Chloe

So, my family is pretty big, and as a result we just do Secret Santa every year, so you get one decent present from all siblings. Unless Bryn pulls your name, then you'll still get crap. Unless you pull Bryn's name, then you seek revenge for all the years he hasn't bothered (we're not normally petty but let me get this straight, he has put his presents for my nieces, nephew and son under the tree. They are in plastic bags, otherwise not wrapped. They are 1 - 6 years old. Unnacceptable. It doesn't take much effort to buy some paper - and it's fairly cheap - and some sellotape. He can use the family scissors. And one of the bags looks like he's stolen it out of my room, so even more pissed off about that. If he asked, it'd be different.)

Anyway, this year, Chloe - my half sister - was very specific, way back in September, for what she wanted for Christmas. So I talked to my mum and she rigged it so I got Chloe, so I could get her what she wanted. What did she want?

The entire seven-season box set. More specifically, she watches it for

Also known as Matthew Gray Gubler. He's kinda nerdy-sexy, I can see it.

Now, I feel bad that Chloe knows who her secret Santa is, and what she's getting, so I had a wave on inspiration and thought I'd surprise her with the wrapping paper. I started it today, printing out loads of pictures of MGG and cutting them out. I'll put them on that sticky-back plastic shit and piss her off that she's going to have to tear his head off in order to get her DVDs. Tis the season. I'm already on it, look:

Mwahahaha … don't worry, I know she doesn't read this blog ;) I do try at Christmas!

Siobhan's Sporking: Billy and Me, Chapter 26

I’ve read ahead again, passed this chapter. I need to lay off the sugar, because chapter 27 is saccharine enough.

But we’re on chapter 26! And for this chapter, we get shots of my tired, puffy, red face every time I get triggered by one of my usual rants. Like this:

Yeah, that’s a cloak I’m wearing. It’s super warm. And it’s not my only cloak …

Anyway, chapter 26 starts two weeks after Molly’s death, so maybe a few days since the funeral? Giovanna doesn’t really make it clear. There’s a line that already gets my back up:

… the shop has remained closed during that time while I try to recover from the loss of two important people in my life in close succession, pondering on how to move forward.

So now Molly’s death and breaking up with Billy are on par. She’s finally elevated the death of her friend to the level of being sad her relationship didn’t work out. Grrrrr …

Sophie says the pictures are still coming every day from Billy. I call bullshit. That’s a huge reliance on the postal system, which everyone knows is crap, and there’s no post on Sundays … is Billy hand delivering these? Sophie shows her so-called bookworm abilities at last, and totally gets categorised by my bitchiness:

It seems he has been making his way through some of the classics that I’d mentioned to him when we were together. Wuthering Heights, Sense and Sensibility and Jude the Obscure are just a few of the books he’s been quoting.

First off, Tom’s amazingly talented sister Carrie has done a song/video about reading which features way too many shit books, but still:

Anyway, my point earlier, my categorising of Sophie … she’s a book poser. A poseur. Seriously, no one is that obsessed with the classics and only the classics. The only type of person who only likes classics is the type of person who doesn’t read but doesn’t want to come across as ignorant, so they cling to books written by Brontes and Austen and maybe a couple of the easier Dickens, and though they don’t actually read the books they maybe saw a period drama or maybe got the cliff notes. Like, I’ve never read Romeo and Juliet, but I can tell you that it’s about two thirteen-year-olds who start an illicit relationship although Juliet is betrothed to Paris (who treats her well) at the cost of a war between their families. And Romeo dicks Juliet about but she still prefers Romeo being a prick to the Nice Guy that Paris is. And then they get raging hormones and get married in secret, one of them fakes their death and the other kills themself, thinking it was real. It was written as a satire over the idiotic children that Shakespeare saw all the freaking time.

Never read a word of it. But everyone knows the storyline. And also, those stories are pretty famous. You can Google ‘love quotes’ and get hundreds. I did it recently and got a load of F Scott Fitzgerald macros. Here’s some from her aforementioned books:

“My heart is, and always will be, yours.” – Sense and Sensibility.

