Sister to Sister

by Olivia Hayfield

  She opened the front door. ‘Welcome to my humble abode. Mangy old carpet, very little white, and I’m afraid no espresso machine – only a plunger.’

  She was aware of her friends’ heads poking round the living room doorway.

  ‘But I do have a Frankie and a Leigh. Come and meet them.’

  He stepped inside and held out the bouquet. ‘Cliché bunch of flowers, but at least they’re not roses.’ Their scent competed with cool evening air and citrusy aftershave.

  She took them from him and kissed his cheek. ‘They’re gorgeous, thank you.’

  He kissed her on the lips, pulling her to him. He didn’t stop, and her pulse began to race.

  ‘Maaaan,’ said Leigh, behind her.

  He stopped and peered over Eliza’s shoulder. ‘Leigh?’

  ‘Hello, Rob. Are there any more like you at home?’

  ‘And I’m Frankie.’ She came to stand by Leigh’s side. ‘Welcome, Rob. We have wine, but there’s beer if you prefer. And crisps. We know how to live, here at number twenty.’

  Rob was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. ‘A wine would be nice. But first I should get out of my London and put on my Oxford. Although I don’t have a scarf, and I’m unsure as to sweatshirt or jumper. What do you think?’

  ‘A tightish T-shirt should do it,’ said Leigh.

  ‘My friends are shameless, I do apologize,’ said Eliza. ‘Come upstairs, I’ll show you to your room.’

  ‘My god,’ said Rob, as he took off his work shirt and rifled through his holdall. ‘They’re dangerous.’

  ‘Incorrigible,’ said Eliza.

  ‘I love them already.’

  ‘Clearly reciprocated.’

  ‘So . . . this is your bedroom.’ He looked around at the art posters, the framed photos of Harry, Clare and Eddie, the one of Ana; piles of books on the floor, clothes slung over a chair.

  ‘Sorry, slightly messy. But I hoovered.’

  He kissed her. ‘Do you want to stay up here for a bit, or would that be antisocial?’

  ‘We’ve got all weekend. If those two let me near you.’

  Downstairs, the girls had opened a second bottle of wine. Eliza watched Rob turning on the charm. He was shameless too. But Rob was Rob, and she enjoyed the banter as he sat between her two friends on the sofa.

  She went to the kitchen, returning with a bag of Kettle Chips.

  ‘Crisps!’ she said, throwing them at Leigh, who caught them, saying, ‘Dinner! Where would we be without the humble potato?’

  They’d arranged to meet Will and Kit at the pub. The boys were already there, standing close, sharing what looked like an intimate joke.

  Rob raised his eyebrows at Eliza. ‘Are they a thing?’ he muttered.

  ‘Who knows?’ she said.

  The evening was a raucous one. Will and Kit were living up to their vow of hedonism, having already spent the afternoon drinking together. Frankie, Leigh and Eliza did their best to catch up, whipping Rob along with them. Will and Kit laid into Rob about his designer stubble, pretty hair and expensive clothes, but he gave as good as he got.

  ‘Eliza,’ said Will, ‘we love Rob. But what does he have that I have not? What is he that I am not?’

  ‘He’s not a tosser,’ said Eliza. ‘Of curls.’

  They went on to a party, got gloriously drunk, and by the time they were home Eliza didn’t have to worry about sleeping with Rob. She passed out on his chest, fully clothed.

  Nobody got up before noon. Eliza and Rob lay in each other’s arms, talking, kissing, a little more, but not a lot, because every time Eliza shut her eyes, the world lurched.

  ‘Do you party like that all the time?’ said Rob.

  ‘You mean excessively?’

  ‘Like there’s no tomorrow.’

  ‘Will and Kit have made a commitment to hedonism. We’re just supporting them in that.’

  ‘Kit’s . . . I found it hard to get a handle on him.’

  ‘Nobody can. He’s a complete enigma.’

  ‘What you said before – he’s bi?’

  ‘He’s everything. He’ll probably hit on you at some stage. Just warning you in advance.’

  ‘Even though he knows I’m with you?’

  ‘The concept of fidelity is beyond his understanding.’

  Rob propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at her. He licked a finger and wiped beneath her eye.

