The Ugly Sister

by Jane Fallon

  When she gets back down to the ground floor, expecting to see Jon and the two girls already waiting impatiently for her beside the fire exit they agreed on as their meeting point, she’s surprised to see there’s no sign of them. She checks her watch. She’s a couple of minutes late. She wonders if they got impatient and headed outside already, and she’s about to go and check when she hears a voice shouting, ‘Auntie Abigail, look!’

  Abi tries to see where the voice is coming from. The ground-floor exhibit is of oversize wooden sculptures, smooth as hazelnuts, with a complex arrangement of stairs carved up the sides of them and through the middle of each one. There are branch-like structures joining them high up with tunnelling through the centre and along the top, and these serve as walkways, probably forty feet up. A hole at the bottom of one nut seems to be spilling people out of it, so she guesses there’s some kind of slide inside. As an art exhibit it leaves her cold, but as a climbing frame it’s fantastic. People are lining up to climb them, many of them with kids. Abi hears her name being called again and she looks up at the highest branch and there are Tara and Megan waving down at her.

  ‘Come up!’ Tara shouts. She looks like she’s got her brief nailed down to a T. Something about her strikes Abi as a bit strange, though, a bit unusual, and then she realizes what it is: Tara really is behaving like a child. She’s not putting it on to make Abi or her father happy. She actually looks as if she’s enjoying herself. Her hair is all messed up and one leg of her (designer) skinny jeans has come untucked from her Uggs. She’s not worrying about what she looks like or whether she’s being sophisticated enough – she’s just having fun.

  ‘OK,’ Abi shouts back. She looks at the queue. There’s probably a ten- or fifteen-minute wait – they are clearly rationing the amount of people allowed to scale the heights at any one time both, she imagines, to enhance your experience once you do get there and for health-and-safety reasons. Abi can’t imagine how much the insurance must cost on something like this – but she doesn’t want to lose the moment. So, head down, she works her way along to the front of the queue muttering to people that she’s really sorry, but her children have gone up without her and she needs to get up there quick to make sure they don’t do anything stupid.

  She waves to the girls as she goes as if to prove that there really are children up there who might belong to her. She keeps her fingers crossed that Jon doesn’t appear behind them because she wants to keep up the myth that they are alone and in danger of falling off, at least until she’s on her way up herself. People roll their eyes, some empathetic, some irritated, but no one tells her to stop, so she pushes her way on through and waits to be given the go-ahead to climb on up. Actually, it’s fun negotiating the stairs and tunnels – although she still feels none the wiser about what it’s saying. She rushes through, not really able to take the time to appreciate it, because something inside her says that this is an important moment. Even with their evening on the Wii, she hasn’t seen Tara properly let her guard down and behave like the ten-year-old she is since she arrived, and she wants to encourage her as much as she can.

  It takes her a few minutes to find them – there are false starts and wrong turns to go down, all part of the fun – but when she does it’s just the two girls who start jumping up and down enthusiastically when they see her.

  ‘Where’s your dad?’ Abi asks. She’s slightly out of breath. She tells herself she really must do some exercise one of these days. She tries not to look over the edge, vertigo rushing up to meet her.

  ‘He went down to take a picture,’ Megan says. ‘Come on.’

  They take a hand each before Abi can object, and pull her towards a large hole that she assumes – at least she’s hoping – contains the slide.

  ‘Jump,’ Tara commands, so Abi does what she’s told and the next thing she knows the three of them are hurtling down the curved wooden surface, round and round the inside of the giant hazelnut, like an inside-out helter-skelter. Both girls are screaming and it’s impossible for Abi not to join in. After what seems like an age, they spill out onto the floor laughing, terrified and exhilarated. Jon appears, waving his camera.

  ‘I got it,’ he says excitedly, and he shows them on the screen a picture of the three of them at the moment of exit, mouths open, hair on end. Abi looks like … well, she couldn’t even begin to explain what she looks like it’s so bad. But she doesn’t really care – it was fun. Tara and Megan are in fits over the photo and they make Jon scroll back to show Abi the earlier ones they have taken; Jon with Megan, Jon with Tara, the two girls together. They’ve definitely been having fun while she was gone.

