When Sofia had been small, she had liked to line up her dollies and give them all small lectures about how to behave at tea. Everything in her world was ordered and neat. Then, when she was four, her mother had become pregnant. This period had involved a lot of people telling Sofia what a wonderful big sister she was going to make, which had pleased the small Sofia very much, particularly since she’d received a haul of excellent presents and the baby had gotten lots of boring old clothes. It had been a magnificent time. Being—even for one very small—a clever sort of person, she had immediately prepared to welcome Carmen as her friend, ally, and camp follower in all things.

Unfortunately, the screeching screwed-up red-faced monster who appeared did not look remotely like the little sisters in Sofia’s baby books. As she grew older, she didn’t like dollies or playing tea or wearing new dresses. She didn’t like dresses at all, in fact, and she hated school, which Sofia loved. From the moment she arrived, Carmen was a ball of fussiness. She fussed at going out or coming in or going upstairs or having a bath or getting her hair washed or going to swimming lessons or visiting people’s houses, at getting in her buggy or getting out of her buggy.

Sofia could never make Carmen see why it was a lot easier just to be nice to people, whether you felt like it or not, and let them smile and pat your head and give you a biscuit. It seemed very straightforward to Sofia. Carmen, on the other hand . . . She was a small pin poking into Sofia’s momentary self-satisfaction. She frowned. Apparently, things were . . . looking tricky again, their mother had said. Which explained why Carmen had been a no-show at her daughter’s birthday party and hadn’t even bothered to send a card, or call, or let her know remotely what was going on with her life.

Well, there was no point in getting upset about it now. Sofia smoothed her brow—no Botox till after the baby. She’d worry about Carmen when she absolutely had to.

She took a last happy look at her darling house and clip-clopped past the icy puddles on her way to work.

Chapter Two

“Sofia doesn’t want me.”

“Nonsense,” lied her mother. “You’re just at different life stages, that’s all. And you hurt her feelings about Pippa’s party.”

“I hurt her feelings?” Carmen said. “I’m sitting here with nothing going on, living back in my bedroom having lost my job, but somehow precious Sofia’s feelings are all that matter.”

“Darling. Please. Not even a birthday card?”