Letters From My Sister

by Alice Peterson

  ‘So you’ve been going out with her for a long time?’

  ‘Only six months, but it feels like longer,’ he adds, and I can’t tell whether that’s a good or a bad thing.

  ‘How come it took you that long to start going out?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he says, his voice clipped and considered. ‘We kind of fell into it. We went on holiday with a group of friends and that was it. We were worried it might affect our friendship but it’s fine.’

  Fine? Fell into it? That was it? Mark’s vocabulary lacks a certain passion. Where’s the romance? Where are the fireworks?

  ‘I guess it’s true,’ he says with a sense of defeat … or am I reading too much into his voice?

  ‘What?’

  ‘Somewhere along the line, girls and boys can’t just be friends. At some point …’

  ‘You don’t believe that rubbish, do you? Come on. We’re friends, aren’t we?’

  ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Are you happy?’

  ‘Am I happy? Well, that’s a difficult question.’

  ‘With Jess, not in general,’ I say, hoping that I am not being too nosy.

  ‘She’s one of my closest friends. She’s always been there for me. It’s funny, though,’ he shuffles his chair in closer, ‘she’s intelligent, but if you ask her where Guatemala is, she doesn’t have a clue.’

  I sit, frozen. ‘Africa?’ From his expression I see I’m wrong. ‘America? Of course, it’s America.’

  ‘North or South?’

  ‘Er, South? No, North.’

  ‘It’s south of Mexico, next to Honduras, and not so far from Panama.’

  ‘Shut up, clever clogs, we can’t all be geography wizards.’

  ‘Which direction is north?’

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘How did we get on to Jess?’

  ‘We were talking about your parents. They wanted you to be a lawyer.’

  ‘Oh, yes. It’s all about approval, isn’t it? You want them to be proud, whatever you do.’

  ‘I admire anyone who teaches, I couldn’t do it. Is your father proud of you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he shrugs. ‘I think so.’

  ‘He should be.’ I smile. ‘You see, if you were to die tomorrow – God forbid,’ I add, touching his arm briefly.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’m sure your father would be saying, “I wish I’d told Mark we were proud of him.” I would never have forgiven myself if Mum had died and I’d left so many things unsaid. I felt so hard done by when I was little because she was always in hospital with Bells, but look at people who have no proper homes or divorced parents who screw them up. Emma says she sees people …’

  ‘Don’t start saying how much worse off they are than you,’ Mark says, disgruntled.

  ‘Well, they are.’

  ‘Look, we never really go around thinking like that. There’s always someone a lot worse off than you, sure, but if someone said to you, “Think of the starving children in Africa,” every time you came to them with a problem, you’d want to pelt them with frozen peas.’

  I laugh. ‘Why frozen peas?’

  ‘I couldn’t think of anything else. What I’m trying to say is, each problem, each situation, it’s all relative. OK, you had a damaged relationship with your mother, but if someone tells you they don’t get on with any of their family, mother, father and all six sisters and brothers, and that you should count yourself lucky, does that really make it better?’

  ‘I’ve never thought about it like that. You should become a counsellor.’

  ‘That’ll be fifty pounds, please. See you next week?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ The scary thing is I mean it too.

  We sit quietly for a few minutes watching people go by. It doesn’t feel awkward saying nothing. It feels peaceful.

  Eventually I break the silence. ‘Do you have any unusual characters in your family?’

  ‘How about the grandmother who kept a lion under her bed?’

  I laugh. ‘Well, I’m glad it’s not just our family then.’

  From the corner of my eye I can see a girl walking by outside, wearing a baseball cap on back to front, a black bra, black vest, a black miniskirt, a small backpack and black knee-length platform boots. A group of young friends walk past and I hear them laugh at her mockingly, but the girl marches on.

  ‘You see that girl?’ Mark says.

  ‘You can hardly miss her, can you?’

  ‘She looks a bit weird …’

  ‘Shocking outfit.’

  ‘Fine, all that’s true, but she’s far more interesting than the other girls who look like clones of each other.’

  I look at the backs of the three girls, each with dyed blonde hair, all roughly the same height, and all wearing baggy trousers, skin-tight tops and trainers.

