Sisters ... No Way!

by Siobhán Parkinson

  Then Bob and Cindy broke apart and looked at each other. I felt like a voyeur, standing there. I spun around and went back into my room. Alva was still sitting on the bed. I told you not to go, she kept repeating, I told you, I told you.

  My heart was pounding, but I think it was shock. I don’t think I felt actively jealous. I don’t think so.

  What’s going on, Alva? I asked. Have you been talking to Bob?

  Just when I answered the door, Alva said. He got the shock of his life. He’s a friend of Cindy’s. He said he met her recently, and he had arranged to call around to see her today. I told him we were living here now too. I had to tell him that Mum had married Cindy’s father. Oh, Ashling, what are we going to do?

  I heard the sitting-room door close. Cindy’d been in there since lunch, lying down, said she felt a bit sick. She must have taken him in.

  What we are going to do, Alva, I said, in a very controlled voice, is act dignified.

  Oh, Ashling, you’re taking this so well, Alva said admiringly.

  Am I? I asked. Well, whatever we do, I don’t want to embarrass anybody, not Cindy, not Bob, and especially not myself.

  At that moment, not embarrassing myself seemed the most important thing in the world, and not embarrassing Bob seemed the next most important thing. I decided I would concentrate on that, and worry about whether I felt jealous later. I knew I wasn’t entitled to feel jealous. I’d sent him packing. He was entitled to find somebody else, perfectly entitled.

  Look, let’s go and talk to Mum, I suggested.

  Mum and Richard were in the kitchen, just finishing clearing up after lunch. The dishwasher was humming away, and there were still streaks on the table, where the J-cloth had been swished over it. The kitchen had that freshly washed look about it, all the worktops gleaming, even the taps winking. Richard and Mum were kissing when we opened the door. They grinned when they saw us standing there. They were trying not to look embarrassed.

  Alva was hopping from foot to foot, still holding Cindy’s wretched boot.

  What’s got you so worked up, Alva? Mum asked, from Richard’s arms. Honestly, this house seemed to be full of kissing couples this afternoon.

  Mum went on: Do you want something? Is this a delegation?

  Alva went on hopping, and looked at me to speak.

  I explained to Mum that a boyfriend of Cindy’s had arrived.

  That’s nice, Mum said vaguely, breaking free of Richard and hunkering down to put a saucepan away.

  Mum, it’s Bob, I said, quietly.

  Bob? Mum said, straightening up. Your Bob?

  As ever was.

  Oh my poor Ashling! Mum said.

  Hold on a sec, said Richard. Are you saying that Cindy has got herself involved with Ashling’s boyfriend?

  Ex-boyfriend. I haven’t been seeing him for a couple of months or more.

  That’s a bit awkward for you, Ashling, all the same, isn’t it? Richard said.

  It’s amazing how men can understate situations, but his voice was full of concern. Really he is a very sweet man.

  I don’t mind, I said firmly. I really don’t mind.

  But I did mind. I minded fiercely. I can see that now. At the time, I was trying desperately to salvage some dignity out of the situation, but I minded all right. Though I have no right to mind, I know I haven’t. Why did it have to be the noxious Cindy, of all people? I promised myself I wouldn’t call her that any more, but sometimes it’s hard to be fair.

  Wait a minute, said Richard. Is this some horrible form of revenge or something? Is he doing it to spite you? Because if he is, he’s behaving like a complete rat, both to you and to Cindy, and I will go right up there and rearrange his face for him so his dentist won’t be able to recognise him.

  Grrr! said Mum, and bared her teeth at Richard to show she thought he was brave and masterful.

  I didn’t think it was funny, though. Oh my god! I said, plonking into a chair at the damp kitchen table and kneading my forehead with my knuckles, trying to think. My mind was racing, going over the phone call business again, but this possibility hadn’t dawned on me.

  He didn’t know, Alva said then. I opened the door to him, and he nearly fell over. He definitely didn’t know. And anyway, he wouldn’t do that. He’s very nice, Richard, really nice.

  Yes, said Mum. He is. He’s a nice lad.

  That’s right, I said. It’s just happened, that’s all. But the thing is, what are we going to do now? Keep out of his way, or what?

  No, said Richard. We can’t cower out here all afternoon. That would be ridiculous. I think you have two options, Ashling. We can all go up to the drawing room now, just as we would do after lunch on any Sunday, and you can say, Oh hi Bob, what a coincidence! and embarrass the hell out of him and take the wind out of Cindy’s sails, or we can go up there and let Cindy introduce him to us.

  And not let on we know him? I asked incredulously.

  Yep, said Richard. But you don’t have to. It’s up to you.

  But why? I asked him. Why would I want to do that?

  Well, Richard said, this is Cindy’s first boyfriend, as far as I know, and I think it would be … well, I–

  It would be spoilt for her if she knew he was one of my cast-offs, I said, finishing his sentence for him.

  You put it very crudely, Ashling, Richard said. But yes, that is about the situation. Look, I know she’ll probably find out eventually, but just for now, it would be nice for her not to have to face that. That’s all.