  ‘They’ve been up there five times,’ Jon says as they walk towards the exit on their way to lunch, the girls running on ahead. ‘They didn’t even complain about having to wait. This was a great idea.’

  Lunch is pizza on the river. Abi watches how Jon manages to coax Tara into eating more by ordering side dishes he knows she won’t be able to resist and she can’t help but think how good a father he is and how it must be alarming to be bringing up two little girls whose mother is trying to teach them by example that all that matters is being skinny and beautiful. Already Tara pays far too much attention to the way she looks. At least Abi, queen of the five-minute-hair-comb, dab-of-concealer-on-the-worst-offenders and mascara routine, thinks so. But today she seems to be staying in her new ten-year-old mode, and she happily wolfs down everything that’s put in front of her. Megan, who definitely gets her genes more from her aunt than from her mother, orders way too much and sets about eating it all.

  Abi wonders briefly how different life would have been for Phoebe if she had had a father around. Any father, not even one as attentive and caring as Jon. Even Dave’s initial rejection of his daughter didn’t have to be final. It didn’t have to mean the door was shut on him ever having a relationship with her. Deep down Abi had understood. They were young. It was never meant to happen. He’d panicked. So she had always kept tabs on where he was, just in case, and, sure enough, one day when Phoebe was fifteen she had announced that she wanted to know more about her father. It was important to find out everything you could about your ancestry, after all. What if she had a congenital disease that she didn’t even know she’d been born with?

  Abi had told her all she could and eventually, after much soul searching, Phoebe had written Dave a letter addressed to his work (he still lived and worked in Canterbury; he had turned out not to be very adventurous at all). She had enclosed a potted history of her life along with photographs. ‘I don’t want anything,’ she’d written in her neatest writing. ‘I’d just like to get to know you.’ A week or so later Abi had received a letter from Dave. He hadn’t even had the guts to reply to Phoebe directly. The gist of it was: ‘I have my own family now. I don’t even know this girl. I can’t suddenly start acting like she’s my daughter. Please tell her not to contact me again.’

  Abi had agonized for days, had finally decided she had to be honest with her daughter, to let her know what kind of a man her father really was. Phoebe had been devastated. Abi had never forgiven him for that.

  ‘So what did you see?’ Jon asks when they’ve ordered. ‘I want to hear all about it.’

  ‘Just the Francis Bacons and the Picassos, really. I like to go for quality not quantity.’

  ‘Is the Triptych still there?’ he asks, naming one of Abi’s favourites. She’s impressed. He’s obviously been there before.

  ‘It is. That’s half the reason I wanted to come.’

  They talk about Francis Bacon for a couple of minutes while the girls’ eyes glaze over a little. It’s obvious Jon has a real love of art. Oops, time for Abi to experience another self-conscious blush. She’d been having so much fun she’d forgotten her newfound awkwardness. She searches around for something else to say, but all her conversation has left the building. Then she remembers the vase that is on her bedside table.

  ‘By the way, is that a Grayson Perry in my room?’ Now there’s a
question she never imagined herself asking anyone.

  Jon’s face lights up. ‘It is! Bought long before he won the Turner, of course. You recognized it …’

  ‘I’d recognize his style anywhere.’ Abi had assumed that all the art in Jon and Cleo’s house was trophy art. Look-at-us-we’re-rich art. Maybe she was wrong.

  ‘And I’m guessing that sculpture on the landing is the Chapmans’?’

  Jon holds his hands up as if to say, You’ve got me. ‘Again, bought before they were successful. I don’t want you thinking we go around spending millions on this stuff.’

  ‘To be honest, if I had millions – which I don’t and never will – that’s exactly what I’d spend it on.’

  ‘You may have noticed that all the modern stuff is tucked away on the top floor. That’s because Cleo hates them. She calls them my monstrosities.’