  ‘She’d be the one the author wrote about. Eccentric, unusual, out-of-the-ordinary characters make the world go round,’ Mark says. ‘God, life would be boring without them.’

  *

  When Mark leaves, I finish my letter to Bells and then go to the newsagent’s to buy copies of Vogue, Tatler, Harpers & Queen and Glamour.

  Two weeks later I have made myself a suede coat with a soft lining. I have also been working on my designs and compiled a portfolio. I’d love to have my own label in the future; it’s something to work towards. ‘I’ve bought a Katie Fletcher top,’ I can hear someone saying. I’ve been people-watching constantly, looking around various shops in my lunch hour and seeing what’s out there. I’ve been working late in the evenings after I close the shop too. It was time to change my image as well, so I went to my Spanish hairdresser’s, and he made me ‘feel like a different woman’, as he put it. He cut and layered my hair in the front. I like pulling it back into a short neat blunt ponytail. It feels symbolic of a new start on so many fronts, most importantly with Mum.

  And, even more impressive, I have bought a pair of luminous purple goggles and a black costume and have been swimming each morning before work.

  I have even stopped smoking.

  I like the new Katie Fletcher.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  ‘Jonnie, who was that?’ I call. It’s the evening and I’m about to go to bed.

  ‘Don’t know, he hung up again.’

  I walk into the sitting room. Emma and Jonnie are watching television.

  ‘He?’

  ‘Well, the only person I can think of is Sam,’ Jonnie suggests.

  ‘Possibly,’ I say. To my surprise, Sam has called a few times, saying he wants to meet up, that we need to talk, but I can’t see the point. I told him we should accept it’s over and no hard feelings. ‘You sound different. Are you seeing someone else?’ he demanded. ‘Sam, I’ve been at home looking after Mum,’ I said wearily. Maybe I should meet him and be done with it.

  Jonnie studies my expression. ‘There’s nothing going on between you two still, is there?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Is it safe to talk about him now?’ he asks.

  ‘Quite safe.’

  ‘Well, I always thought he was a bit of a tosser.’

  ‘Jonnie!’ Emma hurls a cushion at him.

  ‘It’s fine, honestly.’ I shrug. ‘If you look the part, you feel the part …’

  ‘And you ARE the part,’ we all finish, and laugh.

  ‘How about, “You have to think outside the box”?’

  ‘I liked “done and dusted”,’ Emma says now. ‘I always thought you could do a lot better,’ she admits finally, and then pauses as if unsure whether to say whatever is on her mind next. ‘Like this Mark person?’

  ‘He’s just a friend. Anyway, he’s going out with Jess.’ I change the subject. ‘Right, need to put the rubbish out, it’s bin day tomorrow, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is,’ Jonnie confirms. ‘Bin day. What an exciting fast-paced world we live in.’

  I wobble out of the front door with two black bags. I am tempted to go for an evening walk, I might bump int
o Mark. Since that Sunday morning, nearly a month ago, he and I have been out many times. I often go round to his place after work and we have a drink together. We made spaghetti bolognese the other night and watched one of Bells’s favourite Dustin Hoffman movies, Tootsie. Last week Mark shoved a note through the door: ‘Sticky bun & coffee tomorrow?’

  It’s a Monday night, he should be in. It’s only ten o’clock. I feel like some company, that’s all. As I knock on the door to his flat I hear his bike outside and now he’s coming through the front entrance. His face looks pink from the cold night air and he’s wearing a bright yellow strap across his coat which he pulls off when he sees me. ‘Hi.’ He rubs his hands together. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine. I was putting the rubbish out then I thought about you.’

  ‘Charming! Want to come in?’

  ‘Love to. Where have you been?’

  ‘School. God, I’m tired,’ he says as he walks into the kitchen. I follow him. ‘We’re rehearsing for My Fair Lady and there’s so much work to do. Professor Higgins has ducked out now so I’ve had to replace him with Matthew, and I don’t know if he’s up to the task.’

  ‘Sit down,’ I order. ‘Tell me where everything is and I’ll make you something to eat and drink. My turn to fuss over you.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ he sighs, taking off his boots and the bicycle clips from his trousers. ‘What luck I ran into you. Mugs are in the cupboard above the sink.’

