Sisters

by Michelle Frances

  ONE

  Nineteen months later

  As the taxi climbed into the wooded hills just outside Portoferraio, Ellie stared out of the window, wrestling with what she could see. This Italian jewel of an island – still green even though it was nearly the end of July, where she could glimpse the glittering Tyrrhenian Sea through palms and pines – this was where she would be spending the next six weeks in a rare break from her relentlessly demanding job as a teaching assistant for rowdy adolescents. A job that had morphed into actually taking the responsibility for teaching them, as the usual staff member had been signed off indefinitely with stress. This place was a paradise and would be a balm to soothe her overburdened mind and soul, six weeks of utter escapism, if only one thing wasn’t bugging her: this was where her sister now spent the entire fifty-two weeks of her year. Because Abby had moved to the island of Elba, just off the coast of Tuscany, three months ago. She had, in fact, retired here.

  Retired. Just thinking the word made Ellie’s insides ripple with resentment. Abby could now live her life as she chose, never work again, frolic in the sunshine – what was it she said she’d recently taken up? Paddle-boarding, that was it. She could drift carefree across that sparkling sea for the next forty-odd years if she so wanted because Abby had achieved something remarkable: she had retired at the age of thirty-six.

  Ellie would be thirty-six herself in three years’ time but the notion of retirement made her laugh out loud – bitterly and with a sense that she still had three decades of a jail sentence to see out.

  The taxi wound its way into a pretty medieval village where cats basked on flagstones and the elderly cackled into their espressos as they sat outside a cafe. The smell of thyme and broom drifted through the open window. And the light! It seemed to cast a spell over everything, rendering her speechless with its beauty. Ellie had recently tried to introduce some romance into her Year Eights’ geography lesson, telling them the legend of Venus, who had risen from the waves, causing seven precious stones to fall from her tiara, which tumbled into the sea to create the seven islands off the Tuscan coast. Which one was Elba? she wondered. The forest gleam of an emerald? The deep azure of a sapphire? Or a perfectly cut diamond that reflected a kaleidoscope of colours?

  They pulled up outside a villa and Ellie sat up. So this was Abby’s house. It wasn’t palatial, and it didn’t draw much attention in looks. Ellie had pictured something resembling holiday-brochure utopia. She should have known better; Abby was never one to splash the cash. In fact, this house seemed modest, ordinary even, with just a few token decorations. Two small pots either side of the front door held a single red geranium plant each, and an apricot bougainvillea blended humbly into the ochre walls. This was where Abby lived with her new husband, whom Ellie had never met.

  The front door opened and Abby appeared, hand raised to shade her eyes from the sun. Ellie hadn’t seen her for nineteen months but nothing had changed. She still wore the same old faded denim skirt she’d had for a decade, topped by a cheap T-shirt.

  Ellie got out of the car and took her suitcase from the driver as he heaved it out of the boot. Once she’d paid him, she turned to face her sister properly. The last time they’d seen each other, tensions had been high. Now they had a chance to start again. Time to form a proper sisterly bond.

  TWO

  Abby watched as her younger sister stepped out of the cab. The sun was directly behind Ellie and lit up her long, wavy blonde hair, making it glow as it caught in the breeze. Her legs were visible through her white summer dress, the sun outlining their length and shapeliness. Abby shielded her eyes, noting the admiring look the taxi driver cast in Ellie’s direction, feeling the familiar tug of inferiority. She self-consciously touched her own mousy, straight hair, surreptitiously tried to fluff out its thinness, an automatic tic that had begun in childhood.

  Ellie was walking towards her then and Abby smiled broadly. At the threshold, both sisters stood for a moment before going in for an air kiss, with a light brush of a hand on a shoulder.

  ‘Come in,’ said Abby, leading Ellie through the hall into the kitchen. ‘Would you like a drink?’ she asked, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of local lemonade. She’d bought it specially, thinking Ellie would like it.

  Ellie nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Good journey?’

  ‘Yes, fine. It’s a beautiful island,’ she declared generously.

  Abby smiled. As she poured some lemonade into three glasses, she heard the thunder of bare feet come running down the stairs.

