And she was only fifteen minutes late, which had to be a record, Emma thought, watching her sister’s progress through the centre, her step as confident as a supermodel. She looked amazing, as usual. Kirsten’s hair, currently a rich chestnut crop, contrasted perfectly with the tiny butter-coloured suede jacket she wore over a tummy-skimming white T-shirt and faded blue jeans. Emma knew she’d have looked ridiculous in an outfit like that, but Kirsten carried it off with ease. People who knew Emma were always amazed to meet Kirsten purely because they looked so utterly different, like the before and after pictures in some glossy magazine feature. ‘I’d never have guessed you two were sisters,’ they’d gasp, staring at Kirsten, who was the picture of adorable modern chic beside deeply conservative and almost old fashioned Emma. Kirsten looked at home in cute jewelled hairslides and bounced around in clunky contemporary shoes, while Emma wouldn’t dream of using anything other than plain kirby grips to hold her hair back and was a fan of loafers and nice court shoes.
