Letters From My Sister (12 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I stand on Bells’s bed and take down her Stevie Wonder poster. The Beatles poster is pulled off the door. I open her wardrobe and take out her Chinese wedding outfit.

We fold her baggy jumpers, shirts and holey vests together. They go into the zip bag along with the medley of junk, including the buzzing device, her CDs, notepad, photograph album, box of paints and the football badges. ‘Do you want to wear these … or these?’ I hold up her large black boots and the purple pixie pair. Today she’s wearing a black T-shirt I gave her from the shop with a little silver star in the middle, which is sadly hidden by her dungarees on top. She decides to go for the pixie boots.

Her large purple zip bag is finally packed, there is only one Stevie Wonder CD we can’t find. ‘I’ll send it on to you, promise.’

Bells doesn’t appear too bothered. She tells me she will take the sheets off the bed, like they do at home.

‘’Bye, Isabel,’ Sam says, standing at her bedroom door in his jeans and leather jacket. ‘It was great to meet you. Come and see us again.’ He looks relieved as he scans the room, seeing it clean and clutter-free. Back to his normal routine. Nothing out of place; CDs in their correct boxes; the kitchen surfaces positively sparkling. I’m going to miss Bells’s meals. What do you do in a kitchen if you don’t cook, Sam?

‘Thank you, Sam.’ Bells goes forward and shakes his hand.

‘It’s a pleasure. No problemo.’ He looks pleased that she thanked him without any prompting. ‘Katie, I’ll see you later.’ Sam and I didn’t say a word to each other last night. By the time I had said good night to Bells he was asleep on the sofa, so I left him there. I told him this morning that we needed to talk. Now he walks away and minutes later I hear the door shut.

‘Right, ready to rock ’n’ roll?’ I ask her, and put a hand over my mouth. Without thinking I say things that Sam would and I don’t like it anymore.

Bells says goodbye to her bedroom.

I take her bag and shut the door behind us.

*

‘Passengers going to Haverford West need to change at Swansea,’ says the loudspeaker. People are bustling past while Bells and I stand at the information desk waiting for Fiona, one of the staff in Wales, to meet us. She is going to accompany Bells back home. She should be here by now; the train leaves in ten minutes.

‘Got your ticket?’

‘Yes, Katie.’

‘What does Fiona look like?’ I am scanning the crowds. Perhaps we’re in the wrong place?

‘She’s fat.’

‘Bells!’ I laugh at her.

‘Like partridge.’

‘Eddie and Eve would love to see you again, you’ll come back, won’t you?’ I would love to see you again, that is what I should be telling her.

‘Very nice people. Would like to see Mark again.’

‘I know, me too.’ I still think about Mark and what he did for us. We didn’t manage to meet up again, and now that Bells is going, I have no excuse to ring him. Yet it’s hard to believe I’m never going to see him again. Was he only supposed to come into our lives for that single brief evening? ‘If I do see him, what message shall I give?’

Bells rocks forwards and backwards. ‘Will he marry me! Here’s Fiona!’ Bells waves her hands in a flutter as Fiona waddles towards us in a checked skirt and white blouse with a frilly collar.

‘Hello, I’m Katie.’ I shake her hand.

‘Hello,’ she says. ‘Hi, Bells. How are you?’ Her voice warms up. ‘How was your holiday? Mary Veronica has missed you very much, she got back yesterday.’ She takes Bells’s bag and I walk behind them. ‘We’d better be quick, I’m running late, aren’t I? I thought we were meeting at the ticket desk?’ She turns briefly to me.

‘No, I’m sure we said …’

‘Never mind, Katie, all is well. Was it fun?’ she continues.

‘Yes, fun,’ Bells says. Fiona marches us on to the correct platform. I won’t have time to say anything now, I panic to myself, feet pattering along to keep up. I’ve had all of this morning to tell Bells that I would like to visit her, that I have enjoyed the last few days so much, but I haven’t said anything. ‘Got your ticket?’ is about the sum of it.

‘Went on London Eye,’ Bells says. ‘Saw all London.’

