Sing Them Home

by Pam Weaver

  Pip froze.

  The woman on stage flung her arm out towards them and cried, ‘The Sussex Sisters.’ The audience clapped wildly. Pip was rooted to the spot.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Stella whispered.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ said Pip. ‘I can’t go on.’

  ‘But you must,’ said Lillian. ‘They’re waiting.’

  The announcer tried again. ‘Our very own Sussex Sisters.’

  Stella gave Pip a gentle shove and all three were on stage. While Stella arranged her music at the piano, Pip scanned the audience. Her throat was as tight as a drum. How on earth was she going to sing? She felt clammy and sick. This couldn’t be happening. This was the one thing she had always dreaded. Her eyes found the third row. In seat one was a portly woman with dark upper-lip hair, dressed in a tweed suit. In seat two was someone who appeared to be a younger version of the woman in a tweed suit. Her daughter, perhaps? In seat three sat an attractive woman with a big smile, who was clapping enthusiastically. Seat four was empty. Pip almost fainted with relief. Thank God . . . Oh thank God. Then Stella struck up a chord and they all burst into the Sussex Sisters’ version of ‘Zing! Went the Strings of My Heart’.

  Their performance was one of their best. The ladies of the WI were lavish in their praise, and more than that, the Sussex Sisters received invitations to sing to individual groups in hospitals and church halls where the movement had an interest.

  There was another buzz of excitement when a member of the public came running into the hall shouting, ‘Mussolini has resigned! I just heard it on the radio.’

  Suddenly, everybody was smiling. The first real crack in the alliance between Italy and the Nazi regime had come earlier that month, when Allied troops liberated Sicily. Rumour had it that the Italian dictator had met with Adolf Hitler somewhere in northern Italy to discuss what to do next, but it was believed that the meeting had been acrimonious and ended badly. Sicily had been the bastion of Hitler’s European fortress, but now that the Eighth Army and the American Seventh had landed, all that was gone.

  ‘It’s going to be over soon,’ cried Stella as she hugged Lillian and Pip in turn.

  Elsewhere in the hall, some of the younger ladies were doing the conga.

  Pip tried to be happy for everyone, but it was doubly difficult for her. After more than a year, she still had no idea if Peter was dead or alive. Despite repeated requests at government level, the regiment had no news to pass on to waiting relatives.

  When they got back into their dressing room, there was a large bouquet of flowers in front of the mirror. Lillian gasped, ‘Oh, how lovely!’ They were homegrown, from somebody’s garden, but all the same they were very impressive. Lillian pulled the card from between the foliage. ‘Oh!’ she said, surprised that the bouquet wasn’t hers. ‘It’s for you.’ She handed the card to Pip.

  ‘Me?’ Pip asked enquiringly.

  ‘It’s got your name on the front,’ said Lillian with a grin. ‘Have you got a secret admirer you haven’t told us about?’

  With Stella at her elbow, Pip took the card from the envelope. There were two words on the card and a kiss. Pip let it fall from her fingers as a gentle voice behind her said, ‘Hello, Philippa.’

  At first, Pip was totally transfixed. She didn’t turn round. She didn’t need to. She could see the woman’s reflection in the mirror. ‘No, no,’ she whimpered. ‘It can’t be.’

  Lillian and Stella were alarmed to see that she was shaking uncontrollably. Instinctively, they folded themselves between Pip and her unwanted visitor in a protective way. Lillian picked up the card from the floor and showed it to Stella.

  ‘Love, Marion x,’ they read.

  Stella recognized the woman at once. She was Pip’s lookalike, the woman she’d seen in the taxi a few months back. Up until Lillian mentioned seeing the same woman, she’d forgotten all about her.

  Pip sank into a chair with a small moan.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said the woman, coming further into the room. Stella and Lillian stood closer together, effectively barring her way.

  ‘Look here—’ Stella began, but they were interrupted by the organizer bustling through the door.

