It Would Be Wrong to Steal My Sister's Boyfriend by Sophie Ranald Page B

three hours?”
    I said of course, it would be a pleasure, and we made arrangements for Claire to drop her off at the flat, which she said would be easy for her as she was going into town to meet someone. Of course I was avid to know who he was and whether this meant romance was blooming again for Claire, but before I could ask her I heard a piercing shriek from Pers and Claire said, “Oh for God’s sake, not the curtains. No – Persephone!” and then there was a crash and Claire, half-laughing, said, “Shit, my child is set on destroying the flat. Must go – I’ll see you at seven.”
    I was really excited about an evening in with Pers, and stopped on my way home and bought copies of
Owl Babies
and
The Very Hungry Caterpillar
(Pers had chewed her old copy to the point where it was unreadable) and laid in a stash of pita bread, hummus, mango, carrot sticks and cucumber, because Claire’s a great believer in what she says is called baby-led weaning, which as far as I can tell means Claire not having to mess about with jars and purées and stuff, and Pers getting to suck and chew on bits of grown-up food and make an incredible mess, which of course she loves.
    It was almost quarter past seven when Claire arrived, looking amazing in a long, belted velvet coat and high-heeled brown boots.
    “Late!” she said. “Stupid fucking buses. I am late, late, late! Here’s some milk for her – if she won’t drink it out of the bottle put it in a cup and don’t use it in your tea whatever you do, it’s expressed breastmilk. And here’s wipes and nappies and her Camelduck” – thiswas a shapeless toy knitted by me, which looked like no creature on earth, of which Pers was inordinately fond – “and I’ll see you at ten. Be good for auntie Ellie, sweetheart,” and she thrust Pers and all her stuff at me, kissed us both and ran off back down the road, her dark hair flying, before I could interrogate her about her date.
    I knew from experience that Pers would only go to sleep when she was ready, so we had a bath with bubbles and watched some telly – Pers was absolutely transfixed by
University Challenge
– and I had a glass of wine and Pers had some of her milk, which she seemed quite happy to drink out of her bottle after all, and I’d just finished changing her nappy and was about to make us some dinner when the doorbell rang.
    “Who’s that, Pers?” I said, in the daft way you do when you’re talking to babies, even though you know it makes you sound like a total loon. “Who’s come to visit us? Has Auntie Rose come back from her holiday and forgotten her keys?”
    I scooped her up and went and opened the front door, and there stood Oliver.
    I couldn’t quite believe it at first, because as far as I knew he was on his way back from Switzerland with Rose. “Er… hi,” I said. Pers recognised him and gave one of her massive gummy grins and babbled away incomprehensibly, holding out her arms for a cuddle, and Oliver kissed her and then kissed me too.
    “I’m awfully sorry to disturb you,” Oliver said. “I take it Rose isn’t back yet?”
    I said she wasn’t. “Come in though, and have a drink. You’re welcome to have some supper too, if you like carrot sticks and hummus.”
    He followed me into the flat and I gave him a glass of wine, and then it occurred to me that in all the excitement of having Pers, I hadn’t checked my phone since I left the office. There was a missed call and a text message from Rose.
    “She says she’s stuck at Geneva airport,” I said. “Grounded by heavy snow,apparently.”
    Of course I was dying to ask Oliver why he wasn’t with her, also grounded by heavy snow in Geneva, and why Rose had told me but not him. But I couldn’t think of any way to do it that was even slightly tactful, so I watched him sip his wine and thought for the millionth time how beautiful he was. I’d never seen him in casual clothes before, and he looked just as desirable in jeans and a shabby