‘How marvellous,’ Fiona says. ‘It sounds like you’ve had a smashing time.’ She turns to me. ‘Thank you, Katie. We’d better get on, the train leaves in a couple of minutes.’

I look at the big clock, the seconds ticking by.

‘We want to make sure we’re near the buffet car,’ Fiona says, stepping up on to the train. Bells follows her. ‘Say goodbye to your sister, Bells.’

NO! I want to shout. This is not how I imagined it would be. I want to say goodbye properly.

‘’Bye, Katie, ’bye.’ Bells stops on the step and tries to turn round.

‘Stand away from the door,’ the conductor instructs as Fiona is stowing Bells’s bag in the luggage rack.

‘Isabel, be careful. Mind the gap. Get right inside,’ Fiona orders.

‘’Bye, Bells,’ I call. She turns and waves at me. ‘’Bye, Katie. Thank you for having me.’ I watch her and Fiona taking their seats. Bells sits by the window, Fiona next to her. Bells looks out of the window and waves again. She hits her hand against the glass. The conductor blows his whistle.

‘Hang on, don’t go!’ I push past the conductor and press the red button to open the automatic doors into their carriage. Fiona is about to say something but I don’t let her. ‘I want to say goodbye to my sister, properly,’ I say, swallowing hard.

‘Hello, Katie,’ Bells says.

‘Hi, Bells,’ I say, my eyes beginning to fill. ‘I …’ Don’t lose it now. The other passengers start to sigh around us. ‘Excuse me,’ the conductor says, ‘Unless you are travelling to Swansea, can you please get off the train?’

‘Get a move on!’ a boy jeers, pelting a tennis ball towards me. It hits Fiona in the forehead instead, making Bells laugh. ‘Some of us are in a hurry.’

I wince. ‘Fiona, I’m sorry, did that hurt?’

‘Well, it did, rather.’ She sits in a more upright position.

‘Push off!’ another person says. Normally passengers are so buttoned up they don’t say a word to one another. Why is it that today everyone is being so vocal?

‘Quiet. She wants to say goodbye to her sister,’ says the passenger opposite Fiona and Bells. I smile at him gratefully.

‘Yeah! Let her stay and say goodbye nice and proper,’ adds another.

Even Fiona smiles at me now. ‘Come on, quickly, say goodbye.’

I lean across and kiss Bells clumsily on the top of her embroidered hat. My handbag bashes into Fiona’s large stomach. ‘I’ll come and see you, and I’ll write, I promise. Will you come back to London too?’

‘Yes, Katie, yes.’

I dare to make one final move before I am hurled off the train. I kiss her on the cheek. ‘’Bye, Bells. I’ve loved having you to stay.’ I dig into my bag and find the photograph the Japanese couple took of us on the London Eye. I made a copy for myself on Sam’s computer. ‘I thought you could show your friends? Maybe put it in your album.’

‘Yes, Katie, I will. Loverly photo. Thank you, Katie. Thank you.’

The conductor rolls his eyes at me as he finally blows his whistle. I jog along the platform to keep up with the moving train. Bells waves at me and I wave back, tears running down my cheeks. ‘’Bye, Bells. ’Bye.’ I wave one last time.

I stare ahead, not knowing what to do next. I straighten my dress, flick back my hair and take a deep breath. You walk away and your life carries on, I tell myself. I half laugh. At least I told her. I could have let her go without saying anything, but I didn’t. I told her how much I’d enjoyed having her around; I feel we have made a start. One tiny part of my family has come back to me.

I walk away from the quiet of the empty platform and back into the hustle and bustle of the normal world.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The house feels eerily quiet as I walk inside. I go downstairs to the kitchen and expect to see Bells sitting in the corner eating her homemade muesli and prodding the milk-bottle sculpture. I give it a prod for her. I want to see some of her clutter in the room – a cookbook, an empty Diet Coke can or a baking tray lying on the table. Instead the kitchen table is smooth and clean. I even miss Stevie Wonder playing in the background. It’s almost as bad as when Mum’s classical music stopped being played at home. I turn the radio on, anything for some noise. I have to get ready for work, yet am unable to get myself into gear. Finally I walk upstairs and then up the further flight to our bedroom. I can’t help looking into Bells’s bedroom once more. The room is now back to a stark white again. I’m about to pick up the lamp from the corner of the room but then decide against it. It can stay there. I like it.

