Sister to Sister

by Olivia Hayfield

  ‘Have to say, when I first met him I assumed he was gay,’ said Leigh.

  ‘He looks like a girl,’ said Frankie, ‘but he’s outrageously sexy. How is that possible?’

  Eliza wished they’d stop. She was conflicted enough, without having to think about the whole embarrassing episode again. She was glad when her phone tinkled and a notification flashed up: a message from Harry.

  ‘It’s Dad,’ she said. ‘I’d better read this.’

  DAD: Sweetheart – can we talk soonest? Trouble at mill. Might need to send you south.

  She tapped out a reply.

  ELIZA: Sure, Dad, FaceTime tonight? 7 p.m. OK? 9 a.m. your time, right?

  DAD: Yep. Goodnight from the South Pacific xx

  Eliza clicked on the camera icon, and Harry appeared. He was sitting on Janette’s deck sipping coffee, wearing sunglasses and a Panama hat, looking tanned and relaxed. The straight line of the horizon behind him bisected the deep blue of the Pacific and the cobalt blue of the sky.

  ‘Hello!’

  ‘Dad, you need to stop positioning your laptop like that. It’s not fair. Turn it round so there’s, like, a wall or something behind you.’

  ‘I thought you’d be interested to see where we are.’

  ‘Blue on blue. Sunny. Hot. I get it. Welcome to my shoebox.’

  She lifted her MacBook, panning around the room.

  ‘My shoebox years were some of my happiest,’ said Harry. ‘Youth is wasted on the young. How’s things?’

  ‘Good! Got an A on that Shakespeare essay.’

  ‘Another one. Excellent.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Auckland this week. Should be in time to see England thrash the All Blacks. Or vice versa, probably. Then we head to Sydney.’

  ‘Not so bad then, Dad?’

  ‘Coping. How’s the social life? Not all work and no play, I hope?’

  ‘Been playing a bit, with my friends.’

  ‘Girlfriends or boyfriends?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Anyone special?’

  ‘Nope. Mr Right doesn’t exist, I’ve decided.’ She paused. ‘I had a kind of a date last night, but he’s definitely Mr Wrong.’

  ‘Sometimes a bit of wrong is just what you need, right?’ Harry winked.

  ‘Dad . . . ’ Eliza shook her head.

  ‘I’ve been speaking to Terri.’

  ‘Gah!’ Eliza raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘She told me to sort out Maria without running to you! God, you two.’ Harry and Terri had always been thick as thieves.

  ‘Terri’s my eyes – I need hers until you’re back at Rose. Look, Maria’s really putting the wind up the staff. I know you two want to take responsibility, but we’re still in transition and I need to be sure there’s a safe pair of hands. Maria’s are distinctly dangerous. She needs to understand any changes in strategy or personnel have to be run past you. And she must copy you in on each and every managerial email. This is non-negotiable.’

  Eliza sighed. ‘I can try, but you know what she’s like with me.’

  ‘Go down for a weekend, talk it through, face to face. I know it’ll be difficult, but give it your best shot. If she won’t be told – well, we’ll have to bring in the board, and that could get messy.’

  ‘Urgh. I’ve got loads of coursework to get through. But yes, Rose must come first.’

  ‘Good. And then . . . how about flying down to Sydney at the start of your summer break?’

  Eliza perked up at once. ‘Really? That’d be great!’

  She’d been on Janette once before, on her maiden voyage around the Caribbean. The thought of spending time on the yacht again, in the sun with Harry and Clare, was most appealing.

  ‘I want you in that CEO position, the minute you finish next year. But I need to teach you . . . let’s say the finer points of corporate management.’

  ‘Oh, you mean a work trip. Well, I do want to talk to you more about expanding Rose’s production side too. Commissioning things.’

  Kit’s face appeared in her mind. Go away, I’m trying to concentrate.

  ‘Thinking ahead. That’s good.’

  ‘Can you email me your dates?’

  ‘Will do.’

  Harry sat back, putting his hands behind his head. ‘So, Lizzie. Saturday night. What are you up to?’

  ‘Seeing a movie with Mr Wrong.’

  ‘Excellent. What’s he like?’

