Letters From My Sister

by Alice Peterson

  ‘Yes, Katie, that’s right. Thank you, Katie.’

  *

  ‘Can I get you another drink?’ I ask Eve, who has brought Hector along too. He is looking plumper than usual and is wearing a royal blue tank top.

  ‘Katie, what a great party!’ She’s already tipsy.

  ‘What a lovely home,’ Hector adds, looking around the room.

  Emma, Bells and I decorated the Christmas tree with silver and gold balls, silver, red and gold ribbon, and chocolate Santas wrapped in foil. Emma put fairy lights in the kitchen and bunches of holly in the windows with fake robins nestled in the leaves. We made canapés all day. Sausages, cheese puffs, mini-mince pies. If I have to wrap one more shrivelled prune in bacon I shall go mad.

  ‘Eve, I wanted to thank you so much for keeping the shop going these last few months. I couldn’t have done it without you.’

  ‘It is no matter. I was happy to. You know, Mr Vickers helped me too. He likes to count the day’s takings.’ She smiles widely. ‘Mon Dieu!’ she exclaims, hitting my arm. ‘I tell you, Mr Vickers, he is amazing! He sorts out my love life. He tell me to go for it with Hector, that looks are not the most important thing in the world.’

  Ouch! Poor Hector, but to my surprise he finds this rather funny.

  ‘Excuse me, I am here,’ is all he says.

  Then they both laugh together, Hector gently nudging her against the hip, and it’s the most touching thing I’ve seen.

  ‘Oh my God! How did you get that bruise the size of a tennis ball?’ I ask Eve. It’s on her left arm, near the elbow.

  Hector chuckles. ‘I might not be number one in the looks department but there are other departments I’m rather good at,’ he says as he walks away from us proudly. Eve looks at me mischievously. ‘Hector and I, we have sex last night,’ she whispers. ‘Against the bath sink, on the kitchen table, on the … oh, what is the word?’

  ‘The bed?’

  ‘Non! Katie, you are so boring, so dull. We make love everywhere. By the fire, on the …’

  ‘That’s enough!’ I laugh, putting my hands over my ears. ‘Stop it. Actually, I’m wildly jealous. You seem really happy.’

  ‘I am. Touching wood.’ She leans across to touch the mantelpiece. ‘You must be sad to leave your friends, no?’

  ‘I don’t want to live with newly-weds.’ I smile. ‘We were doing the table seating plan today and that was bad enough.’ I tell Eve how we sat for hours writing down the guests’ names on small coloured Post-it notes, and then tried to arrange them around imaginary tables. At one point Jonnie shouted and swore at Emma, telling her he didn’t want any of her ‘fucking psychology friends’ sat near him. Emma and I were speechless. Jonnie rarely loses his temper. Emma then fired back, telling him it was unfair for anyone to have to sit next to his parents. I was with her on that one, but thought I’d better not utter a word.

  The doorbell rings again. ‘You must be Mark,’ I hear Emma say. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’

  Oh, Emma, I cringe. Why did you have to say that?

  ‘I can’t believe we haven’t met before,’ she blunders on. ‘Hello,’ she says to Jess.

  Jess is wearing a sea-blue coloured satin top over jeans. She barely has any make-up on but her skin is flawless. Then I catch sight of Mark, and before I know it I’ve bolted upstairs and run into my bedroom, swinging the door shut. I don’t think he saw me. What was that all about, Katie? What’s wrong with me? I realize I have never felt this way about anyone before. I don’t know what to say or how to act in front of him any more. I don’t recognize myself. Keep calm, Katie, I tell myself, only to feel my face getting redder and hotter. ‘What’s meant to be is meant to be,’ I mutter. ‘You don’t really believe any of that rubbish, do you? Oh God, stop talking to yourself!’ I take in a deep breath and count to five, before willing myself to go back downstairs.

  *

  Bells stands at the CD player with Mark, The Beatles playing in the background. She holds a can of ginger beer towards him, her silver nails sparkling. Mark looks as if he has tumbled out of the washing machine. His hair is ruffled and he’s wearing dark jeans with a loose white shirt. He puts the can down and takes Bells’s hand. ‘Can’t dance very well,’ she’s saying.

  ‘Yes you can,’ Mark shouts above the music, turning her around.

