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don’t. It’s just about the money.’
    â€˜If you need money, Rose,’ Lily said coldly, ‘I’m sure we can sort something out.’
    â€˜I don’t need money, or at least I don’t want any of yours. That’s not what I mean either.’ Rose’s cell phone started ringing again. ‘Oh for Pete’s sake! What does he want now?’
    She answered and listened, fuming. ‘Did you check the linenpress? Or the drier? Or the fricking drawers in their fricking room? Well, I don’t know, Al—keep trying. What do you expect me to do from here?’
    She flipped her phone closed and threw it back in her bag.
    â€˜It looks to me as though you’re needed more at the rotten-smelling dump than you are here,’ Lily said, rising from the table and taking her still-full coffee cup to the kitchen sink. ‘As you can see, I am perfectly fine and I’m just sorry you wasted your time coming to check on me.’
    â€˜OK, Miss High-and-Mighty, so this is how you’re going to play it?’ Rose’s cheeks were starting to redden, a sure sign she was building to blow her top. Lily had seen it a hundred times before. As a child, Rose’s tantrums had been legendary, although it had not usually been Lily who caused them; rather she had been the one to soothe her sister and bring her back to good humour.
    â€˜Treat me like some piece of dog dirt on the bottom of your fancy-pants shoe, why don’t you. See if I care! And while we’re at it, let me tell you something. I am not needed more at the rotten-smelling dump than I am here, but I’m going home anyway. And let me tell you something else: You’re wrong about you being fine, Lily. You are not fine. And you know what? I can’t feel sorry for you any longer. I just can’t. I’ve felt so sorry for you for so long, but I’m done with that. Where has it got us? We used to be best friends! So close! And now? Now you’re obviously drinking your way into an early grave just like Mom did, and I’m not going to turn myself inside out trying to stop you the way we tried to stop her. The two of us. Together. Remember?’
    Rose and Lily did not talk about their mother. The painful experience of being Carmel Watson’s daughters was something they shared at DNA level but rarely out loud, and never since she had died, slowly and with very little dignity, when the sisters were in their early twenties.
    For Rose to exhume her now, and to compare Lily to her—a bitter, angry woman who died of cirrhosis after a miserable life spent shrivelled in rage and resentment—was unforgivable.
    â€˜You really should go now,’ Lily said. ‘And as you think so little of me, I think it’s best that you never come back.’
    â€˜Don’t you worry, I’m going,’ Rose answered, snatching up her bag. ‘And don’t you worry a second time because I’m not coming back—not until you call me stone-cold sober and beg me to.’
    â€˜Thanks for the feedback, I’ll take that on board,’ Lily said, knowing how much Rose hated business jargon and ushering her stiffly up the hall like an unwanted client.
    Furious, Rose pulled open the door but paused and blew out a lungful of air before she walked through it. ‘You’re my sister and I love you,’ she said, turning to Lily, the colour in her cheeks softening. ‘I don’t think so little of you. I think so much of you. That’s the trouble. You have looked out for me my whole life and I probably wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you, but don’t stay this cold, lonely person you’ve turned into, Lily. It’s not the real you. I know it isn’t. Please, go find Daniel. For God’s sake, work it out with him. Sure, it’s Tipsy Tourism, but it’s not a bad idea. Just please, please, I beg you, don’t sweep this one under the carpet,