  ‘My dears, you were fantastic,’ she gushed as she handed Stella a small brown envelope. She didn’t seem to notice the woman; in fact, she seemed totally unaware that anything was amiss. ‘Everyone adored you,’ the organizer hurried on. ‘I’m sure we shall meet again. Oh dear, that sounded like a cue for a song, didn’t it?’ She chuckled at her own joke before continuing. ‘So many people have been asking me for your contact details that I am positive you’ll be getting a lot more invitations from the WI.’ She paused and Stella felt sure that this was the moment when she would remark on the tense atmosphere in the room or become aware of Pip’s distress.

  The other visitor remained where she was, though she had turned her head away.

  ‘Well, my dears,’ the organizer said again, ‘I’d better be running along. Do take care, won’t you? And,’ she added in a jolly voice, ‘see you soon.’

  The moment she’d gone, Stella looked at the other woman. ‘I think you’d better go too.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t send me away, not just yet,’ she cried. ‘I’ve been searching for Philippa for years.’ She turned towards Pip. ‘Philippa? It’s all right, you know. There was no need to run off like that.’

  Pip had begun to cry.

  ‘Please let me go to her,’ said the woman, trying to push past Stella and Lillian.

  ‘You’re upsetting her,’ said Stella.

  ‘Who are you?’ Lillian demanded. ‘What’s this all about?’

  ‘My name is Marion,’ said the woman, ‘and Philippa is my sister.’ She paused and covered her scarred face with her hand. ‘We’re twins.’

  CHAPTER 19

  Lillian looked up anxiously. ‘Is she all right?’

  Stella had just taken some tea into her sitting room for Pip and her sister. Lillian was waiting in the kitchen. At Stella’s suggestion, they had all made their way back to her house to give Pip and Marion a private place where they could talk.

  ‘She still looks pale, but she’s stopped crying,’ said Stella. ‘I asked her if she wanted me to stay, but she said no.’ She sat at the table and poured herself a cup of tea.

  ‘Blimey, that was a turn-up for the books, wasn’t it?’ said Lillian. ‘I never even knew she had a sister, let alone that she was a twin. She’s always led me to believe she was on her own apart from Peter and the children.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Stella. She rose from the table and went to her sideboard. Taking a small bottle of Vat 69 out of the cupboard, she poured a splash into each of their cups. ‘Do you think I should offer some of this to Pip and Marion?’

  Lillian shook her head. ‘I reckon they’ll both need a clear head,’ she cautioned. ‘They’ve got a lot of talking to do.’

  Stella sat down again. ‘Although Marion is quite a bit shorter, they do look very alike, don’t they? Apart from that terrible scar.’

  ‘How do you think it happened?’

  Stella shrugged. ‘It looks like a burn.’

  ‘From what she was saying on the way home, Pip seems to think it was her fault,’ said Lillian.

  They sipped their tea in silence and wondered.

  ‘It makes me realize how lucky we were with Flora,’ Lillian went on. ‘She could have ended up looking like that.’

  ‘But she doesn’t have any scars to show for it now, does she?’

  ‘Only that little bit behind her ear where the hair doesn’t grow,’ said Lillian.

  ‘I didn’t realize it was still there,’ said Stella. ‘Since you’ve had her hair cut, she looks lovely.’

  ‘I wanted to keep it long,’ Lillian said with a sigh. ‘I used to put it into little plaits when she was younger, but after the accident, people kept noticing that bald patch. Having it in plaits made it show up more.’ She ran her fingers through her own hair. ‘I always fancied having plaits w
hen I was a kid, but my hair was too frizzy.’

  ‘Flora is a lovely little girl,’ said Stella, leaning over and patting Lillian’s hand affectionately, ‘and she’s the spitting image of her mother.’

  Lillian gave her a wobbly smile, and they sipped more tea.

  ‘Have you heard anything from Gordon lately?’

  ‘He writes now and then,’ said Lillian in a non-committal voice. She sighed, then noticing Stella’s concerned expression, added, ‘We don’t have a lot to say to each other. The more I think about it, the more I feel that I made a terrible mistake when I married him. We’ve got nothing in common, except Flora, of course.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Stella.

  ‘You do know that we had to get married, don’t you?’ said Lillian. She was being more frank than she’d ever been before. ‘His parents, my parents – my dad was still alive back then – they talked it over and that was that. He and I had little say in the matter. When I woke up on my sixteenth birthday, it was my wedding day.’