  ‘So … what? You go and sit up there and look at them sometimes?’ It breaks her heart to think of all those works of art that she would die for languishing away unvisited. Although the thought of Jon sitting alone on what she has now come to think of as her bed admiring them gives her a shiver of excitement.

  That’s enough, she tells herself. Focus.

  ‘Sometimes,’ he laughs. ‘Does that make me sad?’

  ‘I like the vase,’ Megan pipes up. ‘I’ve seen a photo of the man who made it. He was wearing a dress.’

  ‘It’s a woman, stupid,’ Tara says dismissively, safe in the knowledge that as the eldest she must be right. Jon catches Abi’s eye and smiles and so, of course, she flushes an attractive bright scarlet. She looks away.

  ‘And what about the stuff downstairs? All those sculptures and paintings in the hall and the living room?’

  ‘Those we agree on. Our taste does meet in the middle sometimes.’ He says this with no hint of sarcasm or discontent. Jon is never anything other than loyal where Cleo is concerned. That’s one of the reasons Abi has decided that she likes him so much. Perversely she has begun to fantasize about a man largely because she knows he would never reciprocate. And if he ever did then he wouldn’t be the man she had been fantasizing about any more, so she’d no longer be interested. Don’t ask her to try to analyse what that’s all about. She knows it doesn’t paint her in the best, most rational light.

  Lunch over, they hop on a boat to the Tower and manage to get seats up at the front for the short journey, where both the girls and Abi ooh and aah over the views. To Abi’s surprise, every few seconds one of the girls starts yelling out ‘spaniel’ or ‘Jack Russell’ and pointing manically at someone walking a dog on the embankment. She looks between them quizzically. She’s about to ask what’s going on when Jon suddenly shouts, ‘Labrador. I win,’ and does a kind of victory salute. The girls groan.

  Abi laughs. ‘What …?’

  ‘Top Dog Trumps,’ he says, as if that should mean something.

  ‘Right …’

  Tara and Megan are giggling at her confusion. ‘A Jack Russell beats a spaniel because it’s cleverer, but a Labrador wins because it’s clever and gentle,’ Megan says by way of explanation.

  Abi is none the wiser. ‘Who says?’

  ‘We do,’ Tara laughs.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ Jon says. ‘We’ve been playing it ever since these two were little. I think Tara may have made it up. It makes no sense to anyone but us.’

  ‘Alsatian,’ Megan shouts, pointing.

  Jon smiles at Abi. ‘Be my guest.’

  She looks around. ‘Um …’

  There’s a woman walking a large black thing, but she doesn’t know what the breed is.

  ‘There,’ Tara says, pointing to a gathering of about five owners and their mutts.

  Abi has no idea what she is meant to say. ‘Staffy?’

  Megan rolls her eyes. ‘A Staffy doesn’t beat an Alsatian. Only a Border collie beats an Alsatian.’

  ‘Of course,’ Abi says, clueless.

  ‘Everyone knows that,’ Jon says, laughing.

  ‘Everyone,’ Abi says, nodding sagely.

  ‘So do you get it now?’ Megan demands.

  ‘No. Definitely not.’

  The girls fall about laughing, and Abi joins in. She doesn’t know why it’s so funny but soon they’re all helpless and tears are pouring down her cheeks. She looks at Jon who seems to be finding it as amusing as the rest of them, one arm round each of his girls, unashamedly revelling in a carefree moment with his daughters. She feels a warm rush of something, an overwhelming feeling of family and rituals and in jokes and belonging. She takes a deep breath, looks out at the river, afraid that if she’s not careful she might cry for real.

  The Tower is packed to the rafters, but Abi still loves it. They go round in a big group with a guide, which ordinarily would drive her crazy, but when it’s so busy it seems like the best way to get close to anything. Tara and Megan get caught up in all the gory tales, as does she, and they seem to have completely forgotten that being a tourist is uncool. On the way back, on the bus, Abi gamely shouts out the name of every other dog she sees, generally to a chorus of ‘no’s and gales of laughter. She still has no idea what the rules are, if indeed there are any – she has an inkling there may not really be rules, that the whole thing might be an elaborate practical joke – but it’s fun trying.

