– Mary, don't talk rubbish! – Aunt Mel told her off. – Look, you might offend her. Misha, don't pay any attention to her because you have a marvellous figure.
– It's not offensive at all» I smiled, having long ago thought of an excuse for my thinness. – It's just that I'm allergic to almost everything, so I don't eat much.
– You poor thing. What are you allowed to eat? – asked the seamstress, measuring my waist.
– Well, not much: tomatoes… Cucumbers… Sometimes apples, – I thought up, confused, as I had never thought that someone would ask about it.
– To live on tomatoes and apples alone… It would kill me! – Mary exclaimed. – And I was surprised to find our fridge empty!
– I'm used to it» I replied modestly.
Aunt Mel finished her work.
– That's it. I'll have the mould made by Friday. How many copies?
– Two… Or three. Yes, three, and three more robes» I said, putting on my tunic and jacket.
– I'll make them all in different styles. What kind of material?
– The usual stuff, like everyone else's. I'd be most grateful» I smiled.
We said goodbye to Aunt Mel and went home. On the way Mary suggested we go to the supermarket and buy some groceries, and I was a bit scared, because I'd never been to a supermarket before – I just didn't need to go there, so I politely declined.
– Then , let's go to the park and go rollerblading» Mary suggested, grabbing my arm again.
– I'm afraid I don't know how to skate» I said honestly.
– I'll teach you. It's not very hard; you just have to keep your balance. By the way, about the bike: you can use it whenever you want, but I'll still walk to work.
– Good, I'll know. Where do you work? – I asked.
– At a shelter for homeless children» she said. – Of course, the pay won't be much, but that doesn't matter: I've always felt sorry for those poor, unwanted kids, because… If it weren't for the Smiths, I'd be one of them. – Mary smiled sadly.
– Why do you say that? – I wondered, but I knew what she meant.
From the first time I'd met Mary, when she'd nearly slammed the door in my face, I'd never seen her as having anything in common with Harry, they were completely different, but I hadn't thought about the fact that she might not be his own sister.
– They adopted me when I was two, from this very orphanage. Of course, they hide it from me and treat me like family, and I've never felt any difference in the way they treat me and Harry. They love us equally. I know the Smiths are not my birth parents, but it makes no difference to me: they took me in, brought me up, raised me, and never made any distinction between me and their own son.