  I open a cupboard and find plates and soup bowls. ‘To the right,’ Mark instructs. ‘Coffee’s in the fridge.’

  ‘You keep it in the fridge?’

  ‘Keeps it fresh.’

  ‘Why do you keep mustard in the fridge?’ Mark looks at me wearily. ‘Sorry. Everyone’s kitchen’s a novelty. You like these!’ I turn to him in amazement. On top of his fridge sits a packet of marshmallows covered in chocolate with strawberry jam filling. ‘Emma teases me for still liking these. She told me they’re the sort of things mothers put in packed lunches and that I should have grown out of them by now.’

  ‘Well, she’s missing out then, isn’t she? I love them, could eat a whole pack at once.’

  I am delighted to hear this. I make two cups of coffee and Mark eats a toasted cheese sandwich. ‘Katie, I have a big favour to ask. I was going to come and see you about it tomorrow.’

  ‘This sounds serious.’

  ‘Jess can’t come to My Fair Lady. Obviously, as great as our production is going to be, Edinburgh’s a bit too far to come for a school play. So … I was wondering if you would come with me instead?’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. What do you think?’

  ‘Have you asked Jess?’

  ‘I will, but I’m sure she won’t mind. She knows now that we’re just friends.’

  ‘All right, if you’re sure she’ll be cool with it, then I’d love to. I’ve never been to a school play. The only time I remember Mum coming to watch me at school was when I was nine. The entire class played recorders. She tells me we were terrible. Granny Norfolk came too, and apparently nudged her in the middle of our rendition of “Greensleeves”, saying, “The crème of Southampton is here tonight,” followed by a squawking laugh.’

  ‘What, a laugh like yours, you mean?’

  ‘Do I squawk?’

  ‘You do.’

  ‘Thanks so much. When is it?’

  ‘Friday night.’

  For a moment I long to have something else on to make him think I have a terribly exciting and hectic social life. ‘Right, fine, see you Friday. I’m going. I’ve had enough of you for one night.’

  *

  A school play. Do I dress smart? Casual? I opt for my black dress and the gold necklace with the medallion-like pendant. I look at myself in front of the long mirror. Since I stopped smoking I’ve put on a few pounds around my hips and my face looks less drawn. I put some shimmering grey round my eyes to bring out the green in them and after endless debate, decide to let my hair down.

  *

  I’m singing loudly in the street, pretending to be Eliza Doolittle.

  ‘Shh!’ Mark laughs, holding me back from swinging around the next lamppost. ‘We’re getting some really strange stares.’

  ‘Who cares? You shouldn’t mind what people think.’

  ‘I don’t,’ he agrees.

  ‘I’ve spent far too much time worrying about what others think, it’s a waste of time.’ I turn to him. ‘I really enjoyed tonight. I think your class were great.’

  ‘They sang their hearts out, didn’t they?’ he says. ‘Helen really belted it out.’

  Helen played Audrey Hepburn’s part, Eliza. I don’t want to tell Mark she nearly deafened the audience and that I wished I’d taken my earplugs. Mark stayed so intent on the performance that I didn’t dare breathe in case he missed a note or a word. The real low point was when Professor Higgins tripped and fell off the stage. He was dancing with Eliza in triumph because she was finally speaking ‘proper’ and he stepped too far. Everyone gasped and Mark rushed to the stage as if he was acting in Casualty. I couldn’t help watching him more than the play. What was so fascinating was the passionate interest he felt in these children who couldn’t really sing. Mark was with them every step of the way. He’d screw up his face when the piano teacher hit a wrong note. There was one part where they had to start the ‘Rain in Spain’ song again because she hit a series of wrong notes and I thought Mark was going to have a heart attack. ‘We rehearsed this one time and time again,’ he said in agony.

  ‘Shh, they’re doing really well,’ I whispered back, reaching out to hold his hand in support. He clutched his fingers over mine. His palm was sweaty. The best part, however, was the end. Everyone stood and applauded for what seemed like five minutes. The headmaster called Mark up on to the stage and he bowed together with the cast. Bells would have enjoyed this too, I thought. She should be here. The cast bunched around him, one actor hit his arm affectionately, another one did a high five. Mark was congratulating them all. Eliza gave him some flowers and then looked shyly at her feet. ‘Who’s that babe with you?’ one of the boys asked loudly, pointing at me. I almost burst with pride at this point. Nearly thirty and called a babe. ‘Is that your girlfriend?’ he continued.