  ‘Probably should’ve washed my face before bed.’

  ‘You look . . . dissolute. It’s sexy.’

  He kissed her, and as she closed her eyes the bed seemed to drop away. She opened them again.

  He carried on. What must she taste like? Pretty gross, surely? She sensed he was digging in for the long haul, as things heated up. She so didn’t need this right now.

  ‘Sorry, I think I’m going to be sick.’

  She walked quickly to the bathroom and slammed the door, wincing at the noise it made. Then she sat on the toilet, her head in her hands.

  Eliza didn’t feel sick, just gross. And not at all sexy. She didn’t need to put herself through the whole lovely build-up/major panic business again, certainly not right now.

  She gave it five minutes, flushed the toilet and made her way back to the bedroom.

  To her surprise, Rob was up, a towel round his waist. ‘Is the shower free?’

  ‘Oh, yes. No one else is up yet.’

  He left the room.

  Eliza went over to her mirror and took in the panda eyes, the tangled hair. Those she could deal with. The mess in her head wasn’t so easy to sort out.

  After taking a shower she set about restoring life to her face with a little make-up. Now she looked a whole lot better than she felt.

  Rob was alone in the living room, sipping coffee. ‘I made you one,’ he said, indicating a steaming mug. ‘We could go and find brunch?’

  The thought of food almost made her gag.

  ‘Not up to it,’ he said, noticing.

  ‘How come you’re looking so fresh?’

  ‘I didn’t mix my drinks, paced myself. I like to stay in control.’

  She picked up her coffee and sat on his lap. ‘I’m sorry. You must think I’m a disgrace.’

  ‘You seem different here, that’s for sure. But hey, you were a wild child too.’

  ‘Only when I was with you. You led me astray. Shall we go punting? We could take wine – hair of the dog.’

  ‘Yes to the punting, but let’s lay off the booze? Because . . . I’d like us both to stay in control today. I’m going home tomorrow, so tonight – Lesson Two?’

  Eliza’s stomach clenched. It could have been for one of three reasons: hangover, nerves or anticipation.

  Rob was in the living room with Frankie and Leigh, the sound of their laughter floating up the stairs. Eliza was changing for the evening. She mulled over her underwear selection.

  She felt her spirits sagging, and wished she could just go to sleep, curled up in Rob’s arms. But that wouldn’t do. Rob was on a mission, convinced he could make her want him enough. Would he be as understanding this time, if it all turned to custard?

  Eliza was fairly sure it would.

  They ate at a candlelit bistro a few streets away, and as always the conversation was easy, fun, relaxed.

  ‘Hey, a quick work thing while I’ve got you,’ she said, as they started on their main course. ‘What do you think about Rose TV commissioning original content – drama, movies, maybe. Good-quality stuff.’

  ‘Sounds great. I could speak to a few people? But that’s probably not my job. I might be stepping on toes.’

  ‘Hm, you know what Dad says? If you can’t promote someone over their manager, create something new for them.’

  He laughed. ‘How would that look, making a fancy new position for your boyfriend?’

  ‘I’m talking theoretical – at the moment. I’d love you to read some of Will and Kit’s stuff, there’s nothing out there like it.’

  ‘I can believe it.’ His voice was deadpan
.

  ‘I’m totally seeing you as a wheeler-dealer producer, sweet-talking money out of film and TV executives. Maybe even Hollywood ones, eventually. You’d be a natural. What do you think?’

  She saw him visualising that ‘fancy new position’.

  ‘I think whatever you set your mind to, me and you can make it happen.’

  ‘What a team we’re going to be, Rob.’

  The relaxed conversation, the candlelit dinner, just one glass of wine. It all set Eliza up nicely for what was to come.

  In her black lacy underwear, she lay down on the bed, fanning her hair across the pillow.

  Lesson Two was every bit as lovely as Lesson One, and Eliza wondered if this time . . .

  Rob was utterly confident it would happen, she could tell. His lack of hesitation, his assurance, gave her own confidence a boost, and once again they reached the point where he asked: ‘Do you want me now, Lizzie?’

  She did.

  And then she didn’t. It all crashed again. Her eyes flew open, full of fear.

