The Santiago Sisters

by Victoria Fox

  Simone gasped. The girl was hands-down the most ravishing creature she had ever encountered. Her hair was long and sleek, her limbs slender and brown. Her eyes were huge and inky, the lashes impossibly thick. Her mouth was a rose bud.

  The girl stopped singing.

  ‘Hello,’ said Simone.

  Another child, nowhere near as appealing though clearly related, came in her wake. She, too, was brought up short at the sight of the uninvited guests.

  The gaucho said something to them. Simone held a hand out to the prettiest and tried not to let the other one’s glower put her off. The other one looked feral.

  ‘Hola,’ she stumbled, ‘me llamo Simone. Soy de Inglaterra. Cómo se llama?’

  There was a long silence. Gently does it, thought Simone, unwilling to blow the chance now it had arrived so conveniently in her lap. To imagine they were never even supposed to have come to this godforsaken place! But this was it. Here. Now. The One. And she saw it all clearly. She understood what was meant to happen, starting with securing this girl’s trust. Like coaxing a fox in from the cold.

  ‘Teresa,’ the girl replied, at last.

  Simone inhaled and exhaled deeply. ‘That’s a pretty name.’

  She turned to Michelle. ‘She’s it,’ she said.

  Michelle attempted discretion even though it was doubtful their company understood. ‘One thing at a time, Simone,’ she hissed. ‘Let’s not get carried away.’

  But Simone had never felt less carried away. She felt totally level headed, as if all she had done was to walk into a fate that had already been mapped for her. Teresa was the one. She was it! The beauty would be returning with her to London, even if Simone had to swim across the Atlantic with the child on her back, like a giant turtle.

  The gaucho led them inside. The kitchen was painfully basic, with a single wooden table, an iron stove, and a collection of battered pots and pans that hung from a rafter in the ceiling. Heavens! How did people live like this? Simone thought of her own kitchen, with her diamond-granite worktops and Sub-Zero Pro fridge freezer.

  A woman—their mother?—emerged from the hall. She was dressed in a tatty robe, her hair limp, and her eyes sunken. She and Simone appraised each other, across time, across continents; in another universe, the woman the other might have been.

  José addressed her. ‘Disculpa, señora, perdóname, pero puedo usar su fono?’The woman listened to the gaucho for a moment before pointing hesitantly into the back. Michelle followed, accompanied by José, until Simone pulled him to her. ‘You stay here,’ she commanded. ‘I need you to help me talk.’

  The woman, who would once have been beautiful but whose embittered expression robbed her of any lingering shred, eyed her suspiciously.

  ‘I have a proposition for you,’ said Simone, after introductions had been made. The air in that hot, Patagonian kitchen, glowing amber from the melting sun, seemed to vibrate with anticipation. ‘One that could change your life.’

  8

  Over supper that night, Julia was in an unusually good mood.

  ‘What a wonderful person Simone Geddes was,’ she kept saying. ‘And such good fortune that they should stumble across our lowly abode! I’m only glad that we were able to help—those poor women, breaking down in the middle of nowhere …’

  Calida ate quietly, while Teresita quizzed her. ‘Is she rich?’

  ‘Beyond our wildest dreams.’

  ‘Is she famous?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Julia said. ‘Simone’s an actress. She lives in a mansion in England.’ Their mother lifted her fork precisely to her mouth and chewed carefully. ‘We’re going to stay in touch and then I might have some exciting news to share with you.’

  Teresita danced up and down in her seat. ‘What news?’ she pressed, while Calida stayed quiet. Their visitor had unnerved her. It was as if the woman had deposited a trick in her wake, a sting in the tail, a nasty surprise, the nature of which would not be apparent immediately but would soon reveal itself in a horrible, startling flourish.

  Julia closed her eyes, as if with the effort of concealing a truth too thrilling to keep at simmering point. ‘Simone wishes to offer one of you girls a special vacation,’ she said, ‘as a way of thanks. To stay with her in London over the English summer.’