  ‘You can’t take your eyes off him, can you?’ Emma says, sneaking up on me.

  ‘I was watching Bells.’

  ‘He looks at you too, you know.’

  I turn to her. ‘Does he?’

  ‘A lot, but you don’t care, do you?’

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘Rubbish, Katie. This is me, Emma, your best friend. I know you inside out and back to front. You like him, I mean, really like him, don’t you?’

  ‘I can’t do anything about it, though,’ I sigh, still watching him.

  Mark looks in my direction and smiles before turning back to Bells. ‘It stinks, doesn’t it? And there’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘What do you mean? Come on, you can do something.’

  ‘He has a girlfriend.’

  She nods. ‘I know, but why don’t you tell him? Give yourself a chance, at least. What have you got to lose?’

  I watch him laughing with Bells. ‘Everything,’ I say.

  *

  ‘Katie?’ Mark says quietly, taking my hand and leading me out of the room. We stand alone, facing one another.

  ‘Yes?’ The music dies out.

  ‘There’s something I want to tell you.’

  ‘Tell me,’ I whisper.

  ‘I don’t know where to start.’ He looks at me, absorbing every feature of my face. His finger gently outlines the curve of my cheek.

  ‘What is it?’

  He takes his hand away but I long for him to touch me again.

  ‘It’s all over between Jess and me. I think it has been for a long time. I’ve wanted to say this since we first met but I haven’t had the courage. I had to say something tonight; I can’t keep it a secret any longer. I am hopelessly …’ He stops. Please don’t stop.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘And utterly …’

  ‘Where are you moving, Katie? Katie?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, shaking my head free of fantasy. Jess is standing in front of me. ‘Chiswick. I’ve found a small flat close to the shop. The rent’s not too bad and …’

  ‘Talking of moving, isn’t it wonderful news about Mark?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Mark? He’s been offered a transfer to Edinburgh.’

  ‘He’s moving away?’ I know Jess is watching me. I feel as if I am on stage, thrust into the limelight and I’ve forgotten my lines. ‘No, I didn’t know.’

  Jess looks genuinely surprised. ‘Well, he only found out yesterday. I’m sure he was going to tell you.’ There is definitely a hint of pleasure in her voice. She stands back from me. ‘I’m surprised he hasn’t told you. I thought you saw him last night?’

  ‘When’s he going?’ Emma intervenes, allowing me to try and compose myself. I hadn’t even noticed her approaching us.

  ‘January. This new school has great drama facilities and he’d be involved in the Edinburgh Festival. It’s too good an opportunity to miss. I think it will be good for our relationship too,’ she continues in this soft calm voice, but she’s still watching me closely. ‘It’s hard being separated, I think Mark and I need to spend more time together.’

  ‘I heard my name being mentioned,’ Mark says, joining us.

  ‘Jess was telling me about your move to Edinburgh,’ I tell him. ‘Congratulations.’

  Mark’s smile rapidly disappears. ‘Jess, it was my news to tell.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t realize it was a big secret,’ she says, her eyes widening.

  Mark looks furious. ‘Jess, are you ready?’

  She frowns. ‘What? Right now?’

  ‘Yep. We need to go.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll get my coat.’

  ‘Why didn’t
you tell me?’ I ask him, when Jess is out of earshot.

  ‘I’ve only just made the decision,’ he tries to explain. ‘I was going to …’

  ‘I wish you had,’ I say quietly.

  ‘Katie, I’m so sorry.’

  I fake a smile. ‘I’ll miss you.’

  ‘I’ll miss you too.’

  I’m sure he wants to say something more. ‘Happy Christmas,’ he mutters finally, leaning forward to kiss me on the cheek. I can hear Jess’s footsteps behind me.

  And then he’s gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Bells and I are catching the train home together for Christmas. The day after the party I moved into my new flat with the help of Emma and Jonnie. It was strange leaving. It was like facing my first day at boarding school when we unpacked the boxes.

  My mobile rings and Mark’s name appears in the screen.

  ‘Are you still in London?’

  ‘No, Bells and I are on the train.’

  ‘The choo-choo,’ Bells announces.

  ‘Katie, look I’m sorry.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘No, it does. You’re a good friend …’

  There’s that word I hate. Friend.