  ‘Ciao! Benvenuta!’ exclaimed her husband as he entered the room, immediately clasping Ellie on her upper arms and kissing her on both cheeks. Abby couldn’t help but notice Ellie’s instantly warm smile, saw Matteo’s fingers on her sister’s bare skin. Her husband still had that ‘just woken up’ look about him as he’d been on shift the previous night. He’d thrown on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, the only thing he ever wore when he was out of his police uniform, and his clothes emphasized his tanned, muscular arms and thighs. He was one of those lucky people who were effortlessly sexy. Bit like my sister, she thought.

  She handed her husband and sister a glass of lemonade and lifted her own. ‘I’m really glad you could come,’ she said to Ellie, thinking she ought to say something welcoming and polite.

  ‘Thanks for inviting me.’

  ‘To the holidays!’ said Matteo enthusiastically, and they all clinked glasses and laughed.

  Abby saw Ellie’s eyes slide across to the kitchen wall tiles, a quizzical look appearing on her sister’s face at the squares of wafer-thin plastic hanging off them. They looked like strange, peeling layers, as if the tiles were shedding a clear skin.

  ‘Cling film,’ said Matteo, amused. ‘Abby thinks we should reuse it. So she washes it and sticks it on the tiles to dry.’

  And why not? thought Abby. There’s nothing wrong with the cling film, so why not save money?

  ‘Was she always this thrifty?’ Matteo asked Ellie, as he came over to kiss his wife.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ellie. ‘Ever since she got her first pay packet.’

  Abby listened for a note of rancour in her sister’s voice but heard none. She was starting to feel claustrophobic.

  ‘I thought we could go for a swim,’ she said, finishing her drink. ‘Why don’t I give you a quick tour and show you your room, and once you’re settled in, put your swimsuit on and I’ll meet you on the patio.’ She looked at Ellie and smiled. ‘Fancy it?’

  Abby led her sister across the patio away from the house rather than round the front towards the car. Ellie was puzzled. ‘There’s a path back here,’ explained Abby, crossing the terraced garden. She indicated just beyond a languid, low-level pine to a set of steep steps that seemed to beckon enticingly and then disappeared out of view. Abby felt her sister stall momentarily, but when she looked back, Ellie quickly smiled and, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder, followed her down the steps. Matteo was already at the bottom, laying out towels on a rocky shelf at the edge of which lapped the crystal-clear Tyrrhenian Sea.

  Ellie stared. ‘Is this yours? I mean, is it private?’

  ‘Er . . . yeah.’

  ‘Wow. Your own beach.’

  ‘It’s not a beach,’ said Abby.

  ‘Next you’ll have your own boat.’

  Abby saw Ellie’s gaze move around the rocks to a simple mooring, off which was tied a small boat.

  ‘Oh. You already do.’

  Abby pulled off her clothes, turning self-consciously so Ellie didn’t see her shoulder. Underneath she was wearing an old bikini.

  ‘Coming in?’ she asked, and her sister nodded and slipped out of her dress. They both plunged into the blissfully cool water and, as they surfaced Abby gazed around her. It was a view she loved. They could see for miles, the sea stretching out in an endlessly winking blue. Abby sometimes wondered if it moved her soul so much because she’d spent fifteen years in an office in the City of London with no outside window,
getting very little natural light and, in winter, never seeing daylight at all.

  They swam for a while, then Matteo said he was going to go out further, but the girls preferred to warm themselves in the sun. They lay back on their towels, welcoming the heat on their skin. Ellie had been quiet during the swim and, as they sunbathed and the minutes ticked by silently, Abby felt herself grow nervous, sensing the awkwardness between them. It wasn’t altogether unsurprising. When Abby had emailed the invitation, back in June, it was a spur of the moment thing that had been sent out of guilt for refusing to help her sister in what was, frankly, a ludicrous request. She hoped Ellie had got over it by now, or at least seen that it had been impossible.

  ‘How’s work?’ asked Abby.

  ‘Hideous.’

  ‘Oh. Why?’

  ‘The usual. No money for the school to buy textbooks for the ungrateful bastard teenagers who don’t want them anyway. And yet, we still have to get the results. It’s a bit like being a potato farmer but you have to dig the field by hand and you spend the entire growing season battling floods and poor top soil.’

  Abby smiled. ‘Are you likening your students to spuds?’

  ‘Not all of them.’