*

I take a long shower. As the hot water blasts against my face I turn my mind to Sam. What am I going to do? Is it time to call it quits? But if we do split up, where am I going to live? Isn’t it time I thought about buying my own place? I’m nearly thirty. What’s stopping me?

I have always lived with boyfriends, avoiding the responsibility of a mortgage. Every penny I have earned has gone into my business. I have drifted along in my twenties, focusing mainly on my career and going from one unsuitable relationship to another. If I go back to the beginning, I lost my virginity to Scott when I was eighteen. He was an electrician with tattooed arms. I met him while I was studying for my ‘A’ levels. We went out for six wonderful months. I practically moved into his bedsit. Mum accused me of using our house as a hotel. ‘You only come home to do your washing and have a free meal,’ she said. I was permanently hungry going out with Scott because all we could afford to eat were cornflakes, cornflakes and more cornflakes. It was exciting when we discovered we could make a new meal out of Frosties and cream, like a
crème brûlée
.

Next there was Alex, a singer and guitarist who toured the country playing gigs. I was at art college in London and quickly moved in with Alex to avoid student accommodation. His flat was more like a hole but that didn’t matter. I loved telling Mum that I had landed on my feet. Look at me in London, I wanted to shout. I have a boyfriend, a home, and I have my place on an art course.

Things petered out with Alex eventually. The next boyfriend broke my heart by sleeping with my flatmate, Fran. He was training to be an architect. He was intelligent and decent, the last person I could have imagined cheating on me. I made a promise never to let myself get so hurt again. So I had a series of easy, let’s face it lazy, relationships. Look at the one before Sam. He was always abroad working, so in reality I was leading a single life. Emma always says it’s better not to be in a relationship than to be in one that’s going nowhere. Better to go alone than be badly accompanied, she says. I know Sam isn’t exactly one of her favourite people. I wash my hair, the shampoo lathering in my hands. If he and I split up, I lose this place and the convenience of living so near to the shop. I’ll miss the steam room, too. I mean, who else has a steam room?

I laugh at myself. Come on, Katie, those aren’t real reasons to stay with someone. What about love and commitment, kindness and passion? What about caring for someone so much that I’d put their welfare before my own? Would I die for Sam? I did love being with him until two weeks ago. Whatever his faults, he has his good points too. He has gone out of his way to book this weekend for us. He’s taking me skiing this Christmas. He is confident, successful, he can be charming. I love our secret dances in the kitchen. When we first met he made me feel like the only person in the room. He is supportive of my work. Look at the way he organized my fashion show at his client’s house. If someone had told me then I would be considering splitting up from him I would have laughed. How can so much change in two weeks? Will I regret it if I act rashly?

Maybe we need to talk, I mean
really
talk about
real
things. For instance, I want to know more about his family. I’d like him to tell me about his father. If we stand a chance of staying together we have to be honest with one another and share more. I know I’m very much to blame as I started the whole charade off by not telling him about Bells. If we do break up I will miss our lifestyle. But is that enough for me any more?

*

I lock up the shop, but I don’t want to go home. Bells gave life to Sam’s house and now it’s back to being a show home. I find myself going to the bar across the road and ordering a drink. Half a bottle of wine and an hour later my mobile rings and Sam’s number appears in the box. I ignore it. He tries to call again but I let it ring.

If you could write the script of your life, what would you write?
It’s another cliché that Sam throws at me from time to time, but at least this one does have some meaning. I would not be sitting here with nothing but failed relationships trailing behind me. Yet I can do something about it, I tell myself. I pick up my mobile and am about to ring Emma. Then I put it down. I know what she would tell me, and isn’t it about time I made a decision like this on my own? I need to stop limping along in no-man’s-land. Of course I know what I have to do.

*

It’s late by the time I make it back to Sam’s. He’s sitting on the sofa reading the
FT
.

