The Ugly Sister Read Online Free Page A

every boy student had it and you still see it for sale everywhere. A gaunt faun’s face peering out from under that fringe, her long hair just-got-out-of-bed sexy, endless bare legs emerging from the volume of her oversized thigh-skimming sweat top, which had cheekily slipped off one tanned shoulder; you know the one. That’s her. That’s Cleo)
that she has to adjust her mental picture to take account of the real live woman. Cleo is still beautiful, there’s no doubt about that. Still tall (obviously, Abi doesn’t know why that one always surprises her), still slim although, thankfully, not the emaciated stick that she was in her twenties. Still groomed to within an inch of her life. Still, to be honest, scary.
    When she stopped modelling about five years ago, Cleo had allowed herself to relax just a little after an adult lifetime of a strict self-enforced dieting regime. To Abi’s eyes she looked even more beautiful, more natural, more like a real person, but some of the papers had been a little unkind. One of the glossy magazines printed a blow-up of a photo of Cleo on the beach with a red circle highlighting a microscopic area of cellulite. Several times journalists had insinuated that she didn’t quit of her own volition as she has always stated, but that her looks simply hadn’t stood the test of time like Naomi’s and Cindy’s had, and that she had pissed off so many people with her attitude on the way up that they were positively queuing to push her back down again and then stamp allover her when they got the chance. Abi has no idea what the true story is. It isn’t something
she’s ever felt she can ask.
    Cleo’s trademark hair is still dark brown, nearly black, although she has grown out her thick fringe and trimmed the whole thing to a stylish shoulder length. The sleepy upward tilt of her eyes is as pronounced as ever. Maybe more pronounced – can that be possible? Her skin is ridiculous. Smooth and glowing and healthy. Actually, Abi thinks, maybe it’s a little too smooth. She catches herself wondering, not for the first time, if Cleo has had Botox. Or worse.
    ‘You look great,’ Cleo says, holding Abi at arm’s length. Her smile doesn’t quite meet her eyes. Not because it isn’t sincere necessarily, but because her face is refusing to move to accommodate it.
    ‘You too.’ Abi feels herself blush a little and realizes that she has come over all shy and clumsy. Straight back to adolescence. This happens to her pretty much every time she sees Cleo. It’s like their relationship, from Abi’s point of view, halted at the point where Cleo left home, and whenever they spend any time together she is instantly transported back to her awkward thirteen-year-old self, wanting approbation from her big sister.
    ‘This house is incredible.’
    Cleo smiles graciously again and says yes, they love it and that she’ll show Abigail straight up to her room if she’d like so that she can get settled in. Abi latcheson to this as if it is the most profound statement she’s ever heard.
    ‘Great. Perfect. How are you?’ she asks and even she is stunned by her own banality.
    ‘I’m well,’ Cleo says. ‘Busy.’
    Abi thinks about asking her what she is busy with since she no longer works, but that might sound rude so she says nothing. It’s always like this when they haven’t seen each other for a while. It takes a few minutes to warm up. They have to feel their way around each other, both conscious that their relationship is held together by a few fragile threads and neither wanting to be the one responsible for breaking them irreparably. She follows Cleo across the hall and up the stairs, looking around in awe. There are ornate mirrors and sculptures everywhere you look. Everything, right down to the handles on the doors, is exquisite. It’s like a show home, something from the pages of
Country Life
. There is no obvious evidence that a family lives here. It’s perfect. Sterile. Abi assumes that some