In fact, Cecily 2 had once been employed as a leg model for some j.a.panese company that sold depilatory cream, which meant she now called herself an *ex-model'.

It was impossible to express how much I hated her, expect to say that if I there was a choice between her and joining a fundamentalist group with a fetish for semtex, I'd probably plump for the latter because it was safer.

Before she was eighteen, Cecily 2 had been twice arrested for GBH, and once for a.s.sault with a deadly weapon. *It's a f.u.c.kin' stiletto,' she'd insisted in court, in mitigation, and the judge, deciding she was insane and that prison wardens had enough to deal with, let her go. Admittedly, since she'd had Howie she'd given up violent a.s.saults for petty theft and shoplifting. Considering the designer gear she got about in, she was b.l.o.o.d.y good at it.

She was called Cecily 2 because Carson's father had decided that the tradition of naming a son after the father was s.e.xist.

*It's a triumph for feminism,' he'd apparently famously declared, signing off the birth certificate with a flourish.

*It's a sign of insanity,' I had told Lolly when I'd heard, but Carson didn't seem to find anything unusual about having a sister known throughout her school years as *Number Twos'.

Cecily 2's husband was a meek little man who was the nicest of the whole Teeson bunch. His name was Rufus and he was a distant relative, originally from Canada. By his pained expression at family gatherings, I guessed that most days he wished that he was back there.

I'd once asked where he'd met Cecily 2, because they seemed like such an unlikely couple. *Internet,' had been the abrupt answer.

*She was the only one who looked like her photo. Plus, we had the same surname. I was curious.'

And despite all that, he had still wanted to meet her.

The voice I detested more than root ca.n.a.l without anesthetic barked out an order: *Well, come in, come in. The turkey isn't getting any warmer, are you Rufus?'

Cecily 2 guffawed unattractively at her mother's pathetic joke, and Cecily clapped her pet.i.te hands in glee. *What fun, eh? All the family together on Thanksgiving.'

My kids were shuffled into the hall and out into what was called the sun porch. It was a poorly insulated lean-to that was impossible to heat, but Cecily lured the children back there with a Wii from the back of a truck, and bottomless gla.s.ses of sugarless c.o.ke.

*Don't worry,' she told me, running her beady eyes over my girth. *It's fat free.'

Once the children were out of way, the serious business of drinking began.

*Make mine a double,' Cecily 2 called, without bothering to see what was on offer.

*Triple,' her husband echoed, clearly desperate to blot out the horror of being married to her.

Given that they were drinking wine that was, to all intents and purposes, lighter fluid, I couldn't see how they remained alive.

I declined a gla.s.s. Carson went for the diet soda.

*So, guess what, Mom?' Cecily 2 yelled at her mother.

*Do you have to yell?' Carson asked politely.

*Do you f.u.c.kin' well have to live, Carson?'

I sn.i.g.g.e.red at that, but soon set my mouth straight after Cecily shot me a withering glare.

*So guess what?' Cecily 2 yelled again. It was one of the woman's unfortunate quirks a yelling. Carson said she'd had an ear infection a few years back and since then her hearing came in and out.

A bit like her mental acuity.

*What darlin'?' Cecily said.

*I'm gonna do some more leg modelin'!'

This was shocking news. Since Cecily 2 had last modeled, ten years previously, her legs (and lanky body) had been subjected to so many sessions at the Tanning Joint in a nearby static home that her knee wrinkles could be seen from the moon. Even her mother couldn't maintain a straight face.

Howie appeared, on the prowl for something a little more substantial that zero calorie cola for his Thanksgiving dinner, and heard the momentous news.

*Is it some hospital show? You gonna be like the decimated limb?'

I had to give it to the kid, that was actually hilarious, and even Carson gave a little chuckle.

Cecily 2, however, didn't see the funny side. *I'm gonna kill you, Howie, I swear it!' She didn't mean it a if there was one overindulged child living on that mobile home site, it was Howie Teeson.

Knowing this, Howie just laughed and asked his grandmother for some proper food a like chips or chocolate.

Tottering into the well-appointed kitchen of the caravan, Cecily began opening and shutting cupboards while Cecily 2 provided important information regarding her latest *a.s.signment'.

*There's this guy, works down near the Blue Bruiser. Well, his sister's boyfriend's uncle had some sort of mail order business and they are moving into films and they said I was just what they were looking for. I'm gonna work for a week. Pays well. A couple of thousand and some stock to resell. Cash in hand.'

I guessed she didn't mean the Wall Street kind of stock.

Carson was practically hyperventilating in an attempt not to laugh out loud again, and I was finding it hard to keep it together too.

There were two possibilities regarding Cecily's employment a one: they'd just recruited their worst nightmare as a call girl; or two: there are some really kinky people buying mail order films in the USA.

So it was all terribly funny, until, Cecily 2 revealed where the job was.

*Brooklyn.'

Oh no. Don't say it.

She said it. *So I thought I could stay with you.'

It wasn't a question. She was telling us.

I looked at Carson and mouthed, *No way.'

My darling husband began fidgeting, rolling his hands together as he did when he was nervous.

G.o.d, he was going to cave, wasn't he?

