The Valentines: Happy Girl Lucky

FADE OUT.

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Cancer: June 21–July 22

Your natural gift is in connecting with others, Cancer. Today Mercury and Venus are in your fourth house, which emphasises home, family, roots and parents.

Use your talents to bring those bonds even closer.

I’m Hope, your new leading lady.

Nearly sixteen years ago, my parents took one look at my beaming, newborn face and thought: There’s a girl who’ll embody rainbows, sunrises and the kiss at the end of a film. There’s a girl who’ll skip when everybody else is walking, and try to see the best in all things; who’ll never need to look for a silver lining because for her there’ll be no clouds.

And you know what? It totally worked.

Hope is somehow buried inside me, planted deep in the middle of who I am, like the pip of a cherry or the stone of an avocado. My eldest sister, on the other hand, shoved her name into the ground and then tried to get as far away from it, as fast as physically possible.

A bit like a … potato.

‘What is wrong with you?’ Mercy snaps as I climb carefully into the back of the limo, precious ice cream held reverently in front of me. (His ice cream! The Ice Cream Created By Him!) ‘Seriously. It’s not a rhetorical question, Poodle. I’m looking for a clinical diagnosis.’

Twisting, I stare longingly out of the window at the ice-cream van retreating slowly behind us, my fingertips pressed up against the glass. Saying goodbye is so hard sometimes.

HOPE

Until next time, my

chocolate-covered paramour.

Music swells.

END SCENE.

‘Don’t call me Poodle,’ I object, turning to face my sister and licking my ice cream. ‘You know I don’t like it.’

‘How about Poo, then?’ Mer sighs, propping her high-heeled boots on the seat next to me. ‘Smelly, inappropriate in public and constantly disrupting plans.’

‘I am not.’

‘Are.’

‘Am not.’

I stick my tongue out and she pretends not to notice. Mercy’s seventeen and permanently glamorous; today her hair is in a tight black bun, her lipstick’s red, her silk T-shirt is black, her hooded coat is black and her trousers are black leather.

The car seats are black leather too, so every time she moves there’s a loud squeaking sound. Maybe it’s the souls of the poor cows greeting each other in another format.

Without warning, I start giggling.

‘Do you have brain freeze?’ Mer snaps, picking at a perfect red nail. ‘Or are random hysterics yet another side effect of having literally nothing in your head?’

‘Mercy,’ Effie says, looking up from her fitness tracker. ‘Would you please leave Hope alone? Does it matter if we get there a little late?’

Because, if I grew with my name inside me, and Mercy grew without any of hers, then sixteen-year-old Faith holds hers up like a flower: always gentle, always adored, always sweet.

She’s also always beautiful.

And yes, I know that’s not a character trait, but if my middle sister was being cast in a movie that’s exactly what would be written on the script. Effie’s perfect face is always the first thing the rest of the world notices, yet somehow the last thing she does.

Which makes no sense because, when my visage eventually decides to blossom into hers some time over the next year, I’m totally going to make the most of it.

Broken hearts everywhere.

‘Yes,’ Mercy snaps, glaring at me pointedly. ‘Because I’ve got better things to do on a Sunday than watch my irritating kid sister making cow eyes yet again at the zitty ice-cream boy.’

‘First off,’ I explain patiently, ‘they were not cow eyes. They were mysterious eyes designed to woo and captivate. And second off his acne is clearly healingbecause he has a lot of scabs,so ha.’

I fold my arms in triumph.

‘We’re coming up to the gates,’ Effie says as Mercy smacks a palm against her forehead. ‘Please stop squabbling for, like, forty-five seconds? Be nice. And game faces at the r—’

The car screeches to a stop.

‘Yo, yo, yo,’ Max shouts, swinging a door open and poking his close-shaved head into the back of the car with a grin. ‘I see the three witches eschewed their broomsticks for the day. How’s tricks, my hubble bubblers?’

All I need to say about my nineteen-year-old brother is that he takes his name very literally.

‘For the love of—’

‘Language,Mermaid,’ Max laughs, shoving our sister over and clambering to the other side of the car, brown knees poking out of his ripped jeans. ‘Aren’t you happy to see me, sister-face? You are. I can tell you are. Look how incandescent my mere presence makes you.’

He leans forward and uses his fingers to stretch Mercy’s mouth into a scary, red-lipped, horror-film smile.

She immediately punches him. ‘How are you so annoying?’

‘Dunno.’ Max slumps in the seat and stretches his hands lazily over his head while he thinks about it. ‘I’d like to say it was a gift from the gods, but I won’t lie – I’ve been taking a few night classes. Really honing those skills.’

Then he yawns widely, showing all his back teeth, his tonsils and a single string of saliva, yet still managing to look handsome.

‘What does eschewed mean?’ I ask, leaning forward.

‘It’s a sneeze in the past tense, baby bear,’ my brother grins, fluffing my curls with his hand. ‘And I should warn you there are paps and journos everywhere. But don’t fret, sibs, I got here early and gave them a few choice nuggets. How we’re all being strong for each other, pulling together in our time of need and so on and so forth …’

He grins wickedly and Faith glances at Mercy.

That explains the mirrored sunglasses Max is wearing, even though it’s now fully raining. (My hair wasn’t really glistening in the sunshine earlier, either: that was done in my brain’s fully staffed Special-effects Department.)

‘God, Max,’ Mercy hisses, clearly livid she didn’t think of this first. ‘Attention-seeker much?’