‘We need to talk,’ I say, walking over to the window.

He puts the paper down. ‘If it’s about last night, let’s leave it, hey? It was a load of bravado, Katie. You know what I’m like with the lads, especially Maguire. I didn’t mean any of it.’

I’m not even sure how much I care about it now. I don’t feel any anger or betrayal. I don’t feel a thing. ‘I’ve been thinking about this weekend … maybe we should cancel it. I think we’ve got a few things to sort out.’

‘Sorry?’

‘The hotel? I don’t want to go,’ I say quietly.

‘You’re joking, right?’

I shake my head.

‘The room’s booked. There’s no way I’ll get a refund at such short notice.’

He is unreal. ‘Don’t you want to know why I don’t want to go? Sam, this can’t go on!’

‘What can’t go on?’ He slams his glass on to the table. ‘This is about last night, isn’t it?’

‘Yes … no … I don’t know. Come off it, you probably did mean what you said. This isn’t what you signed up for. When we started going out, you knew nothing about my family. Well, now you do. I come with Bells. Also, I know nothing about yours. Why won’t you tell me about your dad?’

‘There’s nothing to tell,’ he exclaims, exasperated. ‘He’s a workaholic, I never see the guy, what else is there to say?’

I frown with frustration. ‘Where do you see us going?’

‘Oh no, don’t do this, Katie.’

‘Where are we heading?’ I persist.

‘I thought we were having a great time, having some fun. Clearly,’ he huffs, ‘I was under the wrong impression.’

‘We can go out, go to fancy hotels and expensive restaurants, go skiing this Christmas, we can do all of that for another year or so, and then what?’ I raise my voice. ‘What next?’

‘We wait and see. Jesus!’ He stands up and faces me properly. ‘Why are you so neurotic all of a sudden? What’s your problem? What do you want? A ring on your finger?’

‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘Well, what then? I thought we were happy the way things were.’

‘But what about the future?’

‘Bollocks to the future. Seize the day, I say. Worry about tomorrow,’ he pauses, thinking, ‘tomorrow.’

‘If we’re not right for each other we’re wasting our time.’

Sam ignores me. ‘We’re going to that hotel, it’s all booked,’ he says, his tone overbearing. ‘We need this time together. Can I have the nice fun Katie back, please? Where’s she gone?’

‘Sam, you meant what you said last night,’ I now say with conviction. ‘You couldn’t hack Bells, and the two weeks were pretty much a disaster.’

‘It wasn’t that bad, was it? I thought we got on fine. Anyway, she’s gone now.’

‘I’m not getting through to you at all, am I?’

Sam stares at me, confused.

‘What do you care about, Sam?’

‘Look, you’re not my flipping shrink. You’ve changed. Ever since Bells came to stay everything has changed.’

I nod, realizing he’s right. ‘You’re a good friend, Sam,’ I say, knowing even that isn’t true. Once we part I can’t imagine meeting him for coffee. What would we talk about? ‘We’ve had some good times, but …’

‘No way,’ he says, cutting me off. ‘Uh-oh, no way.’ He gets up. ‘I think you should go.’ He walks past me and out of the room. ‘You can stay tonight, but I want you out by tomorrow. It’s over.’

I don’t shout or scream. I feel only relief. ‘Done and dusted,’ I say quietly to myself. ‘
Capisce
?’ I sit down on the sofa and stare out of the window. Sam gave nothing to me, and I realize I gave nothing of myself to him, something I have been doing for too long.

*

I key in the number and Dad answers immediately. They are due to come home in two days.

‘Bells left today,’ I tell him.

‘You had a good time?’ he asks, catching his breath.

I tell him about her stay, sensing he’s only half listening. ‘Can I have a word with Mum?’

‘Katie, we have to go …’

‘Hang on! How are you both? I tried to call you the other day …’

‘Katie, I can’t talk right now.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Listen, I’ll call you later.’ And he hangs up.

I key in the number again but it’s switched off now.

I sit staring at the telephone. Something is clearly not right. What’s going on? Why are we such a dysfunctional family?

Why can’t we talk?