  ‘It happens to a lot of people,’ Stella said sagely, ‘but they go on to make a happy marriage. There’s still time.’

  Lillian shook her head. ‘We’ve been apart too long. I’ve changed. He’s changed. We don’t want the same things any more.’ She took a deep breath. ‘What about you and Johnny? Are things still OK with you two?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I had a letter today,’ Stella grinned. ‘He’s missing me like mad.’ She felt her cheeks colour as his reference to Mr Cuddles came to mind, and when she made eye contact with Lillian, they both giggled.

  ‘Funny thing,’ said Lillian. ‘I don’t miss that at all.’

  ‘Miss what?’ said Stella, feigning innocence.

  ‘You know perfectly well,’ said Lillian. ‘The sex.’

  ‘You will,’ said Stella, ‘when you really love someone.’

  When Stella left the sitting room, both Pip and Marion stared at the closing door. The atmosphere was heavy with embarrassment and pent-up emotions. Things needed to be said, but Pip didn’t know where to start.

  ‘Marion, I’m sorry,’ she said brokenly.

  ‘And I am too,’ said Marion.

  ‘Why should you be sorry?’ said Pip, slightly surprised at her contrite manner. ‘You were the one who got burned.’

  ‘I said some terrible things. I never meant to drive you away.’

  Pip was puzzled. It seemed as if she had always been at war with her twin. Whenever she thought of Marion, it was to remember something grossly unfair that ended up with her getting into trouble. Marion had wound her up like a clock spring. Her sister always got her own way because she would keep on and on until Pip snapped. She felt hot with shame as she recalled pulling her sister’s hair or pushing her into the water butt when it was November and freezing outside. Another time when they’d had a hands-on tussle, Marion had ended up with a split lip. Their mother would never listen when Pip tried to explain what had happened. She wasn’t interested in anything Marion had done or what had started it. All she saw was a bully, taking it out on her defenceless sister. As time went on, things only became more compounded. Pip had few friends, while ‘poor’ Marion was everybody’s darling.

  Things had been so different when Daddy was around. She and Daddy did everything together, while Marion stayed close to their mother. Their parents didn’t get on either. The girls would lie in bed listening to their rows. Terrible rows that went on for days at a time, and then suddenly, Daddy wasn’t there any more and they moved. Her mother told her that he had died, but even at five, she’d been a bit mystified as to why there had been no funeral. When Mrs Bingham next door had died, she’d had one, and everybody in the street went to it, even though Mummy said she was an interfering old battleaxe and nobody liked her. When Pip had questioned her mother about Daddy’s funeral, all she’d got was a slap on her legs.

  Marion put up her hand. ‘What you did that day, I don’t want to talk about it any more.’

  Pip avoided eye contact and sucked in her top lip. Her mind was in turmoil. Part of her was thinking, But I want to talk about it. Don’t you remember? When I went to the hospital to visit you, you said you never wanted to see me again as long as you lived. You told me to go to hell. You said you hated me. You said I’d ruined your life. At the time, it was understandable, of course, but it hurt so much.

  She fished up her sleeve for her handkerchief and pinched the end of her nose with it. It was sodden and useless. Her sister opened her handbag and offered her a clean one. Pip took it gratefully, wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  ‘I’ve never been able to get that moment out of my mind,’ she said miserably. ‘It still gives me nightmares – you flying down the stairs all in flames.’

  Marion said nothing.

  Her sister wore her hair short. She still looked attractive if you looked at the left side of her face, but on the right side, her skin looked like crumpled tissue paper. Pip could see that the scar went down her neck. Presumably, it was still as far as her wrist and her waist. She glanced involuntarily down at her leg. That was marked too, although the scars were more faded.

  Closing her eyes, she leaned forward and put her hand to her forehead. ‘I did try to stop you, you know,’ she said unevenly.

  Marion glared at her tight-lipped. ‘No, you tried to stop me getting help,’ she said coldly.

  Pip looked up sharply. ‘Marion, that’s not true! I was trying to pull you to the floor so that I could roll you in the hearth rug.’

  Marion looked sceptical.

  ‘Why don’t you believe me?’ Pip cried. ‘Why must you always believe the worst of me?’

