Description: A family is supposed to be supportive, not in competition. Story: I sit sipping my wine in contemplation. Anxiety knots its way into my stomach, like small tight balls. I look at the clock, they are 10 minutes late. Typical. It’s been 10 months since I last saw any of them. I never enjoy these meetings. The pretense, the feelings of inferiority. I hear their laughter as they enter the restaurant and my heart sinks. I take another big sip of my wine for Dutch courage. There they are. I watch them as they fuss about taking their coats off. My three half-sisters. They approach me, immaculate, with red shiny lips curled in polite smiles. “Hi Charlotte,” air kisses, “How are you, you look…nice.” They appear to be surprised. “You certainly chose a nice restaurant; how did you get the seats? Normally you have to book weeks in advance here,” asks the eldest of the three. “Oh, I was lucky...” As usual, she was only half listening to me as she picked up the wine list and began scanning it. I stopped talking. “How are the kids?” asks the youngest. “Fine thanks, Maisie has started kick-boxing and Jimmy is doing really well at university.” She smiles disinterested and then turns to the middle sister and starts talking to her. My eldest sister pipes in. Matt is doing so well in his last year. He has been nominated for the best student of his year. She gushes and scans the photos on her phone until she comes to the one that she wants. She thrusts it in my direction, a smug look on her face. “See, he won an internal competition on the campus.” “Brilliant, what was it for?” I ask with interest. “His writing skills of course,” she says surprised as if I should know everything about him. The waiter arrives at our table and saves me. He takes our drink orders. “Very attentive,” says the middle sister impressed. She turns to me. “I have to tell you about our new house,” she gushes. “It’s a four-bed detached in the village of Shere.” “That’s a lovely village,” I say mustering as much cheer as I can. “Yes, it is. The children have got into the local school. There are small classes, so they will be getting lots of one to one support.” “It sounds idyllic. Has everyone decided what they want to order?” I quickly change the subject. I don’t think I can stand to hear her yet again purr about her perfect children and her perfect life. I look across at the waiter. He catches my eye and hurries over to our table. “Are you ready to order ladies?” I give my order, but my sisters aren’t ready. The waiter patiently waits. I look across at my sisters as they discuss the menu between them. Our father had always treated them differently, favored them. I was the first of his children, born to his childhood sweetheart, my mother. He had always hoped he could save her from her demons, but in the end, the bottle won, and my father and I were left broken-hearted when it finally took her to an early grave. After that, things were never the same. I looked too much like my mother and resentment replaced love. He however found solace in my sister’s mother. But fate had yet another cruel twist in store and he had just eight years with his second wife before she too was taken. ‘The love of his life’ as he often describes her. Deciding on what they want, the waiter departs. “So, what is Mitch up to these days?” asks the youngest. “He’s still working for Asda as a delivery driver. He loves it.” She grimaces. “Andy has just opened another shop, this is his third, so he is officially a chain.” My other two sisters squeal in delight. “Wow, congratulations,” I say. “Are you still doing that writing thing?” asks the oldest feigning interest. “Yes, I’m still writing.” They turn back to each other and continue to talk between themselves disinterested. I sigh inwardly and watch them. After ten minutes the food arrives. They return to their self-absorbed conversation and I try to appear interested. It’s difficult because they don’t really involve me. It’s a painful hour. Finally, after deserts and two more drinks, it’s over. The plates are cleared away and the bill is set down. They dissect it one at a time. “I had the coq au vin, the lemon sorbet and three glasses of chardonnay. That should come to sixty-eight pounds.” “Mine won’t be any more than sixty pounds, I only had wine spritzers with my food.” “Well, mine isn’t seventy-five pounds. Let me work it out!” demands the middle sister. They squabble between themselves over their part of the bill. I stand up. “Don’t worry, it’s on me.” They stop talking. My eldest sister laughs incredulously, and snorts down her nose, “Don’t be stupid this bill is almost three-hundred pounds, you can’t afford that!” “Actually, I can. I own this place. ‘That writing’ has become incredibly lucrative. I pick up the bill. “Enjoy the rest of your day.” I smile. I leave my sisters aghast and head over to the host. “If my sisters ask, make sure you tell them what a good boss I am.” “I wouldn’t be lying Charlotte, you are a gem. I wished you were my sister.” I smile warmly at her and head into the kitchen to check that my staff are all OK. We are a working family in the making, their happiness is important to me! Candy Croc © 2019 Staffordshire