  I know I blushed furiously at this point and had to pretend I needed something in my handbag. When I looked back Mark was smiling at me.

  *

  ‘Taxi!’ Mark shouts as we see a black cab with its yellow light lit up.

  He and I sink back into the seat. I break out into another My Fair Lady song and Mark joins in. The cab-driver is shaking his head at us.

  ‘What’s your favourite thing in the world?’ I ask. ‘Apart from porn.’

  Mark scratches his chin playfully. ‘If it can’t be porn, it has to be … um … marshmallow biscuits.’

  ‘Don’t overexcite yourself.’

  ‘Come on, you then?’

  ‘The smell of fresh coffee and bread.’

  ‘Skiing on a beautiful day with fresh-powder snow.’

  ‘Going to bed.’

  Mark raises an eyebrow. ‘With anyone in particular or on your own?’

  ‘On my own and having the duvet all to myself.’

  ‘Wow, aren’t we a wild pair? OK, what do you hate most in the world?’

  ‘Rude and narrow-minded people.’

  ‘People who look over your shoulder when you’re at a drinks party.’

  ‘I hate that!’

  ‘The trick is to tell them you drank a bottle of gin with twenty Anadin and see if they say, “Oh, how interesting”,’ Mark says.

  ‘Traffic wardens,’ the cab driver shouts through. ‘And people who tell me which route I should take – that gets me, that does. Think they know better when I’ve been driving around London for years.’

  ‘Take a left here,’ Mark says.

  The driver laughs.

  ‘Ooh, I’ve got one!’ I burst out. ‘Christmas starting in August.’

  ‘I like
this game. People who trump you,’ Mark goes on. ‘I tell someone I went to Vienna and they tell me the place I really ought to go to is Budapest.’

  ‘Oh, yes, nothing more annoying.’ We laugh. ‘If you could change anything about yourself, what would it be?’ I ask.

  Mark takes too long thinking.

  ‘I’ll start,’ I suggest. ‘I wish I wasn’t so stubborn.’

  ‘I’m too soft.’

  ‘You’re not soft. I saw how you pulled those children into line. They respect you. You’re kind but that’s different. I can be too proud.’

  ‘I love the way you say what you think.’

  ‘I don’t, Mark, not always. Look how long it took Mum and me to talk properly. I bottle things up, stew over problems.’

  ‘Well, I wear my heart on my sleeve. I’m too emotional. I even cried reading Bridges of Madison County.’

  ‘You’re a wimp. But I cried too.’

  ‘So did I,’ chips in the cab driver, clearly still eavesdropping.

  ‘Mark.’ I lean closer towards him, our legs gently brush. ‘I’ve never noticed your eyes before.’ One is tinged with brown, the other is blue. We look at each other for a second too long. I turn away first.

  ‘Oh,’ he says, ‘a freak accident. I was about to score for a cricket match. I was spinning a pencil in between the guy ropes that hold up the nets for practising when it spiralled out of my hand. The likelihood of that pencil hitting me was a million to one, but …’ he gestures to his eyes ‘. . . I had to have three stitches. That’s why I need the glasses. It’s my excuse whenever I lose a tennis match,’ he says, making me smile. ‘You’re shivering, Katie. Here, have my jacket.’

  He places it around my shoulders and I feel acutely aware of the warmth of his touch. I’m also aware we’re nearly home, but I don’t want the evening to end yet.

  As if Mark can read my thoughts he says, ‘It’s still early. Do you fancy a drink?’

  I nod. ‘Emma and Jonnie aren’t in tonight. Why don’t you come over to my place?’

  ‘Sounds good. It’s a right here,’ Mark says to the driver, ‘and then pull in anywhere.’

  Mark takes my hand as I step out of the cab. ‘M’lady,’ he says. ‘By the way, I never said it but you looked beautiful tonight.’