  Calida didn’t know why her mother bothered to make it a mystery. Maybe she wasn’t just embittered, maybe she was cruel too, and wanted to make Calida believe she had a chance at taking the prize before snatching it out of reach. Calida knew she would receive no invitation. Simone would prefer Teresita. Everyone preferred Teresita. Did Daniel prefer her? Ever since their disastrous trip into town, her twin had made it perfectly clear where her ambitions lay. Calida had been stupid to think she could pull off a stunt like that, anyway—chasing Daniel into a world she had no place in, not once stopping to think about his reaction, or whom he might be with, or what he would say. Teresita could wing these things, but she couldn’t. It had been so unlike her, her silly attempt to be more like her sister, and see how it had backfired.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if Teresita went away.

  ‘I can’t wait!’ Teresita could scarcely contain her excitement. Calida had seen the way her sister had eyed Simone’s jewellery, admired her gleaming car, envied her chic wardrobe and, at one point, salivated over the bulging wallet that the actress had laid down on the counter, fat with banknotes. This was what her twin desired.

  Afterwards, Calida stayed behind to wash the dishes. She recalled a phrase her papa had used, as they had lingered outside the store in town for her photographs to be developed. He’d stroked her hair and said: Good things come to those who wait.

  She couldn’t help wondering if bad things did, too.

  Later, when Julia had gone to bed, Calida sat on the veranda and gazed up at the stars. Are you there, Papa? Are you with me? If Diego were alive, he would be on her side. She wasn’t even sure what battle she was fighting, but she knew he would be on her side. Now, it seemed as if everything was slipping from her grasp, too fast, too much change, and she didn’t know who she was any more. She didn’t know who her twin was, and, in a lifetime of reflections, of using the other to define oneself, it was a question that frightened her to death. She longed to find a way to reach Teresita, to remind her that the bond they had was stronger than this. But she couldn’t.

  Her thoughts were punctured by the sound of laughter. She stood and followed. Who was her sister talking to? Julia had long since fallen asleep.

  It was with a growing sense of dread that she arrived at Daniel’s cabin, and heard Teresita talking inside. Her twin spoke animatedly and vivaciously—no wonder people liked spending time with her. Words didn’t come so easily to Calida; they seemed too important, too permanent. She’d never be able to charm Daniel that way.

  Anxious, she peered through the window, and saw the pair sitting at his table.

  Jealousy boiled in Calida’s blood. Her sister hung on to his every word, every so often touching his arm, or resting her chin on her hand in a way she had learned from their mother. Sensuous. The word, sinuous and sinister, sewed itself under Calida’s skin with a sharp needle. You’ll never be sensuous. You’re not pretty enough.

  ‘Calida’s confused, you know,’ Teresita was saying.

  Calida froze, her heart wedged in her chest. She wanted to interrupt, but all she could do was stay and listen, her feet rooted to the ground, her breath held.

  Daniel hesitated. ‘About what?’

  Teresita sighed as if she were about to expose a truth she would rather not. Calida saw their mother, again, in the mannerism. ‘She likes this boy …’ she began.

  ‘Oh,’ said Daniel. For a crazy second, Calida thought her sister was going to do the right thing, at last, to tell him how Calida felt, describe her unwavering commitment; although the prospect was appalling it was also a kind of relief—perhaps it took a soul as brave as Teresita’s to make it happen. But then she said:

  ‘It’s this boy in tow
n. She’s obsessed with him. That’s why we came to Las Estrellas. I kept telling her she should give up. She can be so desperate sometimes.’

  Calida began to tremble. Her ears rang, high and sharp.

  ‘She should set her sights lower,’ Teresita finished.

  Daniel looked confused. Disappointed. No, she couldn’t work out his expression. ‘I don’t think your sister needs to do that,’ he said.

  ‘She likes him because he’s rich. Money’s really important to her. Once, I suggested that you two might have a thing … but the fact is you’re not her type. Calida wants someone who can treat her—buy her things …’

  No! Calida silently stormed. No! That’s you! That’s all you! That’s not me!

  ‘Not like me,’ said Teresita, on cue. She put a hand over Daniel’s.