“But nobody did come; because nobody ever does. And under the crushing weight of his gigantic error Jude wished himself out of the world” – Jude the Obscure.

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” – Wuthering Heights.

“Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let the pain make you hate. Do not let bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree you still believe it to be a beautiful place.” – Sense and Sensibility.

“At first I did not love you, Jude; that I own. When I first knew you I merely wanted you to love me. I did not exactly flirt with you; but that inborn craving which undermines some women's morals almost more than unbridled passion--the craving to attract and captivate, regardless of the injury it may do the man--was in me; and when I found I had caught you, I was frightened.” – Jude the Obscure

“If he loved you with all the power of his soul for a whole lifetime, he couldn’t love you as much as I do in a single day.” – Wuthering Heights.

“It isn’t what we say or think that defines. It’s what we do.” – Sense and Sensibility.

“You have never loved me as I love you--never--never! Yours is not a passionate heart--your heart does not burn in a flame! You are, upon the whole, a sort of fay, or sprite-- not a woman!” – Jude the Obscure.

“Be with me always – take any form – drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!” – Wuthering Heights.

It took me ten minutes to find all those quotes. There’s three apiece. I just filled one week. How exactly is this some huge romantic gesture on Billy’s part? Even Sophie says

I still can’t imagine him finding the time to sit down and read them, or having the concentration to do so, but something tells me he must be.

 Seriously. Google.

Are you guys having the thought I had after the second picture came? The one that goes ‘well, there’s no return address, and she hasn’t sent anything back to Billy, so why is Billy doing this, exactly? Why doesn’t he give up?

(Yeah, I love Mervin, Mrs Hyde, Gehayi and Ket Makura!)

Don’t worry, Sophie takes care to explain this to us, as his latest picture (how many did they take, exactly?) arrives with a quote from Pride and Prejudice. By explaining, I mean

Needless to say, I’ve never written back, so I justify opening them by telling myself that Billy will keep sending them regardless, blind to whether I’m looking at them or not.

Now, I’m not a huge feminist, or one of those people who freaks out over little things by blowing them out of proportion (much, anyway) but this doesn’t sit right. ‘Oh, he’s just going to phone me and breath down the phone heavily anyway, regardless of whether I pick up or leave for voicemail.’ ‘Oh, he’s going to hang in my bushes whether I want him to trespass or not.’ … seriously, this is actually a form of intimidation/stalking, dressed up as romance.

Just saying.

The next sentence is getting a face.

Despite their not seeing me, the support from the community has been unwavering.

That’s my Fuck Off And Die face, by the way. I have scared drunk men with that face. You know what you did, Giovanna.

So, the neighbors have left meals and flowers and cards for Sophie. Bit much, really. At least there’s one glimmer of reality in all this blatant Mary Sue Worship.

I’m touched by their kindness, yet dubious as to whether I deserve it.

Hello, editor! It gets worse, apparently all these wonderful tokens are going to Sophie’s mum at work, so Sophie has no need to interact with them (she justifies it as being given the space she needs … but I get the feeling these people are actually being sympathetic to her mum for dealing with her, and her mum’s lying to spare her precious feelings) which suits her fine.

She contradicts herself and makes my head hurt:

… although I’m hardly using the time productively. I’ve been trying to do all I can to keep my mind occupied so that I don’t have to think too much about the past or future – but I can’t concentrate.

So … she’s busy doing fuck all? Seriously, she then cuts to how, about a week after the funeral, she’s sat in the kitchen doing an impossipuzzle

which I always finds helps me thing, so whatever Sophie. I’m pretty sure it’s the beans one, she describes identical orange pieces. And then there’s a knock at the door (but did she finish the border, at least?) and it’s Peter, Molly’s son. He’s tapping his legs again, so he’s really cut up over losing his mother. As you would be, I guess? They swap more platitudes, which are dialogue-tagged with things like ‘a glum smile’. A glum smile? What is that?

Maybe?