  OK, then, I said, with a sudden spurt of generosity. Let’s do it so, Operation Save Cindy’s Face!

  Yahoo! Alva whooped, and did a little flamenco step, waving Cindy’s boot like a castenet. Let’s go.

  Are you sure, Ashling? Mum asked anxiously.

  Yes, I’m sure, I said, but I was talking very fast because I didn’t want to stop and think and change my mind. Cindy is not my favourite person, and it wasn’t easy being generous to her, especially not after what I’d seen in the hall. When I think about it, I think I was doing it more for Richard than for Cindy. I like him.

  I don’t want to spoil this for Cindy, I gabbled. It’s not her fault. You go first, Richard. Take up some tea or something. Let her introduce him to you first. Then say something like, Cindy must introduce you to the rest of the family, to give him a bit of warning that we’re coming in. Try to sound reassuring. He’s sure to be on tenterhooks. Then we’ll just come and join you, and we won’t let on we know him. If everybody just acts natural, it should all go off OK.

  What about Bob, though? asked Alva. How’s he going to know what we’re up to?

  Just leave Bob to me, said Mum. As long as this is what Ashling wants.

  I think they were all beginning to enjoy the situation. Alva certainly was. She was dancing with excitement now, rather than agitation.

  Richard got a teatray together and went off up to the sitting room. We gave him a head start, and then the three of us trooped up together after him.

  Cindy was draped along the sofa, with a rug on her knees, looking like the cat that got the cream, and Richard was pouring tea for Bob, who was in an armchair. When we opened the door, Richard said, loudly, Oh, here comes my wife now, and the girls.

  It gave me a little shiver to hear him say ‘my wife’ like that. At least he didn’t say we were his daughters. Bob went three shades of red when he saw us at the door and looked as if he was about to say something, but Mum took charge. She locked his eyes with hers, sailed across the carpet, leaving me and Alva still standing in the open doorway, and put out her hand to shake Bob’s: Very pleased to meet you, she said, um, eh?

  Robbie, Cindy said proudly. His name’s Robbie.

  That’s what his other friends called him. I’d almost forgotten that it was I who’d christened him Bob, and that everyone outside our family calls him Robbie, except his mother, who calls him Robert.

  Bob stared at Mum, the colour beginning to drain slowly from his face. She thrust her hand more firm
ly in the direction of his chest, and eventually he got the message and delivered a limp hand into hers. You could almost hear him swallow with relief.

  Oh! said Mum gaily, half to Cindy, half to Bob, I see, Robbie, as in Robert?

  Bob said: Oh, um, yes, as in Robert. Only my mother actually calls me Robert though. I get called all sorts of things, Rob, Robbie, Bob, Bobby.

  Martin, Cindy added archly, but half under her breath, thinking nobody would get the joke except Bob.

  I spluttered at that and had to feign a nose blow to cover it up. I turned around then and shut the door behind me.

  And how is your mother? Mum was saying, forgetting for a moment that she wasn’t supposed to know him.

  I could hear Alva beside me drawing her breath in at that, but Cindy didn’t seem to notice.

  Oh, very well, thank you, Bob answered, very well.

  These are my daughters, Ashling and Alva, Mum said smoothly then, turning towards us and we nodded at him and he nodded back. I stumbled from the door and found myself a small, insignificant and very uncomfortable armchair as far away as possible from the family group they were all making in the centre of the room. I began to wish I hadn’t agreed to this.

  Alva, naturally enough, had no such inhibitions about joining in the little charade. She pranced into the middle of the room, making a dramatic gesture of handing Cindy back her boot. Eventually she plonked herself down on the pouffe at Bob’s feet and started to help Richard with the tea. She kept offering things to Bob, biscuits and sugar and milk, with a sly little grin on her face. Bob kept waving her away, afraid to meet her eyes, I think.

  I felt very wobbly all through it, so I just sat there on my uncomfortable little chair and didn’t say very much. Nobody thought of offering me tea, and I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by asking for some or pouring some for myself. All the time I could just see the image of Cindy and Bob in each other’s arms in the hall floating in front of me. But the others had this really normal-seeming conversation about nothing at all, making jam, I think it was. I was glad to see Bob go. I never felt like that before.

  Cindy asked us afterwards if we had liked him, and Alva said: He’s absolutely gorgeous, Cindy, where did you find him?

  Cindy tossed her head and said, Oh, just around, you know, but you could see she was delighted. I couldn’t very well hate her for liking Bob, now, could I? In fact, watching her gloating over him made me feel a sort of a funny tenderness for her. I was tempted to tell her then, just so we could smile together about him, and tell each other what a nice guy he is, but that would have been a bit pointless at that stage, and anyway, I figured she might turn nasty if she felt we’d made a fool of her.

  Ashling never had such a good-looking boyfriend, did you, Ashling? Alva went on slyly, and you could see Cindy preening herself. I choked at that, and Richard had to slap me on the back.