  He lay down on his back and pulled her on top of him. ‘Try it this way. You’re in control.’

  But the moment had passed; she couldn’t do this.

  She buried her face in his chest and burst into tears. ‘Rob, I think there’s something wrong with me. I think I have . . . issues.’

  He stroked her hair. ‘How do you mean, issues?’

  ‘I think . . . deep down, maybe I don’t trust men. Can’t get intimate with them. Because of Dad.’

  ‘But you and he get on so well – you’re very close.’

  ‘Yes, we are. But . . . his history, the way he treated Mum, and his first wife, and Caitlyn. Cheating on them, turning his back on them.’

  ‘Perhaps you should see someone? Like, a therapist?’

  She pictured it – an earnest psychiatrist asking about her relationship with her father; encouraging her to explore her body.

  ‘I can’t do that, I just can’t!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Too embarrassing,’ she said, sniffing.

  ‘I think I’ve done all I can.’

  ‘And it was lovely. Right up until the last part.’

  And then it came to her. ‘I’ll talk to Clare. She’ll know what to do.’

  ‘Good plan. Look, Lizzie, I’m not going to lie. I don’t know how long I can go on like this. I haven’t had sex in months.’

  Eliza’s eyes widened. ‘Rob! Is it really that important to you?’

  ‘Yup. I want you very, very much.’

  ‘Oh. I understand. I think. Well, obviously not as well as you do. Let me talk to Clare. But I’ve got finals coming up. It might take me a while.’

  He looked at her for a moment, then smiled. ‘In which case I might have to give you a different sort of lesson. I’m only human.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Let’s try a little experiment . . . ’

  Chapter 20

  Eliza

  As finals approached, Eliza went to ground, revising hard, venturing out only for tutorials. It was a grind, and she was feeling the pressure, so FaceTiming Rob in the evenings was welcome relief.

  His banter always made her laugh and – well, he was one of the few people she knew who looked good on an iPhone screen.

  When Maria returned from her honeymoon, however, the ‘How’s work?’ part of their conversations became noticeably less upbeat. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Rob said, when Eliza remarked on the fact. ‘Just concentrate on your exams.’

  But eventually she prised it out of him. The sales team was battling an attempt by Maria to bring TV offerings in line with the new family values mission statement. This involved a new rating system, bleeping out expletives from each and every programme, and cutting scenes that Maria considered too graphic. Content that was less explicit but which still crossed her line would be scheduled for viewing after ten p.m., which was a nightmare watershed for the sales team to work with. It would all be expensive to do and complicated to organize.

  ‘It’s what the bloody parental lock’s for,’ said Rob. ‘And we already have the whole “sexual content may offend” thing. But what’s really freaking everyone out is that she’s requesting schedules way ahead, and scrubbing anything that doesn’t fit her family values. It’s censorship, based on two people’s personal prejudices.’

  ‘Yep,’ Eliza replied, ‘and it’s so off brand. Rose is all about pushing boundaries, not turning back the clock. I appreciate you telling me, Rob. Try and ride it out. I’ll be there in a few weeks, and Dad’s keeping close watch. Don’t push back – I don’t want her marking your card. And keep me informed – be my spy?’

  ‘I will. But don’t fret. Just keep your head down and ace those finals, Lizzie.’

  Eights Week provided welcome relief from the pressure of exams and sister-related worries, thanks in no small part to Pimm’s.

  It was early evening, and the five of them were sitting on the grass opposite the boathouses at Christ Church Meadows, watching the last of the races.

  ‘Rowing – pfft,’ said Frankie, as a boat swung into the centre of the Thames to avoid being bumped by the one behind. ‘Where’s the skill in that?’

  ‘It’s absurd,’ said Kit.

  He was looking gloriously pretty today, in a disreputable way, with his ripped jeans, bare feet, and a tight black T-shirt. Had he cut his hair all year? It fell over his eyes, and Eliza couldn’t resist shuffling over and pushing it back.

  ‘Better,’ she said. ‘You have the most beautiful eyes, Kit. Why do you hide them?’

  ‘Steady, Eliza,’ said Leigh, sipping her Pimm’s. ‘This stuff’s a lot stronger than it tastes.’