Peter’s there to give Sophie keys. But not Sophie’s keys, Molly’s keys, so … why did Sophie need to open up the TeaShop for the wake? Why couldn’t he be returning her … never mind. I give up. I should be used to shouting my brand of logic at TV shows and books and films when they go on a completely stupid tangent and ruin a really compelling storyline. I should be used to all common fucking sense leaving the building. If people just asked questions … you know, one thing I’d like to think I’ve achieved in writing the Uprooted series is that you can have a compelling storyline without all these forced twists, that things seem organic throughout, and that maybe you can stretch out a certain type of storyline without making it feel dragged out. If someone ever turned around to me and said that, I’d be so chuffed. I know it hasn’t happened yet, because so many people called me out on Fearn at the end of the first book, which I will change … but when editing is completed …

I’m off on a tangent, sorry. So Sophie and Peter vomit words about Peter leaving for the airport, and they have a long, unlikely conversation, including such literary gold as:

“There’s some legal jargon in there, too, but I think everything’s sorted now.”

Yeah … you’re an adult, Peter. And “legal jargon” is not so neat. It took me two hours to legally change my surname by change of name deed, and that’s an easy paperwork (I took on my stepdad’s name when I was 21, he’s been my stepdad since I was 4) I’d imagine the reading of the will, the allocation of assets, it would all take a long time. And why the hell do you have all this? As a beneficiary, Sophie should have been at the will reading in order to know what she was being left. Peter should not have her keys, or deeds to the teashop, or any of it. My stepsister’s husband is a property lawyer, I’m sure he’d be annoyed at this representation of his career.

The entire focus of this conversation is on Sophie. I want to rage on and on about this so much.

He.

Has.

LOST.

HIS.

MOTHER!

FOR FUCK’S SAKE!

There’s a horrible time jump into the middle of the night, and Sophie’s just staring at the keys. And I’m just

There’s some blah-blah-blah about Sophie not reacting like she did when her dad died, and how she won’t mope for the next seventeen years (finally! Character growth!) and she will improve!

And then she visits the shop. In the middle of the night. There’s a lot of messages of support (?) stuck to the doors and windows. I got so sentimental at this part.

They’re wonderful messages of love and thanks, showing how much Molly meant to everyone within the community. Once I’ve read them all and absorbed their warmth, I put the key in the lock and let myself in.

Yep, I am feeling them feels.

I instantly feel the love oozing from all around me as I remember how much devotion and joy was poured into the place every day, and not just by Molly and me, but by all the elderly women, mums and schoolgirls who chose it as the place to visit as they mulled over their lives.

She’s sitting alone, in the middle of the night, in a darkened tea shop. I’m sure she’s surrounded by love. Or, more likely, she’s surrounded by a chill from the lack of adequate heating and an absence that seems profound during the dead of night, with no one around, making her feel the pain of the loss of Molly more. But that’s what a smart writer would do, I guess?

Sophie brings up something she mentioned on her first date with Billy, which hurt my head a lot. Remember I said she was going to shat all over everything she talked about in her poem? Yeah, she says her dream was to run a teashop, and sell ‘gift ideas’, flowers and books too. It sounds scarily eclectic, and far too busy for one inexperienced girl to manage on her own. Anyway, she blames going out with Billy for never pursuing that dream and spends the rest of the night just sitting in the chair, smiling to herself and dreaming up ways to bastardise the shop. Then she does the walk of shame home.

We then get drivel about how, even in London, she never touched her savings, or any of Billy’s money, because she was frugal … so what money did she use? How did she come by it? How frugal can you be on about three days worth of work at a coffee bar?

Anyway, so she’s sat on the sofa, feeling smug about her finances and sketching out ideas for how her teashop could look. Molly’s grave is still warm, you know? Her mum walks in after about a morning of sketching and asks what she’s doing. She’s cagey at best.

“What are they?” she asks.
“Just little ideas …”
“They look pretty.”