  ‘Gorgeous. Probably bisexual. A stranger to fidelity. And totally the coolest person I know.’

  ‘Good grief.’

  ‘Gotta go, Dad. Love you.’ She blew kisses at the screen and ended the call.

  As she changed into a summery dress and denim jacket, she thought about Kit. This wasn’t a date date, but even so . . . that kiss. It was going to be a challenge not to stare at those lips.

  Chapter 5

  Eliza

  As they left the cinema, Kit let rip with his critique. Eliza smiled as she listened to his stream of words which, as usual, were almost impossible to follow as he referenced obscure works, writers and directors.

  ‘Shall we get food?’ she interrupted. ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘Food?’

  ‘It’s the stuff you eat.’

  ‘Must we?’

  ‘I’ll pay.’

  They found a table at Browns and, while Kit was in critique mode, Eliza took the opportunity to pick his brains on their current assignment: To what extent was Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice influenced by Marlowe’s The Jew of Malta?

  His insight was, as ever, remarkable.

  ‘How do you know all this stuff?’ she asked. ‘Seeing as you never attend lectures and don’t seem to do any actual work?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘You got a scholarship, right?’ she said.

  ‘I shouldn’t be here. I was meant to go to Cambridge.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘My father . . . it doesn’t matter.’

  It was as if his face had shut down. He sat back in his chair, looking around him at the other diners. ‘This place is boring.’

  ‘Where do you like to eat, then?’

  ‘I don’t, really.’

  She laughed. ‘So you don’t eat, you were meant to go to Cambridge – what else? Tell me about your family. I don’t even know where you’re from.’

  ‘It’s complicated. And not very interesting.’

  ‘It is to me. Anyway, it can’t be as complicated as mine.’

  ‘Tell me about yours, then. You can leave out the dad part, we all know about him.’

  ‘You first.’

  He went quiet, watching her over the rim of his beer glass. ‘OK. The parents travelled a lot for my father’s work, so I was sent away to school. No siblings. My mother died; I have a step-mother but . . . I don’t get on with my parents. We’re estranged.’

  ‘No! That’s terrible. Why?’

  ‘Said all I’m going to say.’

  ‘You don’t like your step-mother?’

  ‘Tell me about your complicated family.’

  His expression told her not to push it. Poor Kit.

  ‘My mum died too. I was pretty young – four.’

  ‘Really? That sucks.’

  ‘I remember her, though. Images of her, some of the things we did together. How she always smelled lovely. Then Dad remarried, to Janette. She was his third wife, after Katie and Mum. She was sweet. She died just after having Eddie, my little brother – he’s at Eton. Then, a couple of years later, Dad got married again, to Caitlyn. She was a lot younger than him, a reality TV star. Caitlyn Howe – do you remember her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, OK. Well . . . she died too.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Yeah. Most people know all this; I guess you’re not one for the tabloids?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Caitlyn was very beautiful, and a lot younger than him. I think Dad had a kind of mid-life crisis moment with her. But she was nice; I really liked he
r. Dad kicked her out when she cheated on him with a pop star. He decided she’d only married him for his money. She . . . Well, like I said, she died too. It was very sad.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Suicide.’

  ‘Shit.’ Kit picked up the salt cellar and started fiddling with it.

  ‘She was more fragile than anyone realized. I think there were drugs and a dodgy ex-boyfriend. To be honest, I don’t really know. Dad won’t talk about it. He won’t talk about my mum, either.’

  ‘How did your mum die?’

  Eliza twizzled the stem of her wine glass, not meeting his eye. ‘Some sort of blood poisoning. Toxic shock.’

  ‘Toxic shock?’

  Eliza looked up. He’d stopped fiddling with the salt cellar.

  ‘Yes. It was out of the blue. Then there was Clare, and she’s so lovely, perfect for Dad. They’re really happy together.’

  ‘So . . . five wives.’

  ‘Yes. And as you know, I also have a half-sister, Maria, from Dad’s first marriage.’

  They were quiet for a while.

  ‘I think,’ Eliza said eventually, ‘I have a problem with men because of my dad.’

  Where had that come from?

