There’s an almighty crash from outside and, in the back garden, the pergola has fallen headfirst into the flower bed like some Saturday-night drunk. It’s going to have to stay there. I don’t know any of my neighbours well enough to go and ask them to pick it up with me. The way things are going it would just blow over again, anyway. I watch as the last of the crisp, golden autumn leaves are tugged from the trees and sent careening down the garden. I’ve had enough of the hairdryer—both of my arms are about to drop off. The socket should be dry by now, surely? I get down from the chair and I can feel myself getting tearful. I want Jake here. I need Jake here. We’d be having a laugh about this. We’d have battened down the hatches and be snuggled down together. Maybe we wouldn’t have got out of bed at all. I could kill him for leaving me alone on the coldest, windiest day of the year.

Wincing, I flick on the light switch and, after a momentary flicker, there’s a horrible popping noise and all the lights go out again. I could just lie down on the wet kitchen floor and die. I really could. This day simply cannot get any worse. Except it can. Thanks to Sparky, the world’s most miserable electrician, I know where the fuse box is, but I don’t know if we’ve got any spare fuses or where we keep them. While I ponder this new addition to the equation, there’s a loud, grating noise that I can’t identify. I stand frozen to the spot, holding my Vidal Sassoon Maximum Hair Hydration System like a Magnum 45. At the very least my roof sounds as if it’s parting company with the rest of the house. Then there’s a splintering noise and a loud thud from near the front door. I rush to the window and look outside. A selection of roof tiles have detached themselves and are now sprinkled like slate confetti across the tiny patch of green we laughingly call the front garden. But more importantly, one roof tile is wedged, pointy end down, right in the middle of the bonnet of my previously unblemished and lovely little car, which has done nothing to deserve this ignominy. This is the last straw. It’s more than I can take. I need tea and sympathy and a large piece of chocolate cake and I’m going to get none of these shivering and shaking at home alone in the dark. There is only one place I can retreat to. One place where I will be welcomed with open arms. Friends may let you down. Fickle boyfriends may desert you. But a sister is a sister for life.

Chapter ten

Chapter ten