  ‘Well done,’ I speak over him. ‘A book deal and now Edinburgh. What a year!’

  ‘Katie, I really need to talk to you.’

  ‘That Mark?’ Bells asks. ‘Hello, Mark.’

  ‘Hi, Bells,’ he says in a flustered tone. ‘Katie, it’s about the other night …’

  Bells takes the phone from me. ‘Happy birthday, Mark.’

  ‘It’s not my birthday, Bells, not yet, but thanks anyway. Can I have Katie back?’

  ‘When are you leaving?’ For an insane second I allow myself to imagine he’s going to tell me he isn’t going.

  ‘Two weeks.’ The line crackles as the train goes through a tunnel. Mark is saying something but I can’t make it out.

  I fight the urge not to cry. ‘Mark, I’ll see you in the New Year. And it’s great news.’ I swallow hard.

  ‘Hello, Mark,’ Bells repeats. ‘Happy birthday.’

  He doesn’t say anything back to her this time. ‘You’re coming to my birthday party, Katie, aren’t you?’

  The line goes dead.

  *

  Christmas is good fun and I stay on for New Year. I have never seen the New Year in with my parents and Bells – well, not since I was about twelve – so this one feels important.

  On New Year’s Eve, Aunt Agnes joins us, bringing homemade crackers. Agnes is ten years older than my dad. She’s dressed in a fake fur coat and scarlet beret with scarlet lipstick to match, and is wearing a solid silver heart pendant that looks as if it came from an expensive Bond Street jeweller. We discover Aunt Agnes has met someone through setting up a fundraising scheme in the community to raise money for a children’s hospice. His name is Peter. Since Uncle Roger died two years ago she has lost at least two stone in weight. ‘Aunt Agnes, you look amazing,’ I tell her.

  ‘Thank you, darling,’ she says, eyelashes fluttering over her almond-shaped eyes.

  ‘What’s your secret?’

  She smiles. ‘I don’t make homemade chips and Black Forest gâteau any more.’

  We put on our paper hats, tell silly jokes and light indoor fireworks. Bells has a snake. It looks like a brown pill, but once lit turns into a black mamba. Mine is a cowboy smoking a cigarette which, when I light it, puffs out smoke. At the stroke of midnight we all drink to Mum’s health. Her cheeks look flushed from the alcohol and she’s getting emotional. Her hair is very short and soft, like fluff. She still covers it with her patterned silk scarves. Bells asks if she can look at the scar again; and Mum guides her hand across the back of her head. Bells touches it gently.

  *

  Mum, Dad, Bells and I are watching Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?, the special New Year Celebrity Edition. It’s my last night at home before I head back to London.

  ‘I can’t believe this cretin is phoning a friend. It’s D, you fool!’ Dad says when the phone rings.

  ‘Maybe he’s phoning you, Dad,’ I suggest.

  ‘Darling, can you get that?’ Mum asks, her eyes glued to the screen.

  Seconds later he comes back into the room. ‘It’s Mark.’ Dad hands me the phone and settles back in his seat.

  I shove it back in his direction. ‘I’m not here,’ I mouth at him.

  ‘Mark, can she call you back?’ Dad puts the phone down. ‘I don’t like lying, Katie. Make sure you call him.’ His attention returns to the television.

  ‘Why don’t you want to talk to Mark?’ Mum asks.

  I pretend not to hear.

  ‘Katie?’ Mum presses. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘He’s moving,’ I tell her.

  ‘Unless your old father is missing anything, why is that so bad?’ Dad doesn’t look away from the television.

  ‘He’s going to Edinburgh.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Dad acknowledges. ‘You’ll miss him. He’s a very nice young chap. What’s he going to do in Edinburgh then?’

  Parents never get it, I think to myself.

  ‘Oh, darling, do shut up,’ Mum says. ‘You’re getting the wrong end of the stick, as usual.’ She turns to me. ‘Look, I’m not blind. Something is going on here, more than Mark moving on,’ she says. ‘Why won’t you talk to him?’

  ‘I don’t feel like it, OK? I want to watch this.’

  Mum sighs impatiently. ‘Come on, Katie.’

  ‘Fine,’ I give in, ‘I do like him, but what’s the point if he’s going away?’