  ‘Do you hate it?’

  Ellie paused. ‘There are moments of satisfaction, especially when you see a kid’s eyes light up. But mostly, it’s tough.’

  ‘Ever fancy a change?’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Anything.’

  ‘I was never the high-flyer. Not like you.’

  Abby bit her lip. It was true, Ellie had struggled at school. Ever since she’d fallen ill, aged five. There had been recurring bouts of nausea and diarrhoea, which led to time off school. Lots of time off school. It had also affected her thinking. Sometimes she’d been confused, had looked at them in puzzlement when asked simple questions, such as what she wanted for breakfast. As the doctors had searched for a diagnosis, months had passed and Ellie had fallen behind in her learning. Their mother, Susanna, had decided she was best off home-schooled for a while, something that had made Abby seethe with resentment—

  ‘I can’t ask you the same question anymore,’ said Ellie, interrupting her thoughts.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘“How’s work?”’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, how’s retirement? It’s been, what – three and a half months now?’

  Abby paused, knew she was on sensitive ground. But still, she didn’t want to lie. ‘Nice. Relaxing.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Well, no. I mean, I realize I’m very lucky . . .’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘But sometimes I feel like it’s such a contrast to what I was doing before, it feels odd. Alien.’ Ellie was silent and Abby knew she’d annoyed her. ‘I’m not complaining.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘It’s just going from fourteen-hour days to nothing . . .’

  ‘You’re not alone, you know. With your fourteen-hour days. Lots of us work ridiculous hours. Many for less pay. Some of us can barely keep it together. Make ends meet.’

  Abby’s skin prickled with irritation and the guilt resurfaced. So Ellie hadn’t got over it. She wondered about bringing it up but knew instantly it would kill this reunion stone dead and so she kept silent. When she’d received the email from her sister earlier in the year (after months of silence) she’d been rendered speechless. Ellie had written with a request for a loan so she could buy a place to live rather than rent. Abby had been astounded at the notion Ellie thought she could just lay her hands on a hundred and twenty thousand pounds for a deposit. Even if she could, she didn’t believe in paying through the nose for a tiny Victorian conversion flat just because it was in a ‘cool’ part of town.

  ‘I decided to save my money, not spend it. For years.’

  ‘If I had any left over to save, I would.’

  Abby sighed. ‘You do, Ellie.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Still living in South Wimbledon?’ Her sister’s lack of response confirmed she was. ‘Why don’t you pack in the London rent and move further out – Coulsdon in Surrey, for example? It’ll probably cost you less than half.’

  ‘Never heard of it. And anyway, I need to be near school, especially with the hours I do.’

  ‘It’s in zone six. Still a doable commute. Look, I don’t want this to become an argument. Can’t we just try to get on? Put everything else aside and just enjoy some time together?’

  Abby saw her sister shift on her towel, trying to get comfortable.

  ‘Bit hard, isn’t it?’ said Ellie.

  ‘You get used to it,’ replied Abby, clipped. She was not in the mood to hear her sister’s digs at the lack of sunbeds.

  Matteo swam back up to the rock and pulled himself out of the water. He shook his head, sending sparkling drops flying into the air. Abby looked up at him towering over them both, the sun lighting the water droplets running down his body. What was it with Italian men and their insistence on wearing tight swimwear? Nice for her, but . . . She glanced over at Ellie in her yellow bikini and noticed, not for the first time, how it clung to the roundness of her perfect bottom and brushed against her pert breasts. She tried to see if her sister had noticed Matteo’s near-naked body, but Ellie was starting to get up.

  ‘I might just go back to the house,’ she said. ‘Get some more sun cream.’

  As Abby watched Ellie stalk up the steps, in what she knew to be barely suppressed anger, she felt a pang of anxiety.

  Damn her guilty conscience. Not for the first time since she’d sent it, Abby was regretting her invitation. She was beginning to think the next six weeks with her sister might be the longest of her life.

  THREE

  As Ellie reached the top of the steps and Abby’s modest house came back into view, she felt as if it were mocking her for her earlier dismissive thoughts. It wasn’t about the house at all; it was about the house’s position, with its own goddamn path down to a private platform, from where you could swim in your own private bit of sea. Anytime you wanted. It was just another thing to add to Abby’s perfect, lucky life.