  ‘Me, me, me,’ said Marion, and despite herself, Pip found she was slipping back into her childhood role with Marion winding her up until she exploded.

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t engineer the whole thing because you wanted to go to the party with Richard?’ Marion’s tone was more familiar now – challenging and aggressive.

  Pip swallowed hard. ‘Richard?’

  ‘Yes, Richard,’ said Marion. ‘Admit it – you always wanted him.’

  Pip frowned. No. She’d never wanted Richard. He’d always seemed a bit wet. And why did Marion have to be so confrontational? True, her sister was the one who got the dates, while she (Pip) was forced to stay at home because she’d lost her temper yet again. Marion was always going off to something nice. The gymkhana, punting on the river, a concert in London – you name it and Marion was there. Nobody ever asked her out, not unless you counted Neville Paris, and he was the most awful drip.

  Marion tossed her head. ‘Richard stuck by me and he was wonderful.’

  Pip glanced at her sister’s left hand. ‘You’re married. You married Richard?’

  ‘Good Lord, no,’ Marion laughed. ‘It wasn’t quite the fairy-tale ending, but I’ve had my moments.’

  For the first time since she’d met her sister, Pip smiled. ‘I’m so glad that—’

  ‘That these horrible scars didn’t stop someone from loving me?’ Marion challenged.

  ‘No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,’ Pip protested wildly, ‘and please believe that I never stopped loving you.’

  ‘I know,’ said Marion with a hollow laugh, ‘and I’m teasing.’

  Pip frowned. Why was her sister so awkward, so confusing? ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘With Mother,’ said Marion.

  That wasn’t exactly what Pip meant, but she found herself looking away as the memory of her mother’s angry face came to mind. She’d always known her mother liked Marion more than her, but that day in the kitchen, she’d been shocked by the venom in her voice.

  They’d just come back from the hospital, where they’d left Marion seriously ill. Everyone else, Richard and Mrs Bliss, their next-door neighbour, who had come in to sit with Granny, had gone home. Granny was asleep and they were alone. Mum had sat at the kitchen table and wept for a long time. Pip had tried to comfort her, but she’d jerked her arm away.

 
‘You needn’t think you’re going to get round me like that,’ she’d snarled. ‘Why did you move the fireguard anyway?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Pip had protested.

  ‘Marion told me,’ her mother snapped, ‘and I must say it’s typical of you. You’re a wicked, jealous little madam. I can’t believe you’re your sister’s twin. If I didn’t know better, I would say that the day you were born, the nurses swapped you for somebody else.’

  Pip had stared at her open-mouthed. ‘Why are you saying all this, Mum? It was an accident. I wasn’t . . .’

  But her mother wasn’t listening. She never listened.

  Pip glanced over at her sister and sipped her tea. It was getting cold. She wanted to tell Marion all this, but wouldn’t that be raking over old coals? Was it better to leave it unsaid? The pain was still there, but what was her pain compared to what her sister had gone through? Marion’s scars were visible. Pip’s were hidden deep inside.

  ‘How is Granny?’ she said, coming back to the here and now.

  ‘Oh, of course you wouldn’t know,’ said Marion in a superior tone. ‘Granny died. It was not long after you’d left.’

  It was a shock. Pip took in her breath.

  ‘It was all very peaceful,’ said Marion.

  ‘And Mum?’

  ‘She’s fine,’ said Marion. ‘Older but still the same.’

  Still the same . . . Pip still couldn’t shake off the memory of her mother’s bitter denunciations. ‘You always were horrible to poor Marion, even as a child,’ she’d ranted. ‘Well, this time you’ve gone too far, Philippa. Much too far!’

  ‘Mum, I know you’re upset,’ Pip had begun again. ‘You don’t mean it.’

  ‘In fact,’ her mother said, getting to her feet, ‘in the morning, you can pack your bags and leave.’

  ‘Leave!’ Pip had cried. ‘But why? I didn’t do anything, Mum. I wasn’t even in the room!’

  Her mother had swept out of the room, pausing only to add, ‘You’re exactly the same as your father, and do you know what, Philippa? I don’t care if I never see you again.’

  ‘Are you married?’ said Marion now, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I can see a ring on your finger, but in these uncertain times . . .’