"I've got the next Neighbourhood Watch column planned out already," Abby declared from her position sprawled out on the carpet. The laptop was open in front of her, its bright screen reflected on the dark window.
"That didn't take long," Victoria remarked, rummaging through the drawers of their shared desk. "What's the story?"
"A look into the life of a school nurse. You see, she's completely isolated and lonely until she discovers her long-lost family, and then-"
"Don't," Victoria cut in. "It's too strange. A few months ago we barely had each other. Now we've been given a ready-made aunt; and Mum is actually downstairs cooking something."
"Instant family," Abby agreed. She watched as her older sister triumphantly yanked a red book out of the heavy pile of papers, holding it to the light.
"My old English book," Victoria explained. "I used this almost three years ago. Mr Ling said I could do exam resits next year."
Abby stifled a giggle.
"It's not funny!" Victoria was stung. "I'd like to see you try repeating eight exams! Anyway, I only failed English the last time because I accidentally turned over two pages at the same time. I'm telling you, if I hadn't been distracted-"
"I wasn't laughing at that," her sister protested. "It's just that you're going to be sitting them at the same time as Nathan!"
Victoria went white as the realisation dawned. "I completely forgot." She dropped the book back onto the desk. "This is going to be the most humiliating eight months of my life. What if his results are better? I'll never live this down!"
"If you can audition for a TV show," Abby said firmly, "then you can definitely do exams meant for sixteen year olds." She was going to add that even she herself could probably pass the exams, having such a high IQ. But something in her sister's expression stopped her.
Slowly, Victoria reached down to the desk and held up a brown envelope. It was stamped with an address.
"This," she announced, "was the Last Wage."
Abby was confused, and not all that interested. She had come to understand that letters that arrived in official-looking brown envelopes didn't generally contain good news. They were bills, or taxes, or poor school reports. She opened her mouth to reply, but the bedroom door got there before her.
"Guess what Mum's making!" Nathan bounced his football off the wardrobe, missing the laptop screen by mere inches. "Beef Stew. And not a ready-meal, either. Beats beans on toast, right Vic?"
"It's Victoria," huffed Victoria. She turned back to Abby. "I can't keep lying to myself. I can't just do what suits me, and drop things when they get serious. Look. I didn't quit my job at the cafe. I was fired."
"Fired," echoed Nathan, impressed. "What did you do?"
Abby felt concerned for her older sister, but not particularly surprised. That was what Victoria did. She took it easy. She skilfully edged her way around duties and responsibilities; weaving in and out of jobs, and steering clear of anything that might demand real patience and hard work. She lived for the good times, even when there weren't any.
"Something stupid," Victoria sighed. "I just had to get that off my chest. Working at the Takeout is disgusting. Does my skin look oily?"
"A bit," said Nathan critically. He tossed the ball up to the ceiling, where it bounced back down with a hollow thump.
Abby sat up straighter, eyes flashing. "I've got it! Give in your notice there!"
"And be unemployed?"
"The local journalist office, where I get my column published, is looking for secretary work! Luke saw a sign when we visited them last week."
Victoria remembered the tall brick building, with its frame of red ivy twisting around the windows. She used to drive past it on her way to the cafe. She remembered the bright, airy hallway and the friendly staff at the desks, wearing neat black shirts and dresses. She could see herself in one of those dresses. She could liven it up with a thick silver belt, and maybe a pair of boots- brown leather ones that skimmed her ankles in the winter; and heels in spring. Of course, she'd need the appropriate makeup. Maybe peach, or primrose, or pale blue-
"Victoria! You still with us?" Nathan burst her daydream, shooting the football towards her head where it landed harder, more painfully, than he'd probably intended.
Victoria seized the ball and threw it out of the open window. "I hate to say this, Abby," she turned to her sister, "but you might be even more of a genius than me."
