Worst Impressions

Bonus Chapter - Meeting at Pemberley

'Do you really need that window open?' I asked as we flew down the motorway. Amanda was in the back seat beside me, her hair whipping around her face while she tried to read one of her sociology textbooks.

It had been a long drive from the airport, and my sister had spent much of that time being as annoying as possible. She may have been older than me, but she wasn't the more mature of us. It didn't bother her I was utterly miserable, nor that I hadn't ever wanted to step foot in England again after everything that had happened at Christmas. My mother, too, had been insensitive to my wishes to remain behind in Switzerland.

In fact, when I'd told her it would be kinder for me to stay with Chantelle and Charlie so that they weren't alone during the holidays, she'd insisted on them joining us at our country house.

'Are you suddenly allergic to fresh air?' Mandy asked.

'It's not fresh on a motorway. It's pollution.'

'Are you two going to argue for the entire journey?' Mum asked from the front seat.

Rather than call for a driver, she'd decided that she wanted to undertake the task herself. She was certainly an oddity with regard to social etiquette. Charlie and Chantelle had hired someone to bring them down when they joined us later. Mum didn't like wasting the money on such things when she was perfectly capable of driving.

I sank in my seat and pressed my knees into the back of the empty front passenger side chair. 'She started it.'

'You're not five,' Mandy reminded me. 'What's wrong with you these days? You're more miserable than you usually are, and that's saying something.'

'Oh, please, like Freddie hasn't already told you,' I scoffed.

'Fred?' A wicked smile crossed Mandy's lips. 'Is this about a girl?'

I sat bolt-upright. 'What makes you say it's about a girl?'

'When isn't it about a girl when Fred's involved?' Mandy asked.

I couldn't fault her logic. Not only was she right, but Freddie seldom got into any real trouble unless it involved a woman. I'd never imagined that I would have that in common with my cousin, but life moved us in strange directions at times.

'It's not about a girl,' I lied. 'I just don't see why we didn't enjoy the fresh air in Switzerland, that's all.'

'Because your father wanted us to use this house during school holidays,' Mum replied, 'and I have no intention of breaking that tradition just because he's not here anymore. With or without him, we're still a family. Try to remember that instead of bickering, won't you?'

I shuffled back down into my seat and folded my arms across my chest. I had no problem with the notion of tradition, or respecting anything that my late father had thought was important.

I just didn't feel ready to be back in the same country as Beth Bennett.

I also wasn't keen on spending prolonged periods of time in a car with a woman whose idea of travel music was to just play the Mamma Mia soundtrack on repeat, but apparently, it was the driver's privilege to choose the music.

And, so, to the resounding tune of Waterloo, we turned off the motorway and made our way into the quiet, peaceful corner of the country where our British holiday home resided.

Pemberley.

Our house stood apart in the vast, rolling green hills. It was a landscape designed for old-fashioned manors and farms, not for our modernist home with its straight lines and tall windows. Yet, it also blended seamlessly with the gardens once one was inside. The glass walls opened fully to welcome the outside in, turning the gardens into an extension of our living space. At one time, I believed that my father intended to make this our permanent home. Had he lived longer, he may well have succeeded in his plan. Visiting was now a bittersweet event; a constant reminder of his memory, but also of his lacking presence in our lives.