Jessie Keane - The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4

‘I can’t believe it,’ said Ruthie to Annie, who was very quiet today. Unusually quiet.

Connie, their mother, was clucking around, trying to tell the photographer how to do his job. This was a big day for her too – her daughter, marrying into the Carter clan. People around here were going to have to start treating her with more respect after today. Connie was relishing the idea and throwing her weight about already. She knew that Max’s boys always met upstairs in the house that had once been Queenie’s, but Connie was going to suggest that they meet at hers instead. After all, she would be family. She would take care of them, make tea and cakes. Imagine the neighbours’ faces when that happened!

Ruthie looked sympathetically at her younger sister. ‘Don’t worry, Annie,’ she said. ‘It’ll be your turn before you know it.’

Annie eyed her sister with dislike. How dare the smug cow patronize her!

Annie was in a foul mood, still smarting from the fact that Max had walked past her fifteen minutes ago without even acknowledging her existence. All right, she hadn’t expected hearts and flowers, but after what they’d shared last night she expected at least a show of warmth.

All the hurt of years seemed to flood up into her throat, choking her. Ruthie the favoured one, Ruthie the good girl. Ruthie the one who was making a fantastic marriage while she, Annie, stood behind her and watched the man who should have been hers wed himself to her holier-than-thou sister.

She’d had years of it.

All the hand-me-downs. All those seconds worn first by Ruthie; things that were too long, too loose, threadbare, washed out and worn out. Second-best. Everything Annie had ever had was second-best. Ruthie came first.

But not this time .

‘Maybe I’ve already had my turn,’ Annie said, her eyes hard and angry.

Ruthie’s smile faltered. She stared at Annie. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh – nothing.’

‘Yes you do. What are you talking about?’

The photographer had gone into the church to set up his tripod for the aisle shot. Connie was fussing around Kath’s peach draperies. Uncle Tom was taking a furtive nip of brandy from a hip flask. The vicar was talking to Gary Tooley, a close associate of Max’s, who was one of the ushers. For the moment, the two sisters stood alone.

‘Nothing. It’s nothing,’ said Annie. Then her eyes looked straight into Ruthie’s and her mouth curved into a vicious smile. ‘I’ve had your hand-me-downs all my life, Ruthie. But today, guess what? You’re getting one of mine.’

‘Come on, Ruthie. Let’s get your veil down, oh, don’t she look a picture, Tom?’ Connie was there again, pulling the veil down over Ruthie’s shocked and stricken eyes.

‘Beautiful,’ said Uncle Tom obligingly, his eyes lingering covertly on the far more eye-catching Annie.

Ruthie saw the look. She swallowed, reeling, sickened, as the full meaning of Annie’s words sank in. She tried to compose herself again as she stepped up to the church’s grand entrance.

‘My little girl, getting married,’ gloated Connie.

Kath and Annie stepped in behind Ruthie and the vicar, and then the Wedding March sounded loud and clear from inside the church.

Annie followed her sister up the aisle to join Max at the altar. Her throat was closed and she was choking with hatred and misery. She saw Max there looking impossibly handsome and his brother Jonjo as best man standing by his side. She saw the expression in Max’s eyes as he looked back and saw Ruthie.

He’d never looked at her like that.

The bastard.

But at least she’d had her revenge for the way he’d so casually dismissed her. Ruthie knew. There was no going back from that.

Ruthie knew .

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