brookie shook his head and dropped it, turning back to the newspaper.

“Frankie’ll need a new dress for the red carpet on Sunday,” he said to Caitlin.

“Y’what, now?”  Fran jerked upright in alarm at the mention of a red carpet.

“Do you reckon Cesca’s silver one would fit her?” Brookie continued.

“Brook, that looks like tin foil.”

“Go shopping?” suggested Bertie.

“I’m fine with wearing the one I wore for the concert yesterday,” Fran offered.

“The media won’t be.”

Caitlin reached for the butter.  “I’ll fix her up with something, Brook.  Don’t worry about it.”

“Do I absolutely have to go to such a public event?” Fran demanded.  Caitlin and Brookie exchanged glances.

“Yes,” said Brookie in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Well, it would be an ideal opportunity to clarify that you’re actually Brookie’s new foster sister,” Caitlin pointed out.

Fran looked from one to the other.  “But won’t they cotton on that it’s a lie really quickly?”

“Nope!” said Bertie.  “We don’t allow the media to get anywhere near here to check!”

From the expressions on both Caitlin’s and Brookie’s faces, Fran decided it was best not to ask.

“To be honest,” said Caitlin, “I’d be quite surprised if anybody other than the adoption authorities was actually aware of exactly how big our family is and what everybody’s ages and names are.  Even Wikipedia isn’t completely up-to-date, despite the obsessors.  Bertie, the phone’s ringing.  Can you go and get it?”