* *
Dinner was burnt, but even so it tasted better than anything that came out of a can. Luke arrived back from Katie Evans' house chatty and excited, all traces of the day's worries finally dispersed. Sophie sat with them at the table, stripped of her jacket, handbag and constantly buzzing mobile phone. And Layla was happy too, because for the first time in ages she had good news to break.
"First Aid classes?" Abby asked incredulously.
"It's a new activity," explained Sophie. "It's been set up in the primary school by a local nurse."
Layla grinned widely, displaying the gap where one of her front teeth had fallen out. "I've decided that I'm going to be a doctor when I grow up. Not a teacher. Or a vet."
"I thought you wanted to do ballet!" Nathan sawed determinedly at the tough chunks of meat in his stew.
"Ballet was the one thing I didn't want to do," Layla sighed dramatically. "Everyone's doing ballet!"
Victoria nodded approvingly. "Never follow the crowd." She thought back to the quotes she'd learned, years ago, in History class. "Why be a follower, when you could be a leader!"
"I'd much rather be a doctor than a follower," Layla agreed.
"I'd rather be a leader than a doctor," added Nathan.
Abby edged her plate into the middle of the table. "So, Mum. About this local nurse. Do we know her?"
Sophie smiled ruefully. "Not as well as you should," she replied, "but it's a start. Layla's looking forward to getting to know her aunt, and I'm just sorry you couldn't have spent more time with her sooner."
And it was true, she thought as she gazed around the table. She was sorry, because it was her fault. She could have done things differently, but she didn't. She was too stubborn, too headstrong- qualities she saw in all three of her daughters every day. The boys were different; especially shy, anxious Luke. Maybe they took after Clara, because they certainly didn't get it from their dad.
"He's not the kind of person you can rely on," her sister had warned her after she'd announced that she was pregnant with Victoria. "When you do things his way, he'll be there for you. When you follow your own rules, he's gone. He's selfish, that's what it is."
"But you don't know that," she had protested. "We both wanted a family, and he's going to be a good dad."
And he was, for a while. He was patient with Victoria and Nathan, playing endless chasing games and pushing their tricycles around for hours in the park. But Clara was right. It didn't last. With David, it couldn't last.
"So what do you do in the evenings?" She had asked while Sophie was pregnant with Luke. "When the children are in bed? Let me guess- you just wait on the sofa for him to come home? Like some sort of meek housewife?"
"It's not his fault he's busy," she'd snapped, hanging up the phone. She was seeing Clara less and less now. With three children, was always something that needed doing. Sometimes she longed for the months before Victoria; when the mornings stretched out lazily into afternoon without her having to lift a finger for anything. When she could sleep in until nine and then read the papers in bed, with a croissant and a mug of warm tea. And then she remembered that a family was what she'd always wanted, even if she hadn't planned for the husband to be nothing more than a fading ghost. She was lucky if she got a brief sighting of him in the morning. And Clara was convinced that those sightings weren't lucky at all.
"Where's Dad?" Every evening, as she tucked them into bed, Victoria and Nathan would ask the same thing. Sophie was a good mother. She had always wanted to be a good mother. But sometimes she felt that the more she was around- the more she helped with homework, and mealtimes, and games- the more anxious the children were for their father. And she couldn't do anything about that, because she didn't know.
"You'll see him in the morning," she whispered, guiltily relieved that Abby and baby Luke were too young to ask the same questions.
And then one day they didn't see him in the morning. He stayed out all night, only to return late in the afternoon while Victoria was at school and Nathan at nursery; full of airy excuses and vague names of places he'd visited and friends he'd seen. There were lots of days like that, followed by lots of shouting and arguing that left the children shut in their bedrooms with their hands clamped over their ears.
"You knew I was right," Clara remarked whenever she was allowed to come in. Sophie found that she was avoiding her sister whenever she could, because she didn't need her- didn't need anybody telling her that she was wrong, or that she had failed, and needed help. She was fine.
Fine without Clara, and later on, fine without David.
At least, that's what she told herself. There were days when she couldn't pull herself together enough to go into work; instead sitting sprawled in front of the TV, unable to focus on the bright pictures on the screen, yet unable to switch it off. She got out of bed in the morning because she had to- because if she didn't look after her children, nobody else would.