And then her mum watches her draw. I hope those pictures end up on the fridge. She starts spilling her guts about one idea and I’m like, dude, I know a few people who do their own craftwork. You don’t sit there banging on about one design. Like, Sarah at Made By Birdies was watching the Narnia films, and did about four different necklaces, a bracelet and a couple of bookmarks – oh, and a ring – all based on Narnia. In one DAY. I may have bought one of the necklaces …

So, Sophie and her mother talk about her idea and her mother is currently the Other Character There To Love Sophie Unconditionally, which I know is a mum thing, but still, I’m too pissed at this book. And then Sophie’s mum suggests her new beau to help with some of the carpentry. Because that’s man’s work. And Sophie gets excited, and the chapter ends and we can celebrate that there’s only 5% more (and, I think, about three more chapters!)

Tune in next time for more We Love Sophie, and more Sophie Dramatics! I can hardly wait.

We’re nearly there, people!

My car :(

My car's windscreen is cracked :( my Fifi's sick :(

I was driving to work the other day and heard a massive crack, but I couldn't see anything fly at my car, or bounce off, or any chips, and then last night I was driving through some insane fog and noticed this line growing across my window. Tried the wipers on it and it just grew, so then I realised it was my windscreen.

On the plus side, I swallowed a personal demon and called the company my insurance company recommended just now. Big thing for me, I'm weird about phones, but I did it! And now Lydia's like 'you use the phone at work!' but you can't see my cold sweats, woman!

I still have to call tax credits though, dammit. Tomorrow, I'll definitely do it tomorrow.

Siobhan's Sporking: Billy and Me, Chapter 25

I was going to ask Carter to review this chapter, but I realised he might get a bit arsey with me. Okay, it’s Carter, he would tear me a new one and then sulk, and since his chapter is coming up in my writing, I’m going to make nice with the boy.

So, we’re at chapter 25, and the first chapter in part four! Because of the amount of book we have left, I’m going to guess we either have four chapters left to go, all fair-sized, or else these are almost drabbles, small chapters making up the last part. Like how I tend to write.

I think I’m going to post the whole chapter, and analyse paragraph by paragraph. It’s a fairly short chapter, but there may be a bit to say. Who knows?

Black. That is all I see looking in the mirror on the day of Molly’s funeral. Black, black, black. Black dress, black tights, black coat, and a black ribbon holding my hair in the plaited style Molly loved.

First of all – I wear this outfit for work. Occasionally, I’ll add a colourful scarf (all the girls on my section wear scarves, I like that, feels like a team thing). Second of all, I know black is a colour, but you’re making the word lose all meaning. Try and mix it up a little, without sounding like a knob. If you can’t, rephrase. ‘My clothes blend into one another, tights into dress, dress into coat, all of them black to show my grief. I’ve even included a ribbon in my hair, matching the outfit, which I’ve used to secure the plaited style that Molly had suggested for the BAFTA awards. It felt like an appropriate gesture, given the circumstances.’ I just upped the word count again.

But it’s not just my clothes that ooze the darkness. It’s everything. I can see the blackness under my eyes from the lack of sleep and the general doom that surrounds my existence.

Trust me, I definitely want to sit her and yell at her to get the fuck over herself. But I’ll hold back. And I just kinda did. This whole imagery … it sounds like she badger-eyed her make up and is blaming it on lack of sleep. When did Sophie have trouble sleeping? All she’s done is mope in bed! I know there’s a difference between moping and sleeping, but still … and general doom? Really? Doom surrounds her existence? Because she knows two people have died? Oh, honey, you’d never survive a George R R Martin novel. You wouldn’t function.

“Are you ready, love?” my mum asks, as she knocks on my door.
“Yeah,” I say, fiddling with my coat buckle as I try to do it up. “I don’t think I can face seeing everyone, Mum. I want to say my goodbyes but-“ I stop, choking on my own words.

Why is she choking on her words? She’s not crying, she’s fiddling with her coat buckle. She’s performing basic tasks, and not applying emotion to them. Seriously, all she had to do in this part is write ‘I say, as I fumble on the coat buckle. I was trying to do it up, but my hands are shaking and my vision is blurring through the film of tears.’ And then continue with the dialogue. And it’s true, no one says funerals have to include crying. The funeral I’ve written, Carter describes himself as feeling numb, and Lambrini is confused because she’s worried about Carter and Curtis, but happy for the time she can spend with them at the wake. So I wouldn’t hold it against Giovanna if she didn’t want Sophie to be upset at this particular moment, but I get the feeling she is actually trying to tell us that Sophie is sad and on the verge of tears.