  Mud filled Calida’s mouth and lungs. Heat prickled her fingertips.

  ‘I really like you, Daniel.’ Teresita’s beauty was amazing in this light, her huge, soulful eyes glittering. ‘I’ve never kissed anyone before. Will you teach me?’

  Calida could hear no more. Without knowing how, she stumbled to the outhouse door, her vision splintering and a roar in her throat, and knocked.

  ‘I need Teresita at the house,’ said Calida, when Daniel answered. She was stunned at how steady she sounded. She even smiled for her sister. ‘It’s important.’

  Teresita shot Daniel a lingering look before slipping out into the night.

  ‘You can’t control me for ever, you know,’ she slammed, striding ahead through the dark. Calida didn’t respond. She was mute with hurt and fury.

  She watched the back of her sister’s head and for the first time ever, hated it. Calida had disliked her in the past, envied her, coveted her, but she’d never hated her.

  Only when they were in their bedroom, and Calida shut the door behind her, did she cough up the rope that was strangling her. ‘How dare you?’ she spat.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I heard everything. The lies you told Daniel.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘How could you?’ Calida choked. ‘I know you like him. I know you don’t care that I do as well. I might not understand it, but I know it. But how could you lie?’

  Teresita turned away, started fumbling pointlessly with her belongings.

  ‘Don’t you dare turn your back on me,’ Calida seethed.

  Her twin whirled round. ‘Don’t you dare tell me what to do! I’ve had enough of you telling me what to do!’

  ‘You knew how I felt,’ Calida said, her voice shaking, ‘how I feel.’

  ‘Am I not allowed to have feelings?’ Teresita lashed. ‘Have you got first dibs on those too? Tell me something, Calida: just what do I have that wasn’t yours first?’

  Calida blinked. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I’m sick of it.’ Teresita’s voice skidded, a flicker of vulnerability, but she caught it. ‘I’m sick of playing second. I’m sick of you deciding what my life should be. Can’t I have a little fun? Can’t I be my own person? Or do I have to ask your permission every time?’

  ‘It isn’t like that.’

  ‘It’s always been like that. And I thought you knew every little thing about me, Calida. You know me better than I know myself, right? That’s what you always say. Have you ever stopped to think about how that makes me feel? Like I don’t even have that. I don’t even have me, because you got there first!’

  ‘How can you say this? After everything I’ve done—’

  ‘I didn’t ask you for any of it! Just because you chose to hold my hand doesn’t mean I have to be grateful for it. You thought you were helping but all you were doing was holding me back. So, what, I’m supposed to kiss your feet for the rest of my life? Thank you for stifling my dreams? Carry a debt I never even wanted?’

  ‘I thought I was looking after you.’ Calida tried to understand, to see things from another point of view, but her thoughts jammed. ‘I’m your sister—’

  ‘No.’ Teresita looked deep into her eyes, that steely resolve the last remnant of the twin Calida recognised. ‘Let me tell you who you are, for a change. You’re someone I’m not sure I even like any more. You’re someone I’ve already left behind. You’re someone I don’t have anything in common with except the misfortune of a birthday.’

  Calida opened her mouth but no words came out.

  ‘Daniel’s not interested in you, Calida. I was doing you a favour. The longer you carry around this pointless torch, the more embarrassing it’s going to get.’

  Calida’s eyes filled with tears but she kept them from falling.

  ‘But he’s interested in you … right?’

  ‘He was an experiment,’ said Teresita. ‘To see if I could.’

  That was the worst part. At least if she cared, it might have made sense.

  Calida’s face burned. ‘So all this was for nothing.’

  ‘Not for nothing: he was a decent enough distraction.’

  ‘You don’t know a thing about him.’

  ‘I know more than you. I know he likes pretty girls—like me.’

  It was the first time their physical difference had been acknowledged: even at this hour, a cheap, callous shot. The words hit Calida like a punch.

  ‘Shut up,’ she whispered.