  ‘Don’t listen to her,’ said Kit with his lazy smile. ‘Let Bacchus be your guide.’

  ‘The wine chap?’ said Eliza. She took a long drink then turned her straw towards Kit, slipping it between his lips.

  Holding her gaze, he sucked.

  ‘Also general intoxication,’ he said, ‘fertility and . . . ’ He leaned forward and kissed her quickly, but not that quickly. ‘Ecstasy.’

  She tasted mint. ‘Mmm. Kit, you’re too delicious.’

  ‘He who sups with the Devil has need of a long spoon,’ he said, running a finger down her bare arm. ‘I have brought you a ladle.’

  She shivered.

  ‘Kit, get off Eliza’s shoulder,’ said Will. ‘Come sit on mine instead.’

  ‘Food, we need food,’ said Frankie, ‘or we’ll never make it to sunset.’ She handed round sandwiches and crisps from a carrier bag.

  ‘Remember how last year we had a hamper with actual plates?’ said Leigh.

  ‘And fancy nibbles from Marks & Sparks,’ said Eliza.

  ‘Now look at us,’ said Frankie, glancing over at Kit, who was lying down with his eyes closed, looking like a beautiful homeless person.

  As the races finished and the crowds left, die-hard students partied on into the night. One team set fire to an old rowing eight, and people danced, silhouetted in the flames. Girls and boys were kissing in the darkness, and the wine flowed on. Others, including Will, jumped into the river.

  Eliza embraced Bacchus that night. In a matter of weeks, Oxford would be a memory, she’d be battling it out with Maria, and there was the whole virgin situation to be faced. So for now, she’d live in this moment, sobriety and the future be damned. She flung caution to the winds, threw off her clothes, and joined Will in the river.

  Trinity term drew to a close, and Leigh was the last to finish her exams. Traffic on the High Street ground to a halt as students spilled out of the exam hall, red carnations pinned to their gowns, blinking in the sunshine, unable to believe it was all over.

  As tradition demanded, Eliza and the others met her outside and sprayed her in confetti and champagne, then they left arm in arm for the pub. At sunset, they collected blankets, food and wine, and took it all down to the river.

  Later, as a distant bell chimed the midnight hour, calling time
on their Oxford years, their last night progressed into something which, looking back, Eliza would never quite understand.

  She was prone on the grass, gazing up at the moon and stars above. After drinking for so many hours, coherent thought was no longer possible; there was only sensation and emotion.

  Linkin Park’s ‘Minutes to Midnight’ was playing out of a Bluetooth speaker, the singer’s fragile voice and the acoustic guitars flinging Eliza’s soul up to the heavens. She was feeling bereft. She didn’t want this to end, didn’t want to go back to London. She wanted to stop time.

  Kit appeared beside her, a silhouette in the moonlight, his hair silvery. ‘Come with me.’

  ‘Not sure I can stand up.’

  He hauled her to her feet, and she leaned on his chest and put her arms round his waist. They danced together, barefoot on the cool grass, and he said, ‘You wanted to stop time.’

  ‘You can read my mind. How is this possible?’

  ‘I always know what’s in your head,’ he said softly. ‘And in here.’ He placed his hand on her heart, and she felt its heat.

  ‘Marley, your powers are not of this world.’

  ‘We’ve been here before, Eliza. Don’t you feel it? Time isn’t the same for everyone.’

  ‘Kit, please don’t do the existential thing. I’m not strong enough tonight.’

  He took her hand, pulling her away from the river.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  He led her to an ancient oak, and into its shadows. He sat down, resting against the gnarly old tree trunk. Eliza slumped between his legs, her back against his chest, her head on his shoulder. They sat quietly, looking out across the water meadow, bathed in moonlight.

  The silver air crackled with magic.

  Kit held up his phone and snapped a selfie, then showed it to her. Their faces were beautiful in monochrome; Eliza’s skin was glowing, Kit’s hair pale as he leaned his head on hers.

  A soft breeze rustled the leaves above them.

  ‘Send that to me? I’ll keep it for ever. Me and you. Here, now.’

  ‘For ever, now. It’s all the same. Time isn’t linear. It runs in circles, in loops.’

  ‘So now you’re a physicist? How do you know these things?’