“It’s OK, darling,” she says, walking in as she takes the buckle from my hand and fastens it up for me, holding my hand once she’s finished.

This might have had more impact if Sophie hadn’t had everyone hand her everything on a freaking platter for the rest of the book. It’s not the poignant moment it should be, because who doesn’t do shit for Sophie in this book?

Not only will the whole village be out in force today at the church, but they’ll also be gathering at Tea-on-the-Hill for Molly’s wake, something peter and Molly’s friends at the WI have grouped together to organise. All I had to do was give them my permission to use it now that I’m it’s new owner. It’s a lovely idea, and one that Molly would have loved, but I din’t think I’ll be able to cope with being in the shop yet without Molly’s presence.

Did you see it? The thing that smacked me in the face? The thing that made my jaw drop? Guesses in the comments, please!

Seriously, this is her BEST FRIEND and she hasn’t had a hand in her FUNERAL and mentions that Molly’s SON and actual FRIENDS who give a shit about her have arranged it all. And Sophie’s smug about the fact that she ONLY has to hand over a key. She’s not even going to pay her respects and celebrate Molly’s life at the wake. THIS IS HOW LITTLE SHE CARES ABOUT THE PERSON WHO APPARENTLY STARTED HER HEALING PROCESS AFTER HER FATHER DIED!

I can’t rant enough.

“It’s too much, Mum.”
“I know,” Mum says, as she pulls me in for a hug. “Why don’t we go to the church and wait until everyone is seated and busy before going in? Hey? We can sneak out before the end if you like?”
I nod. Going unnoticed is exactly what I want to do today.

I feel sick. I wrote that into my funeral scene. The big difference is, that the person sneaking in late was friends with the deceased person’s relative, and barely knew them. They barely have a connection to this dead person. And the other motive for coming late is to avoid their own relatives, because things are crazy awkward in their own situation and they don’t want to make a scene out of respect for the grieving family. They still stayed for the wake, to make sure the key people who needed to know they were there did, and they paid their respects the best way that they could. What, exactly, is Sophie’s excuse?

We sit at the back of the church and are the first people to catch a glimpse of Molly’s coffin as it is carried in. The sight is heartbreaking.
Suddenly, the realization that this is all very real hits me.
Molly is in there.
She’s gone.
I’m never going to see her again.

Again, she hasn’t described anything to make me believe Sophie is in shock, numbed to the pain in anyway. She never says anything to that effect. I haven’t posted it up on the writing blog, but I’ll show you a scene I’ve written between Carter and Curtis over Callum’s death:

'You're not playing music.'
'So?'
'So, I know you like music. It's just weird, that's all.'
I took a deep breath in, questioning why I decided to come out with him after all.
'And you've got one of the last games of the season tonight, aren't you meant to have practice?'
He stared out the window, and I concentrated on the road.
'Do you miss him?' He started again, out of the blue. He didn't have to explain himself to me, but I couldn't answer that, not with Curtis asking the question. 'I'm not sure I do.'
I wasn't expecting that.
'I know I don't.' He whipped his head around to stare at me. 'Come on Curtis, we barely saw him.'
'You barely saw him. I saw him every week.'
'And it still didn't make a difference, did it? Do you even know what he liked? If he even liked anything? Or was he as blank with you as he was with everyone else? Because I promise you Curtis, he played you. He played everyone.' I could feel myself getting mad, but I was on a roll, and I had to get these thoughts out that have been plaguing me.
'And you just knew that from all the time you didn't spend with him?' Curtis bit back. I parked up first chance I got, too angry to carry on driving.
'Think about it, you spend every week there, trying to show him someone cares, that there's a point to being alive and he doesn't even try to stay alive for you.'
Curtis' face went pale, and he bit his lips together. It took me a moment to realise that he was trying not to cry, because these were all the thoughts he'd been having about it too. I tried to calm the fuck down.
'Sorry.'
'No, you're not.' Curtis had gone scarily quiet. 'Because you think it's true, so why would you be sorry?'
'Sorry I hit a nerve.' I felt exasperated. I wish I'd never bumped into him.
'No you're not.' He shook his head. 'Because you never are. You think hitting a nerve is like, free therapy.'
'You don't know that I'm never sorry.'

