**Diary Entry**
Will I really spend the rest of my life proving I’ve done nothing wrong?
Emily was watching TV while her husband, James, sat at the computer when her mother called.
“What’s happened, Mum?” Emily asked warily, muting the television.
“Nothing’s happened. I just wanted to call.”
But Emily knew her mother never rang without a reason.
“Mum, come on, out with it. Has Sophie caused trouble again?”
Her mother sighed.
“She’s been nagging me nonstop about coming to stay with you. Says she wants to go to university. But she barely scrapes through school—all she cares about is parties. What university? There’s a good college and a nursing school right here. She won’t hear of it,” her mother sighed again.
“But James and I live in a tiny flat. I’m not sure it’d be comfortable for her to stay with us,” Emily said.
“I understand. I’m worried she’ll just run off to you. That’s why I’m calling—to warn you. Maybe you can talk her out of it? She won’t listen to me. Completely out of control.”
“Mum, she won’t listen to me either. If she’s set her mind on something, there’s no changing it. You know that. I’ll try speaking with Uncle David—maybe he’ll take her in.”
“Do that, love. Though he’s got his own family now. It might be awkward.”
“Why awkward? She’s his daughter, after all. Fine, Mum, I’ll talk to him and call you back.” Emily hung up.
“Was that your mum?” James turned away from his screen, looking at his wife.
“Yeah. Sophie wants to come stay—apparently she’s applying to university.”
“So? If she gets in, they’ll give her a dorm.”
“She won’t get in. There’s a college here too, but she won’t bother with that either. She just wants to get married, mark my words. I’ll talk to her father—maybe he’ll take responsibility. He *should*. She’s his blood.” Emily frowned.
*No, I have to convince Uncle David. James is handsome—otherwise, I wouldn’t have married him. And Sophie’s capable of anything. She barely took her eyes off him at our wedding.*
Emily and Sophie had different fathers. Emily’s drowned when she was six—went fishing with mates, had a few too many, then got his hook snagged on a log in the river. He waded in to free it and got pulled under. His friends, also roaring drunk, couldn’t save him in time.
Her young, beautiful mother was left alone with Emily. She didn’t let any suitors near until Emily was in Year 6, when a handsome new maths teacher joined their school. Rumour had it he’d transferred from London after some tragic love affair.
He became Emily’s form tutor. At parents’ evening, he saw her mum and fell head over heels. Soon, he was dropping by regularly, helping Emily with homework—not just maths. Her grades shot up, and whispers spread in class.
Then Mum got pregnant. She didn’t want to marry, but David—as Emily called him at home—convinced her. After Sophie was born, Emily became the elder sister, proud of her role. Mum trusted her to run errands, push the pram, even babysit.
They lived together for two years. Then David was offered a teaching post at a prestigious grammar school in Manchester. No surprise—he was brilliant, pupils adored him.
Mum refused to go. She never said why, but Emily, grown by then, understood. Mum was self-conscious about being older. Afraid he’d leave her in the city, she let him go first.
David moved; the three of them stayed. After the divorce, he paid child support for Sophie, even sending extra for Emily. He knew Mum struggled alone.
The sisters were opposites—in looks and temperament. Emily studied hard, focused. After A-levels, she left for Manchester and breezed into uni.
Sophie? Couldn’t be bothered. She’d known she was pretty since primary school and used it well.
At uni, Emily bumped into David at a shopping centre. He was with his wife and their toddler. He stopped, asked after Mum and Sophie—even seemed pleased to see her. Gave her his number and address, insisting she call if she needed anything.
Emily visited twice when skint. But seeing his wife’s disapproval, she stopped. He never rang her.
The day after Mum’s call, Emily phoned David.
“Emily!” he sounded delighted. “How are you? How’s your mum? Been ages.”
“I’m married now, David. Working. All fine. I’m calling about Sophie.”
She sensed him tense, waiting.
“Mum rang yesterday. Said Sophie wants to come here for uni. James and I live in a shoebox. I thought—maybe she could stay with you?” she finally blurted.
“I’ll talk to Olivia, my wife, and call you back. Which uni’s she applying to?”
“Honestly? No idea. Doubt she’ll get in. If she does, they’ll give her a room. If not… Well, I suppose she’ll slink back to Mum.”
“Right. And you—no kids yet?”
“No. Thanks.” *Thank God that was easier than expected.*
Three weeks later, Sophie arrived with her A-level results.
“We’ve arranged for you to stay with your dad. I rang him—he’s expecting you.”
“Who asked you?” Sophie snapped. “I’m not going. I thought I’d be with *you*.”
“Where? The kitchen?”
“So? I’ll sleep there. Or are you worried about *James*? He’s ancient to me. Though…” Sophie smirked.
Emily forced down panic.
“Tomorrow, we’ll submit your applications. Where are you applying?”
“As if. I can manage *myself*.”
“Fine. A month till term starts. No lazing about. Once you’ve applied, go back to Mum till enrolment. Non-negotiable. Right now, we’re going to your dad’s.”
Olivia, David’s wife, made no secret of her distaste for her husband’s daughter. Within two days, Sophie was back with Mum.
But late July, she reappeared.
“Why aren’t you with your dad?” Emily greeted her coldly.
“He’s on holiday—Majorca,” Sophie chirped.
Gritting her teeth, Emily let her stay. Couldn’t throw her own sister out. The heatwave made the flat suffocating—the fan did little. Of course, Sophie pranced about in tiny shorts and a skin-tight top, no bra. Emily endured it, shooting James wary glances, though he seemed oblivious.
*Just a week till enrolment results. Then she’ll be gone.*
Next day, Emily’s boss asked her to dash to London—urgent contracts needing signatures. His deputy was on paternity leave, so she had to go. Reluctantly, she agreed, her stomach in knots at leaving James and Sophie alone.
At midnight, James shut his laptop. No sign of Sophie. He called—no answer. An hour later, drunken giggles crackled down the line amid club beats.
“You coming home? Do you know what time it is?” James snapped.
“Ooh, Daddy’s *worried*,” Sophie cackled.
“Your sister will have my head if anything happens to you. Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”
“Really? I’m at Pulse…”
“Where d’you think you’re going? You’re *dancing* with me…” A man’s slurred voice cut in.
“Which club?!” James yelled.
“Piss off, I’m not—” The line went dead.
James didn’t bother changing—just grabbed trainers and ran. Driving, he tried recalling city centre clubs. She wouldn’t wander far—probably one near the station. He’d have to check them all. Sophie’s phone stayed off.
He found her in the first club, swaying against a glassy-eyed bloke with greasy hair. James tried pulling her away, but the guy chest-bumped him.
“Watch it, granddad.” His pupils were saucers.
“Want trouble? One call to the police, mate. She’s underage.” James thumbed 999, hovering over ‘call’.
The guy vanished. James hauled Sophie to the car.
She giggled the whole way, thrilled he’d nearly fought over her. Home, he shoved her into the shower.
“Wash up—you look like a…”
“Like what? You’re such a *policeman*!” Sophie shrieked, pounding the door. James braced against it till water ran.
Four AM. Three hours till work. He collapsed into bed.
He overslept, probably snoozed his alarm. Dressed in a flash, he bolted, cursing Sophie internally.
AtAs he rushed out the door, James swore to himself that he’d never let Sophie set foot in their home again.
