“I’m not kidding.” Lulu brandished her coffee mug indignantly. “Five minutes into the conversation. Five. Tops. And he was pushing a careers counselor on me. Can you believe it?”

“What I can’t believe,” said Emma, “is just how many hours a person is capable of lolling in bed on a Saturday morning when she knows there are people waiting to talk to her. Doesn’t the little brat understand the seriousness of the situation?”

It was the day after Sophie’s big scene with Dr. Broody, and Emma had presented herself at the flat at an early hour, expectant for gossip. Sophie, however, had yet to put in an appearance.

“She was out late last night,” said Lulu. “Celebrating with Rupert. He does a killer trick with a beer bottle and a five-pound note, which must be emotionally draining.”

“And she’s probably quite tired anyway,” said Charlie. “She’s been working really hard on this, rehearsing with Jamie till all hours.”

“It’s eleven fifteen.” Emma looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. “She has till eleven thirty. Then I’m going up there to get her.”

At 11:29, Sophie yawned in, in white T-shirt and faded pink pajama bottoms, yellow hair rumpled, smiling sleepily into the sunshine.

“How tall?” said Emma.

“Hmm?” Sophie squinted uncomprehending at her sister. “Morning, everyone. Nice to see you, Emma, have you left me any coffee? Ooh, marmalade.”

“You seem unclear on my needs,” said Emma. “I need to know how tall Dr. Broody is. I need to know many things about him, actually, but most of all, I need to know how tall.”

“What’s she talking about?” Sophie accepted a plate of toast from Charlie. “Thanks, Charles. Did you enjoy the play last night? I heard Brenda Blethyn’s amazing but Sir Anthony Absolute’s been so drunk all week they’ve been threatening to send the understudy on.”

“Sophie.” Leaning forward, Emma waved a hand in front of her sister’s eyes. “Hello, Sophie. My name is Emma, and I’m your elder sister, you might remember me from the maternity ward, where I was dragged to see you at the age of six hours, even though it meant missing Jackanory, which, believe me, would have been a very great deal more interesting. We don’t live together anymore, but I’ve come to visit you because … Do you know why I’ve come to visit you, Sophie?”

“Actually, no,” said Sophie. “But it’s nice to see you anyway, Emma. Nice marmalade, Lulu, it’s different from the usual sort, isn’t it?” She swallowed an enthusiastic mouthful. “Chunkier,” she commented. “Nice.”

“I told you,” Lulu said to Emma. “She’s been like this all week. You mention the word gossip, and she turns into a fourteenth-century Mongolian peasant confronted with an iPod.”

“Leave it to me,” said Emma. She turned to her sister. “Sophie, I have a question for you.”

“Yes?” Sophie looked up, helpfully, from her second slice of toast.

“What,” said Emma, “is Dr. Broody really like?”

Sophie pursed her lips, thinking. “He’s a very good actor,” she said at last. She thought some more. “Very reactive,” she added.