  ‘Much worse things can happen. It’s not the end of the world, is it? It doesn’t mean you won’t see him again,’ she reasons.

  ‘I know, but … I’ve got so used to him being around, that’s all. I’ll really miss him. He’s my soul mate.’

  Mum glances sideways at Dad, who sits in the large armchair wearing his leather slippers, squinting at the television.

  We both smile. ‘He was attractive when he was younger,’ Mum whispers to me.

  ‘He’s asking the audience now, can you believe it?’ Dad says, outraged. ‘They won’t know!’

  ‘This must sound so …’ I can’t think of a word to use after everything Mum has been through, ‘. . . silly to you.’

  ‘No, darling. What’s silly is if you don’t tell him. When are you seeing him next?’

  ‘He’s having a party, tomorrow night. It’s in Battersea. His parents are going and everything.’

  ‘And you’re going too, aren’t you?’

  I look unsure.

  ‘You love him?’ Bells asks. She’s lying on her front on the floor, leaning on her elbows, watching the television. I hadn’t been aware she was even listening because she had been so quiet.

  ‘No,’ I stammer, caught off-guard by her directness.

  ‘Stupid Katie.’

  ‘I’m not,’ I bite back, thinking I have not been called stupid since I was little.

  ‘Stupid, isn’t she, Mum?’

  ‘Stop calling me stupid,’ I gasp. Then I remember how I told Bells over and over again how stupid she was when she cut out the labels.

  ‘Do you love Mark?’ Mum asks.

  ‘What? You love Mark?’ Dad chips in now.

  I bury my head in my hands.

  ‘Oh, darling, do keep up. I think you’re right, Bells,’ Mum says. ‘She’s stupid if she doesn’t tell him.’

  They all look at me expectantly now.

  ‘How do I tell him? He’s going away. He has a girlfriend.’

  Mum shrugs her shoulders. ‘What have you got to lose?’

  ‘My pride?’ I suggest.

  ‘Well, it is a risk, but you’ve got to ask yourself this question. Is Mark worth it?’

  I think about this for a second. ‘Yes. I’ve never met anyone like him.’

  ‘Right, well, in that case, you have a large vodka, you go to the party, you walk over to him and be brave. You tell him exactly how you feel. I
f he’s in love with his girlfriend, you accept it and move on, but at least you had the courage to tell him. You only regret the things you don’t do, Katie.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Dad says now.

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t meant to be,’ I say in a final bid to spare myself from humiliation.

  ‘That’s the easy way out, only cowards say that,’ Mum says with a sniff.

  *

  Mum and I stand at the top of the stairs. We’re about to go to bed. ‘Buy yourself a new dress for the party,’ she says, touching my face. ‘Don’t wear black. Wear red,’ she insists. ‘It goes with your dark hair. And put your hair up.’

  ‘Anything else?’ I smile.

  ‘No, that’s it.’

  We kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, putting my arms around her. ‘I love you.’ It’s the first time I have said that to her since I was a child.

  ‘I love you too.’ It’s the first time she has told me since I was a child too. I feel a glow of warmth in her arms, something I realize has been lacking for years.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  ‘If you knew the exact address it would help,’ the cab-driver says defensively. Of course he’s right, but I’m too flustered to apologize. I need to get to the party now. Not only have I forgotten the invitation, but also I was late arriving back in London because my train was delayed. It took me nearly three hours to get back to my flat.

  Back to Mark. I can almost see the invitation with the address on it. Mark is having the party at a place I’ve never been to and I can’t remember the name of the venue. The invitation’s sitting on my bed. Bugger, bugger, bugger.

  ‘We’re going round in circles,’ I fret, looking at my watch again. It’s now nine o’clock. I’m over an hour late. I pick up my mobile and call Mark. It’s his voice-mail again. ‘Mark, I’m so sorry, I’m on my way, but …’ I hang up abruptly. ‘Wait!’ I tell the driver. ‘I think that’s it! We missed the turning. Turn around.’ I remember Mark telling me the venue was close to Battersea Bridge and the power station.

  ‘I can’t turn around here,’ the cabbie snorts, windscreen wipers going up a gear. The rain is pelting down now.

  ‘Do a U-turn.’ He keeps on driving. ‘I’ll tip you!’