  ‘Why should I?’ Teresita threw back. Now the flame had been lit, an inferno galloped in its wake. All the suffocated hurt, the petty jealousies, the spite, all the hidden scars and buried grudges and smothered indignations, it all came tumbling out. ‘For once I won’t shut up when you tell me to—I won’t do a thing you say. I’m tired of doing what you say! And do you know what, Calida? If you’d given Daniel five more minutes, he’d have kissed me—and he’d have liked it. I’d have told you and loved every second, because finally I’d have something you didn’t have—I’d be the winner, not trailing behind, being told she’s too small or too precious or whatever you use to tie me down. I hate it here! I hate it! Can’t you see that?’

  Calida felt herself disintegrating, like a pillar of salt in the wind.

  There may have been a moment when Teresita could have reached out, like a hand over a cliff edge, and hauled them both to safety; a point at which it was still salvageable, the damage could be explained, taken back, remedied with trust and confidence and time.

  The moment never came.

  Calida saw red, then. She thought of all she had done for this person, loved and cared for her, put her first and kissed away her tears—and this was how she was repaid? Suddenly she was across the room, she didn’t know how, and her arm was in the air. She struck her twin round the face, sharp and clean, pushing her into the wall with a loud, sickening thump. Calida hit her again, and again, this perfect princess who had turned into a monster, her blows carrying the weight of a thousand soldiers.

  ‘I wish you’d just disappear,’ said Calida, when she was done.

  The words hung between them, growing in the silence, and the longer they hung there, unrescued, untempered by an antidote, the huger they became.

  ‘Simone Geddes is going to choose me,’ hissed Teresita. ‘You do realise that, don’t you? And when she does, and when I’m gone, I hope I never come back. I hope I never see you or this dying shit-hole ever again. I’m going to make it, Calida. Do you understand? I’m going to make it, far away, without your help or any fucking thing you do for me. I’m going to make it on my own.’

  Calida didn’t stay to hear any more.

  She turned on her heel and slammed the door behind her.

  9

  A week later, Teresa left for England.

  Simone Geddes organised her travel, starting with the glimmering car that collected her from the estancia, and a suited driver who touched his cap when she climbed in. It was cool inside; a citrusy fan that came from vents in the front. The seats were made of leather, polished and smooth and the colour of vanilla ice cream.

  The road dissolved in a blur as the car hurtled towards the airport.

  T
eresa held the locket around her neck, its pendant clutched in her palm. It was pebble-sized and gold. Diego had given both his daughters identical ones when they were small; she remembered the day she and Calida had unwrapped them, delicate in tissue, and had helped each other tie the catch. Packing the last of her things for London, Teresa had thought twice about bringing hers, had fastened it only at the last moment, a final, muddled grasp at the sister she didn’t say goodbye to.

  A tear slipped out of her eye. Fiercely, she wiped it away.

  She would not cry. She would survive. She didn’t need Calida.

  A sign flashed past. AEROPUERTO 10KM.

  Teresa closed her eyes. Simone’s invitation was a chance at the life she craved. A chance to leave the slums behind and head for the starlight …

  Besides, she would be back in a month—and it would all feel like a dream. She would confront her sister then. For now, she wouldn’t think of her at all.

  But it was her mama’s face that stayed with Teresa, then and all the way to England. How Julia had clung on tight as she’d said farewell, hardly able to speak through her tears. How she’d said to her: ‘I’ll always love you. This is for both of us.’

  10

  December 2014

  Night

  She woke with her hands bound. They were bound at her waist, the fingers clasped as if holding an invisible bouquet. Her ankles were tied, too. She kicked out and both legs moved together on the hinge of her knees. A dry expulsion, half breath, half groan, seeped from her throat and hit a damp, mysterious wall. Instinctively, she bit down. Her mouth was stuffed with cloth. Her lips were sealed with tape.

  At first it was pitch dark, then, as her eyes adjusted, she became aware of a faint, pulsing orange. It shone from high and crept across the floor in a ladder. She imagined climbing it, unsure which way was up, and escaping that way.

  Escaping what?

  The question emerged with little sense of urgency. She lived each second, gradually, one second then another, deciding whether or not she was alive.