‘Brendan and I will still be here when you get back. He adores you; he’d wait a lifetime.’ Olivia picked up a framed picture of Ivy, Olivia and Brendan making goofy faces in the movie-theatre photo booth and tossed it in her twin’s bag. Just in case.
Ivy nodded, twisting her mouth as if she was trying to think up another objection. ‘I still don’t like the thought of you being left on your own. Especially after . . .’
Olivia’s muscles went rigid and Ivy froze mid sentence. It was clear she’d been about to say the J-word, which had been officially erased from their vocabulary. Although Olivia and her Hollywood boyfriend, Jackson, had shared a swoon-worthy slow dance at the recent school prom, it had been really hard to say goodbye afterwards, when he’d had to return to filming. Like, really hard. The two of them had tried to Skype and phone as often as they could, but with his long hours on set and Olivia’s social life, they’d kept missing each other. The writers’ strike was still on in Hollywood, but Jackson had agreed to join some filming in Europe for a small, independent set of film-makers – to give his career more credibility, he’d told Olivia – and now he was even busier.
‘We need to make this easier on ourselves,’ Jackson had said, during their last conversation. ‘Let’s agree not to be in touch until we can meet face-to-face. Deal?’
‘Deal,’ Olivia had agreed, even though it had made her heart twist. Anything had to be better than the torture of missed phone calls and terse conversations. Since that last discussion, they hadn’t spoken, and Olivia had banned everyone from talking to her about Jackson or even saying his name. It seemed harsh, she knew, but it was the only way to save herself from going half crazy pining for him.
Hollywood plus Franklin Grove did not equal an easy relationship, it turned out.
Olivia chewed her lip, shifting on the bed. She could feel tears starting to pool in the corners of her eyes. Great, she thought. Just as she was trying to convince Ivy that she was super-OK with her leaving, here she was turning into a blubbering mess.
‘You know what?’ Ivy jumped up, clapping her hands. ‘We should pack!’
Olivia laughed at her sister’s attempt to act like her personal cheerleader. She still felt as if she had a boulder in her stomach, but at least the awkward silence was broken. Her tears spilled over on to her cheeks. At least Ivy’s pretending not to notice, she thought. Ivy always knew just the best way to behave around Olivia, especially when it came to affairs of the heart.
The two of them threw themselves down by the suitcase and got to work. Olivia was a machine, grabbing, folding and packing. She was so consumed with her task, she could almost forget that she no longer actually spoke to her handsome celebrity boyfriend.
Olivia reached for a jumper and felt a sharp tug on the fabric from the other end. She let go, scared it would rip.
‘Waaaah!’ Ivy toppled backwards, hitting the ground with a thump. Olivia hadn’t even noticed Ivy was holding it too!
‘Are you OK?’ Olivia asked, through sniggers that snuck past her lips. After a moment, she gave up trying to hide her laughter – at least the gloomy mood had been zapped. Olivia pulled her sister back upright, still giggling.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked a voice from behind them.
Ivy and Olivia span round. On the screen of Ivy’s computer, the Wallachia web site had been replaced by a real-time image of Georgia Huntingdon. Georgia’s thin face peered out at them through artsy reading glasses. ‘Well?’ asked Georgia.
Olivia’s eyes were wide. She’d never seen a vamp use the Lonely Echo online phone programme, but that had to be what Georgia was using to contact them! The question was, why was VAMP magazine’s best journalist getting in touch in the first place? Ivy and Olivia crowded in front of the screen.
‘Um, hi there,’ said Ivy, adjusting her video cam so that they were both in the frame. ‘We were just laughing because . . . Well, it seemed funny at the time.’
‘Never mind.’ Georgia’s ringlet curls swished across her shoulders. ‘I’m glad I caught you. Listen, I’m in the hospital.’
Ivy gasped. ‘What happened?’
Georgia lifted her arm and a thick, black cast appeared on the screen. ‘I broke my wrist on a skiing vacation in Aspen.’ She shook her head. ‘Now I get to walk around for ten weeks with this as my accessory.’
Olivia groaned. She could just imagine how much it would pain the magazine editor to be stuck with an ungainly cast. I bet she’s not even allowed to accessorise it with diamanté.
Ivy shuddered. ‘Sounds painful. You can count me out of the whole skiing thing. I’m never going – too dangerous.’
‘Yes, it can be . . . quite treacherous,’ Georgia said. She suddenly started busying herself with stirring sugar into a cup of coffee on a side table beside her chair.
‘Was it a black slope?’ Olivia asked, shuddering. ‘I’ve heard that they’re terrifying.’
‘Like sheets of glass,’ Ivy agreed.
‘Um . . .’ Olivia noticed that Georgia now had two pink spots on her cheeks. ‘The ice was very bad, I hear.’ Her voice had gone almost as soft as a whisper.
The twins shared a glance. Even Olivia had to admit, she felt the prickle of something not being quite right.
‘You hear?’ Ivy repeated. ‘You mean you don’t know? How did you break your wrist exactly?’
Georgia slammed her coffee cup down so that black liquid spilt over her cashmere skirt.