  She stepped into the cool of the villa and took a long, deep breath. She had to stop letting everything that Abby had, and that she didn’t have, get to her. But it was hard when every day back home was a struggle, when she’d have to lug a bag full of marking home every evening – and, no, she couldn’t move to that place in Surrey that she’d already forgotten the name of, because the idea of carrying a ton of books back and forth on public transport made her want to cry. Even more so lately, after her recent bombshell. Something she hadn’t told anyone about yet. Truth was, she couldn’t bear to. She was always so tired, so very, very tired. And if she had to spend three hours a night marking essays written by teenagers who spent more time thinking up japes such as drawing a box halfway through their work with a ‘Tick here if read so far’ message, than they did putting any effort into the actual content, then why shouldn’t she treat herself to a nice bottle of wine to ease her through her evening? She deserved it. As she did the new yellow bikini for this much-needed holiday. And the gym membership so she could get out of the flat on the freezing, dark winter weekends, and the occasional massage to relieve the tension in her shoulders, and any of the other small treats she gave herself just to be able to get through the relentless uphill battle of the weeks.

  Screw Abby and her judgemental attitude. It was easy to save if you could put enough away to actually make a difference; if you could envisage a goal that might be achieved within your own lifetime. It was even more galling that Abby was suggesting places she, Ellie, could live when Abby had refused to use some of her fortune to help her own sister get on the property ladder.

  Ellie had been stunned when she’d received the point-blank refusal from Abby, without even a suggestion that they might discuss it. It had burned even more because Abby, being that bit older, had managed to get her own place over a decade ago. She’d had a
decent job straight from graduation and during the recession of 2008, when prices had tumbled, she’d bought her first flat. At the time, Ellie had been earning next to nothing as a trainee teaching assistant and, even if she’d had a deposit saved, she wouldn’t have been given a mortgage on her tiny salary. Over the years Ellie had watched as the goal of being a homeowner had drifted ever further out of reach, with prices rising far higher than her pay. Of course, the value of Abby’s flat was also rising and Ellie had googled its worth one dark, miserable evening at home in her rented apartment. In two years it was worth over a hundred thousand pounds more than what Abby had paid for it. One hundred thousand pounds! Abby had acquired all that money by doing sweet nothing. Ellie had been so depressed at this sense of being left behind that she’d booked a weekend away in Istanbul to cheer herself up. It had been a much-longed-for dose of sunshine during a grey February half-term.

  Ellie knew Abby still had that flat (now worth double what she’d paid for it), and she rented it out. To some poor mug just like herself, forced to line someone else’s pockets, as they couldn’t afford their own home.

  Engulfed by resentment, Ellie poured herself a glass of cool water from the kitchen tap and drank half of it back. If she wasn’t going to go mad with envy during her stay with her sister she had to get a grip.

  She placed the glass down on the worktop and climbed the stairs to go and get the sun cream. Then she would return to the swim platform, poised and calm. Dignified.

  She paused outside the first room upstairs, which Abby had said was her and Matteo’s bedroom. She peeked inside, her eyes briefly lingering with curiosity over the light, airy room with its rustic furniture. Abby wouldn’t waste money on a decent dressing table or wardrobe. There was a simple wooden double bed with white covers and a chair with what looked like Matteo’s uniform tossed on it.

  There was another room next door that Abby hadn’t shown her, and the door was shut. She opened it to find a small box room, in which an easel had been erected. Resting on it was a half-finished acrylic – amateur, obviously – a seascape drawn from the platform at the bottom of the steps. Ellie cocked her head as she looked at it – it had an earnest quality to it; the colours were too bright but it tried hard. Other canvases lay stacked against the wall, nearly all of them of the house, the garden and the sea view from the platform. Ellie wondered who’d painted them – Matteo or Abby – and then she saw the little signature in the bottom right-hand corner: ‘AM’. For a moment she wondered who that was, but then remembered that Abby was no longer a Miss Spencer like herself, but for three months now had been a Mrs Morelli – Signora Morelli. Ellie hadn’t been invited to the wedding – nor had their mother – as Abby had somehow persuaded Matteo she wanted something small and private, and they’d surprised Ellie and Susanna with an email and a photo of the happy couple outside Portoferraio town hall.