  By the time they get home, Abi is exhausted. She can’t face helping Jon to cook because she’s not sure she can keep up the pretence that everything is normal between them for much longer, so she disappears off to lie in her big bath while she waits for dinner to be ready. Thankfully a bit of distance has thawed relations once again and Cleo seems happy to hear all about their day.

  ‘I wish I could have gone with you,’ she says at one point, conveniently forgetting that it was her decision not to.

  ‘We can go again – we’ve got weeks,’ Abi says, although she has a sneaking suspicion that had Cleo been there the excursion might not have been such a success.

  ‘Lovely.’

  ‘We tried to teach Auntie Abi Top Dog Trumps,’ Megan says excitedly, wanting to recreate the fun atmosphere of the afternoon.

  ‘Oh lord, that stupid game.’ Cleo pulls a face. ‘It drives me to distraction when they all start shouting out that nonsense.’

  Abi had completely forgotten that Jon had promised to go over to see his brother in Shepherd’s Bush tonight and that that would mean once the kids had gone to bed it would just be her and Cleo for the rest of the evening. The thought of a long stretch of time alone with her sister fills her with unease. What are they going to talk about? This will be the first time they’ve been alone together since Abi got there, apart from about twenty minutes the day she arrived and the odd snatched breakfast here and there. She reminds herself that this is what she came for, this is why she’s here. It’s all about rebuilding her relationship with her sister. Nevertheless she tries to keep Tara and Megan from going off to bed for as long as she can. It should be easy – they always want to stay up longer than they’re allowed – but they’ve worn themselves out and by half past eight they’re falling asleep and demanding to be said goodnight to. Well, if all else fails, maybe she can just suggest that she and Cleo watch Ant and Dec together.

  She gets hugs from both girls as they head off, and they both tell her they had a fun day and can we do it again? Abi feels as if she’s made real progress with them, and she hugs them back, kisses the tops of their heads and promises them that they will. Now that just leaves her and Cleo. They chat about not much for a while and Cleo asks more about what they did today and whether Abi is having fun and it actually seems like she means it.

  Abi tells her again how much the girls loved the Tate and Cleo smiles and says, ‘Tara’s growing up way too quickly. My fault, I suppose.’

  Abi refrains from agreeing out loud, although, of course, she does so in her head. It’s an insight that Cleo’s even aware of it.

  ‘Jon’s very good with her,’ Abi says, and then thinks, Oh no. I’ve got crush symptom number three: mention
itis. I want to say his name out loud. (Number one is the blushing, by the way, and number two the tongue-tiedness, the lack of ability to say anything remotely intelligent. Reaching Mach three is a worry. There’s a number four, but don’t even ask what that is. There’s no way Abi is going to reach number four.)

  Remember he’s your sister’s husband. Don’t keep talking about him.

  ‘He’s a good father all round –’ Oh good, she thinks, I stuck to the plan, then – ‘at least, he seems to be.’

  ‘He is. Jonty’s very good with the girls,’ Cleo says in a way that implies that he’s not so good in other ways. Abi can’t stop herself.

  ‘I’ve never really got to know him before, I suppose,’ she says. ‘I mean we never saw much of him and everything … but he’s a really nice bloke. You’re lucky. Both of you, I mean.’

  Cleo knocks back the contents of her wine glass. ‘We are.’

  Don’t ask. ‘You don’t sound entirely convinced. Is something wrong?’

  Cleo looks at her. ‘No … it’s all me … I just …’ Abi waits with bated breath. Cleo smiles. ‘He’s not very exciting sometimes. He’s a very devoted father and he’s loyal and kind, but … well, he used to be more dynamic, more ambitious … more fun.’

  Abi can’t believe what she’s hearing. It’s so typically Cleo. ‘Things have to move on, though, don’t they? You have kids now. It’s amazing to find a man who’s happy to come home and cook for them every night so you don’t have to.’