  The thought that had been blundering about her brain all day, like some amorphous blob, had finally crystallised into a question: was her reluctance to get romantically involved something to do with her father possibly being complicit in her mother’s murder?

  Possibly complicit. Who knew? She only had his word that it had been carried out without his knowledge. She trusted him, of course. And yet, by his own admission, there was a chance he ‘could have stopped it’.

  ‘I’m sorry I freaked last night. I don’t think it was the cider, actually.’

  ‘The hand of God, maybe,’ said Kit. ‘Telling you to keep the fuck away from me.’ He sat back in his chair, watching her.

  Those eyes. What did you call that colour? Hazel? Amber? Gold?

  ‘I thought you were an atheist.’

  ‘That was meant to be ironic.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Sometimes you’re quite difficult to follow.’

  ‘You want another drink?’

  ‘Better stick with water.’ She took a sip. ‘But like I said, sorry about the reluctant virgin moment. We’re all good, as mates? Even though . . . ’ she felt herself invisible-blushing, ‘kissing you was nice.’

  He held her gaze. ‘Eliza – it’s just sex, for me. It’s more than that for you.’

  ‘Haven’t you ever fallen in love?’

  ‘That perfect bliss? Romantic love is a ridiculous notion.’ Her eyes slid away from his, but with a will of their own travelled down to his lips. Oh god. Really, there was no part of that face that encouraged coherent thought.

  ‘You have a point. It’s kind of . . . logic doesn’t seem to be involved.’

  ‘Love’s just another name for desire,’ he said. ‘For connection, maybe. The need to not be on our own. It’s the worst of human frailties; turns people into morons.’

  She thought of Harry. ‘It makes good people behave terribly.’

  ‘But terrible behaviour is also part of being human.’ He grinned. ‘One of the best bits.’

  Eliza laughed. ‘You’re incorrigible. So fidelity isn’t ever a thing for you?’

  ‘Why would you restrict yourself to one type of . . . I don’t know. Ice cream. When there’s so many flavours out there.’

  ‘My dad—’

  ‘I know, you said. But the chances are you’ll end up with a bloke like him. Don’t women subconsciously look for someone just like their father? And you’re always talking about him.’

  ‘Then I’m doomed. Unless I’m a fifth wife. He got it right in the end.’

  He leaned forward again. ‘So – do we understand each other, Eliza?’

  ‘No more kissing?’

  He smiled. ‘Maybe on special occasions. You’re right, it was nice. Want to come to a party?’

  Two hours later, Eliza was chatting in the kitchen with a group of English students. Will had his arm draped around Leigh’s shoulder.

  ‘You two are cute together,’ said Eliza.

  ‘Eliza, darling,’ said Will. ‘What were you thinking, last night, with Kit? Was it a rush of blood to your fiery-red head? I thought you were my most sensible of friends.’

  ‘Cider makes fools of us all. Fear not, I have seen the error of my ways.’

  ‘Thank heavens for that.’

  ‘Where is he, anyway? I need to go home.’

  ‘Wrapped around a first year, last time I saw him,’ said Leigh.

  ‘And her friend,’ said Will.

  Leigh pulled a face. ‘He’s such a tart.’

  Eliza experienced a stab of something, and Leigh noticed.

  ‘You OK, Eliza?’

  ‘Yep, I’m fine. I guess you two will have to see me home, then.’

  Keeping her promise to Harry, Eliza went to see Maria the following weekend, staying in the St Katharine Docks apartment her father had retained after they’d moved to Richmond. Maria’s flat was upriver in Westminster, but on the phone she said she’d prefer to meet at the office.

  There was no hug, no kiss, barely a smile as Maria sat down at her desk, wordlessly indicating the chair opposite. She’d changed little in the past few years – same severe haircut, same sombre-coloured clothes worn with opaque brown tights and sensible shoes. Same thick eyebrows, drawn together in a frown.

  On the desk was a photo of Katie and Maria, and beside it a statuette of the Virgin Mary. The two objects filled Eliza with a strange sadness; a moment of sympathy for her solemn sister, who’d never seemed happy in all the years she’d known her.

  But the empathy was fleeting. The discussion was every bit as difficult as anticipated.