That’s the day after their brother kills himself, so yes it’s a little different, but at the same time, this is proceeding the funeral and they’re talking about blame, and shame, and not feeling sad like they should and regret that they didn’t do enough. So when it comes to the funeral and they’re not responsive, you can see the foundations for that in this scene. My point is, Giovanna hasn’t planted enough in the previous chapters to show any changes. As far as this read to me, she’s disrupting her angsting over breaking up with Billy to make a show for five minutes at the funeral of some lady she used to work for. And so it’s tough to say goodbye to a friend! It’s tougher to always regret that you never took the chance when it was there. Man the fuck up!

The service goes by in a blur as questions and thoughts fill my brain. Why Molly? Why now? She’ve given so much to everyone she’d ever met … how could such a slow and painful death happen to someone like her?

Yes, she’s given so much, and yet you can’t spare her a day in her honour. And slow and painful death? She got half a chapter out of twenty-three chapters!

It’s not long before Mum is leaning into me, saying we should leave if we want to get out before being stopped.
I nod and allow her to guide me out of the wooden doors of the church.
We walk home in silence – both absorbed in our own thoughts.

I can’t even, guys. You want more of Departed for comparison? I’ve tried not to give too much away, but apologies for other spoilers:

The Fennigans' weren't home when we got to their house. I overheard one of their aunts saying how the burial was private and they were going to the cemetery straight away. And then I saw my mom coming, and hid my face behind my hair, scooting out of the way and heading for the back yard. Maybe it was a stupid mistake to come, as cool as it was to hang out with Lisa and Becki, and see Foster; today there's no one I know really well, and everyone seems really tense.
I was almost at the door to the backyard when I noticed Carter and Curtis' door was open a little. I stuck my head in, but there was no one around. So I snuck in, sitting on Curtis' bed and looking around at all their stuff. Carter's CD's piled everywhere at the end of his bed, Curtis' wall covered in sports memorabilia, the pictures Carter has of Thomas, Fearn, Becki and me up on the walls. I've not been in here much, but I still feel comfortable here, like I've come home properly.
I don't think I'd been sat there for very long, maybe ten minutes, when the door creaked open again and they walked in, Carter ripping off his tie and Curtis shedding his jacket. They both stopped when they saw me.

Okay, that’s after the funeral, going into the wake, but first off, we get Lamb’s thoughts. Second off, she’s playing the avoiding game too, but she is not leaving. She wants to see people, just not her mother. Sorry, I didn’t write her leaving the church, that was in Carter’s viewpoint. Still, Lambrini’s paying more respects to a guy she felt creeped out by than Sophie is to her best friend. And in fact, Lambrini’s there because of her best friend, so she pwns Sophie even more.

I hope you’re not expecting anything else. That was it for Molly’s funeral. We have to get the focus back on Sophie and all, you know?

When we get home we notice colin in the garden, bending over a firepit lighting some wood. Unsure what he is doing, we both go out to him.
“Colin?” calls Mum.
“Oh!” he says, startled. “I thought you’d be a bit longer.”

You and me both, Colin. You and me both. This is what you’re trying to shag your way in to. You lucky fictional character, you!

“What are you doing?” Mum asks, gesturing towards the fire.
“I erm …” He turns to the fire and then back at us sheepishly. “When my wife Pauline died I wasn’t too sure what the best way was for my kids to be able to say goodbye. I wanted them to be able to express what they felt, but thought going to her funeral would be too hard on them.” He stops and picks up a stick, poking the burning wood, making the flames dance wildly. “So I lit a fire in the garden and we all sat round and spoke about their mum. Talked about all the little things that made her the wonderful woman she was. I wanted them to remember the good times. We ended up writing these letters to her, which we read out and then threw onto the fire – the smoke taking the words up to her in heaven. I … I thought we could do that for Molly.”