Before Layla was six months old, David stopped making airy excuses and coming home late in the afternoon. She should have left years ago, Sophie thought afterwards, but somehow she had hoped that having the baby would make things different; perhaps make him different. She was wrong. He moved in with the petite blonde work colleague (who she had already known about) almost straight away; and she carried on being fine. But she wasn't really. Because he was still unchanged, and she was the one who was different.
* *
Upstairs, Luke obediently logged into the front page of the Northwick Journalism website. There were the weekly newspaper issues, stretching back months and months over countless pages. Abby stood behind his chair, in a manner not unlike the way a stern teacher would hover over your desk in the classroom.
"That one," she jabbed at the laptop screen. "Issue forty-three. Neighbourhood Watch."
Luke clicked on the link, and watched the article he knew word for word appear in front of his eyes. There it was: he and Abby's creation. Luke knew he hadn't spent nearly as much time and effort re-reading and polishing the writing as his sister; yet he couldn't help feeling a surge of pride wash through him. He was Identity Z, and this was the finished product. For a brief moment as he scanned through the text, Luke thought he knew exactly how a father would feel when he saw his newborn baby for the first time. This was how it was supposed to be. This was it.
"Scroll down," Abby instructed, almost shyly. Luke twisted around to glance at her, surprised. His older sister was many things, but shy had never been one of them. She shrugged, and he turned back to the laptop and clicked at the screen.
We may never know the full story of Mr X and his enigmatic past, the article concluded, but one thing is for sure- there is more to our unseemly neighbour than meets the eye. If you want to know more about the secrets of your street, watch this space for more information in our regular Neighbourhood Watch column.
Luke grinned, pleased to see that Abby had left the ending that he had drafted out almost completely unchanged. Then he glanced down the page to the signature of the author.
Written by Abby and Luke Fairfield.
"What happened to Identity Z?" He burst out.
Abby perched on the arm of his chair. "I changed my mind."
"No pen name? After all that hassle, you're using your own identity?"
"Look," she began. "Before I sent the articles off, I changed the names. Pretending to be someone else didn't feel right anymore. We worked for this- both of us did. Forget about Identity Z, this is written by you and I. People should know that."
Luke gazed across at her, and knew she was right. Hiding behind another name was one thing, and owning your ideas quite another. It was like the Science Competition. He could have chosen to keep the prize, despite knowing he didn't deserve it, but instead he had given it up to the person who had worked harder. It was strange, he thought, how such different situations could be linked in so many surprising ways. In that week alone, he had realised how much closer he was to his siblings than he had ever anticipated.
"And by the way," his sister added, "I've decided that I'm done with these."
She slid the heavy black-framed glasses off her nose and held them out in front of her. "I just don't think I need them anymore."
Luke watched proudly as she tugged open a cabinet drawer and dropped them inside.
"Just don't tell Victoria," she whispered, making a face, "or she'll think I'm trying to impress her!"
And Luke laughed; because even though he couldn't understand his sisters for the life of him, at last he felt like he knew them properly now.
And that was something.
* *
Sophie gingerly stacked plates into a tall, unstable tower on the kitchen table. She stepped over Layla, who was pushing toy cars loaded with clean cutlery across the floor, and picked up the phone.
"Hello?" Her sister's gravelly voice was there, in her ear, on the first ring.
She was relieved. "Clara?"
"Hmm?"
Sophie paused. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "You were right about him. You were right about most things. I don't think I've ever told you that."
"Of course I was," she replied breezily, laughingly. "It's about time, little one."
Sophie smiled widely, as if she were standing with her sister on that dusty tennis court, just ten years old- innocent, free and without a care in the world. After all, maybe a part of her still was.
She glanced at the framed photograph and saw a child who didn't know the things that she knew; whose future was something that might change everything.
"I suppose it was," she agreed. "In fact, it seems like just the right time."