*Look, C2, we've got the tiniest flat anda*

*Cecily doesn't mind sleeping on one of the kid's beds, does she?' Carson's mother, fresh from finding some ten-year-old Kit Kats in the back of the bread bin that doubled as her larder, squeezed onto the sofa next to me. *Jessie or J can sleep on the couch.'

*No they can't!' I protested. *It is far too uncomfortable and they have to be fresh for school.'

Rufus mumbled something about a hotel room but the Cecilys shouted him down.

*I suppose it is only for a week,' Carson said, avoiding my eyes. *We can make it work.'

Can we?

I wanted to shout and scream but there was no point.

Bitter experience had taught me that.

- Cue horribly vivid memory birth story: *It's a girl!' The doctor on call, a lady called, implausibly, Dr Happy, handed me J.

Carson and I smiled at each other, still in love and utterly bewitched by our ability to produce a perfect human being.

*Whatcha gonna call him?' Cecily 2 cried, barging past the exiting doctor and pus.h.i.+ng the midwife aside to get a look.

*We thought Hugo, or Oliver. Nice English names.' Carson smiled at me, rubbing my arm, besotted by our newborn.

Cecily made her entrance. *Where is little Josiah?'

Coming up quickly, she squinted as she took in the tiny features. *Ugly brute, isn't he? Then again, so was Carson, and look how wonderful he turned out.'

*His name is not Josiah, Cecily.' I gave a little chuckle, because I a.s.sumed my mother-in-law was making a joke.

*Yes it is,' said Cecily determinedly, *after my late husband.'

*His name was Carl,' I protested, before realizing that Carl was almost as bad as Josiah.

*But he always wanted to be called Josiah, so I promised that his first grandchild would be called Josiah.'

*But Howie is his first grandchild,' I said, confused.

*Speaking of which, where is Howie?' Cecily 2 asked.

The child was a baby; only two months older than J.

Cecily 2 looked around, put a finger to her lip to contemplate matters, then said, *That's right, he's with Rufus.'

*Howie was named after my own father, dear. So Cecily 2 has done the right thing, now it's your turn.'

Carson was strangely silent. It was the first time in our marriage that he hadn't immediately stood up for me. Surely he wasn't contemplating this?

Josiah?

No way.

His puppy dog eyes, red rimmed from lack of sleep and emotion, pleaded with me. *What can it hurt, Scar? If it makes Mom happy?'

*What about our child? How can someone with a ridiculous, old fas.h.i.+oned biblical name be happy in a school full of kids named after R&B artists and pieces of fruit?'

Placating me with a kiss on the lips, Carson insisted that I would see things differently when I'd had some sleep. *It isn't such a big deal. We don't even have to call him Josiah.'

*But your family will a the kid will develop schizophrenia!'

*We don't have any diseases,' Cecily 2 said, overhearing. *Not since Mom got rid of that rash behind her left b.u.t.t cheek.'

*I am not calling my first born Josiah,' I told Carson. *End of discussion.'

But it wasn't the end of the discussion, because somehow, Carson made a deal with me. We'd call the next child after my mother or father, and we'd call the new baby Josiah, but J for short.

*We can spell it Jay for school a Mom won't be any wiser.'

*That's for b.l.o.o.d.y sure,' I said, but stupidly, I agreed to it.

It was something so important a and I had given up without a proper fight.

Because I loved my husband.

No wonder Carson thought I was a pushover.

No wonder he treated me like one.

We returned to Brooklyn, carrying with us the dismal knowledge that in three days' time, the putrid Cecily 2 would arrive on a bus to take up residence for a week.

When we got to our apartment, we found the front door on the floor again a kicked inwards this time.

There was a note on the fridge indicating that burglars had been and were, it seemed, disgusted at what was on offer.

*Waist of are time' read the note.

Carson ripped it off and rolled it up. *The nerve.'

*Won't the police want that?' I asked.

*Is that how you spell time?' Jessie asked, which sent Carson off on a rant about the standard of education in New York State schools.

I walked around the flat looking for missing items, but the only thing that had been taken was Jessie's MP3 player a which was last year's Christmas gift from the Teesons. It wasn't a great loss, given that would only play the first song, over and over.

How utterly depressing that we had nothing worth stealing.

To think that my mother had been so proud when I moved to America.

Well, originally, she'd been petrified that I would get shot, but once she'd established there were less shootings in New York than in some cities in England, she'd conceded it was a good idea.

- Cue fond memory of conversation with Mum: *You're going where?' Mum rubbed her hands on her ap.r.o.n. It was one of those flowery ones with cute cats in a basket. Dad said that Mum was born without taste in everything but men, and mostly, this was correct. Mum had horrible taste. Our house paid homage to worst of Seventies style: brown lampshades, orange tiles in the bathroom, strange psychedelic wallpapers in the kitchen that put you right off your food.

It was little wonder I was slim during childhood.

*New York City. I've been accepted on a fas.h.i.+on course. A scholars.h.i.+p!'

Mum's slim, vein-riddled hands shot to her mouth. Those hands were at odds with the rest of her appearance. Even though I was twenty-one, her appearance was of someone in their late thirties. Her hands, however, were those of a retiree's.