I think this is a nice gesture, but at the end of the day, I really hate the phrasing of ‘taking the words up to her in heaven’ – newsflash chump, you’re all adults in this situation. What’s with the laments terms? But seriously, the guy her mother is dating is thinking more about gestures for Molly than Sophie or her mother. Because it’s for someone else and not for Sophie, I guess? I feel so fucking cynical reading this book.

What a remarkable man, I think, as I take in this thoughtful gesture.
“That’s lovely, Colin,” says Mum.
“I mean, we don’t have to read them out if you don’t want to,” says Colin, looking at me. “I don’t want any of us to feel uncomfortable. I just thought it would be nice to send up our thoughts.”

I somehow doubt that Molly would give a flying fuck about Sophie feeling sorry for herself that HER best friend died after HER boyfriend was caught not-cheating on her and now Sophie has NO ONE to worship her properly.

“Thank you,” I say.
“Let’s get out of these clothes first, shall we? Get into something more comfortable,” says Mum, as she starts to walk towards the back door.
I smile at Colin and then follow Mum inside.

The perverse asshole in me just went ‘Sophie’s Mum wants to what?” is she doing this note burning naked? They’re smiling a little too easily as well, Sophie just seems happy, and unbothered, and I hate her. Her message/poem is tripe too. And Sophie hasn’t shared any of the following sentiments at any point whatsoever in the other 92% of this novel.

My dearest Molly,

I wake up and I think of you.
I see a teacup and I think of you.
I see a cake and I think of you.
I see a flower and I think of you.
I taste a scone and I think of you.
I see a smile and I think of you.
I hear a laugh and I think of you.
I feel a hug and I think of you.
I go to sleep and I think of you.
I will never forget you, Molly, for you are part of everything around me – every object, every thought, every feeling, everything I do – EVERYTHING.
I hope that one day I am able to touch the lives of others in the way that you have touched mine. You turned my life around and put the sunshine back into my world.
I will love you forever.
Your girl Sophie. Xxx

Remember this poem. Because she is about to shat over every teacup, every scone, every object – EVERYTHING. And once again, this is all about Sophie, and barely about Molly. She mentions herself twenty-seven times in that poem, ignoring the sign off. She mentioned Molly fourteen times, ignoring the opening. She thought of herself nearly twice as much as she thought of her best friend. Lamb and Carter, do you want to round this off with some of your own thoughts about each other? Since you’re the bestest best friends to ever best friend, and all?

Carter: Anyway, the short story? I think Lamb and I are pretty golden. Like, beyond her spilling her guts and me feeling all protective of her. There's a genuine friendship there despite that. I'm glad she moved in next door. She feels a little bit like all the things that were missing in the rest of my friends, which sounds really shitty yet really cutesy at the same time. Like, she's adventurous in a way Thomas isn't, she can snap back to focus much better than Becki when she starts to drift, and she knows pep isn't always the answer. If only Fearn could catch on.

Lambrini: He's always full of ideas, to the point where mum has asked more than once if he has ADHD or something. Dad tries to use the buddy-buddy thing to remind him that we both have homework and that comes first which does work on him, but it means afterwards we have to do something. But I like his ideas, which might be invading Lisa and Becki's house to use their massive pool, or us trying to skateboard and failing miserably. When he can't be bothered to do anything, I get dragged into their garage and he'll mess about on his guitar.

Okay, he's like, the coolest person I've met in a long time but honestly? Carter's not brilliant at playing the guitar. Unless the songs he plays are meant to sound like that. I try very hard not to wince when he plays, but he must know I'm not impressed. And that I'm too polite to say he's crap.

Yeah, that’ all from the first book, Uprooted. It’s really not hard to take the focus off the primary character for a second to have them think about someone else. You get the added bonus of your main character not looking like a complete asshole for five seconds, because they care.

7% left. The next chapter has Sophie ‘renovating’ the shop and proving that she knows nothing about business, or the time-consuming business of vintage craftwork. Eat me.