  ‘I agree there’s too much sleaze,’ she said, interrupting Maria’s diatribe on the degeneracy of the British public, ‘and, yes, we need to respect people’s privacy, but—’

  ‘My mission is to improve the moral landscape of the media. We need to reverse what’s happening. People today are unprincipled, perverted, godless—’

  ‘Can we just leave God out of it? You know the core value of our media is quality. Well, mostly. I admit there could be less fluff and gossip, but let’s go about it carefully and slowly.’

  Maria didn’t respond, her expression stony.

  Eliza carried on. ‘We should commission market research – back up any changes as being in response to the evolving attitudes of readers. Let’s tread the middle ground, do it subtly, encourage the editors to make changes, don’t order them or threaten them. Dad thinks—’

  ‘You really don’t get it, do you?’ Maria’s glare was fierce. ‘I don’t care what Father thinks. He’s the last person who should be offering an opinion on what matters to women. And he has no right to interfere; he agreed not to. What do you think you’re doing, running to him? You and Terri, that . . . unnatural woman.’

  ‘Unnatural? What do you mean?’

  ‘I won’t discuss this now. And I’m not going to shirk in my duty to the British public. And to God – He’s guiding me in this. It’s time to clean things up. All this focus on sex, and on . . . deviants. It has to stop. I intend to make family values the heart of our mission statement. I’ll send it to you when it’s finalized.’

  ‘Mission statement?’ said Eliza. ‘You can’t change that without the agreement of the board. Including Dad.’

  ‘We’ll see. And like I said, Father is irrelevant. Off on his pleasure boat with his fifth wife.’

  ‘Clare’s lovely! How can you speak about her like that?’

  ‘Father doesn’t deserve her.’ Maria’s eyes, fierce beneath her dark brows, settled on the photo of her mother. ‘And how can I respect him when he discusses things with you, away at university doing precisely nothing for the business, rather than me, slaving away, pushing back the tide of sleaze single-handedly. But it was always this way, wasn’t it? Difficult Maria and delightful
Eliza.’ The last sentence was spat out.

  ‘Look,’ said Eliza, trying to keep her tone reasonable. ‘It was you, me and Clare who told Dad to butt out of the business. You can hardly blame him for going travelling.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about him. I thought you were here to discuss strategy.’

  ‘You should give Dad a break. Doesn’t your religion say you should forgive people?’

  ‘You have to ask for forgiveness before God will grant it. And you have to be penitent – you have to mean it. Father is a nonbeliever and he lives a selfish life.’

  Things didn’t improve after that, and Maria snubbed her suggestion that they should find somewhere to eat and chat about life in general. Maria’s walls were impenetrable. All Eliza managed to extract was a vague promise to copy her in on emails, but Eliza doubted it would happen.

  Chapter 6

  Eliza

  Trinity term drew to a close, and the girls went round to Will and Kit’s for an end-of-term celebration. It was a poignant finish to a memorable year; Eliza knew the next would be far tougher, with finals to face. And in the meantime it was back to work at Rose, and into battle with Maria. But at least she had Sydney to look forward to.

  They ordered in a curry, then sat on the floor drinking wine.

  Kit was idly leafing through the Guardian. ‘Hey, look at this,’ he said, grinning. ‘Remind you of anyone?’

  The photo showed Donald and Ivanka Trump.

  Eliza scowled. ‘That’s not remotely funny. How dare you compare my father to that man. They’re not in the slightest bit alike.’

  ‘Wash your mouth out, Kit,’ said Leigh.

  ‘Daughter’s hot, though.’

  ‘Don’t ever mention them in the same breath again,’ said Eliza.

  ‘Jesus. Lighten up, babe.’

  ‘I’m not your babe.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’ He put an arm round her neck and kissed her head.

  She pulled away. ‘And thanks for abandoning me at that party, by the way.’

  ‘I’ll make it up to you.’

  ‘No, you won’t.’

  ‘Stop bickering, you two,’ said Will.

  ‘God, I’m going to miss you guys so much,’ said Frankie, laughing. ‘I can’t believe I won’t see you until October.’ She was off sailing around the Greek Islands.