  I still wish it was me he called to see today, not Cindy. Life’s a bitch, and then you die, as Alva says. And the worst part is that I have only myself to blame.

  Thursday 27th November

  Things had been getting a bit better around here lately, or so I thought. I thought we were all learning to live with each other, not necessarily to like each other, but at least to tolerate each other. After the Bob episode, I felt I had something in common with Cindy, and I felt, I suppose, that she owed me one, for how I protected her interests that day. Though of course she doesn’t owe me anything, especially since she doesn’t even know. Sometimes I think maybe that was a bit of a wasted sacrifice as long as Cindy doesn’t know I made it.

  But then the whole thing blew apart this morning. There was a massive row at breakfast, just because Alva had borrowed Cindy’s boots, without asking her. Of course, Alva shouldn’t have done it, but I suppose we’re used to her doing that sort of thing. We don’t take much notice. You couldn’t blame Cindy for being annoyed, and I keep trying to remember that this is her home we’ve all muscled in on, but it is hard to keep seeing it that way when she behaves the way she did this morning. She didn’t just get annoyed. She completely over-reacted. She blew her top and really went for Alva. It was awful, just awful. She was like a wild cat. Her eyes flashed with anger and she screamed at her. I didn’t know how to make her stop, and I couldn’t bear the noise, so in the end I leant over and pulled her hair. This isn’t a bit like me, but I was furious with her, absolutely furious, especially after all the allowances I have been making for her lately, after I had started even to like her slightly. It’s always three steps forward, two steps back, I suppose, in situations like this, but I’m getting a bit tired of it.

  Anyway, this house was not a pleasant place to be this morning. Alva was shaking all the way to school after the row, and I thought Mum was going to have a miscarriage. I rang her school from our school at break, to make sure she was all right. She had just arrived. She said she was fine, but her voice still sounded a bit shaky.

  We all kissed and made up this evening. Well, not exactly kissed, but apologised at least. I know people say it’s healthier to fight than to let things fester, but it’s hard to see that display of anger this morning as healthy. At least having the fight was a normal sort of a thing to do, though, the sort of thing families do, and I suppose it is better than behaving like strangers to each other, better than behaving as if we were all just waiting for the same bus. It’s not what you would call family affection or even casual altruism, but it’s better than all looking out of the window rather than talk to each other.

  Anyway, this is the only family we’ve all got now, the five of us, and the baby of course. There’s no point in fantasising about the family we would like to live in. That’s what kept Alva miserable for so long.

  We can hardly even count Gavin as family any more, nor Dad – we haven’t seen either of them for months. It’s funny to think that Cindy is going to be closer kin to us now than Gavin, even though Gavin is actually related to us and Cindy’s not.

  Sunday 30th November

  Cindy and Bob went out together last night. I didn’t mind. I truly didn’t, this time. I made up my mind not to, and it worked.

  I lent her my best jumper, one I got for my birthday. It looked well on her, I must say. It’s a pale, pale grey, almost silver, and it looked good with her dark hair. And it made a change from that eternal black she’s always in. I felt very noble lending it to her, after everything that’s happened, but I think she maybe even recognised the nobility of my gesture. She gave my upper arm a little squeeze when I handed the sweater to her, the closest she can get at the moment to an affectionate gesture. Poor old Cindy! I wouldn’t like to be her, really, even if she is going out with my Bob.

  Wouldn’t it be funny, Alva said, as they left, if Cindy married Bob, and then he’d be your brother-in-law.

  It wouldn’t be a bit funny, I said, throwing a cushion at her, it would be terrible, absolutely terrible, and don’t you go predicting things like that, because the last wedding you predicted actually happened. And there are enough steps and halves around here, without adding in-laws into the pot.

  Alva has stopped crying in the night. She hasn’t done it once all week. Not even the night of the row. I think she’s settling down a bit. We all are. It doesn’t mean we’re not going to fight, of course, but it’s beginning to feel just a bit like a family, just a bit like a home.

  I don’t think I believe in happily ever after any more, Ashling, Alva said then. Do you?

  No, Alva, I don’t, I said. I believe in happily, but not in ever after. No, definitely not in ever after.

  I suppose happily has to be enough on its own then? Alva said, with a tinge of sadness in her voice, as if she was letting go of an enormously important idea.

  Yes, I said, I suppose it has. And I suppose you’re lucky to get the happily part at all, never mind the ever after.

  I suppose you are, she said.

  Alva claims Cindy’s been keeping a diary too. Wouldn’t you just love to read it? she said. Just
to find out what the noxious Cindy thinks of us? No, I said, no, I wouldn’t. I’d hate it. I can’t imagine anything more depressing.

  Copyright

  This eBook edition first published 2014 by

  The O’Brien Press Ltd,

  12 Terenure Road East, Dublin 6, Ireland.

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  First published 1996. Reprinted 1997 (twice), 1998, 1999, 2002, 2005.

  eBook ISBN 978–1–84717–401–7

  Copyright for text © Siobhán Parkinson

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