It was the peace offering of a Ryan insult that swung it. ‘Do you want me to open it?’
‘Yes,’ Cassie said. ‘Please.’
Erin fetched the pole from the corner and pushed open both of the skylights, quietly and efficiently, letting a breeze into the room.
‘Thanks.’ Cassie took off her shoes, kicked them off the edge of the bed and sat, flexing her aching feet. She patted the space next to her.
Erin sat on the bed and studied Cassie, looking for some clue to explain the change in her sister. She found none, only a tight façade of fake okay-ness. It was confusing and so frustrating. ‘Cass, what’s wrong? And please don’t say, “Nothing”, cos I know there’s something.’
Cassie said nothing.
For a long time the sisters sat side-by-side, in silence, neither of them being able to find a way to reach out to the other.
*
The day Erin ‘the miracle’ was born, everyone cried.
Four-year-old Cassie didn’t understand why. She remained dry-eyed at the hospital as the baby was handed from one weeping relative to another. It was like a very weird version of Pass-the-parcel. Cassie sat on the bed, next to her mum, lost amidst the emotion and noise. The sudden lack of attention was disconcerting. It was as if no one could see her any more. She’d grown accustomed to looking up and meeting someone’s eyes – eyes that were always watching her, smiling, encouraging her, warning her. Perhaps they’d forgotten she was there. Cassie poked her elbow into her pale and podgy mother, summoning her back. It seemed to work. Grace gave a little shiver and put her arm round Cassie and hugged her tight. This small act made the weirdness in the room take a few steps away from the edge of the bed.
Cassie decided that the best thing to do was to stay close to her mum, on their island, and ignore the swirling sea of weepy, squeaky relatives. She wriggled her hands into the gap between Grace’s dressing gown and her nightie, kneading her fingers into the warm softness of her mother’s body. Once safely anchored, Cassie laid her head against Grace’s side and thought about going to sleep. When she woke up, they might all have gone.
‘Cassie.’ Tom’s voice summoned her back. ‘Cassie, do you want to hold your baby sister?’
With her face pressed into the fleece of Grace’s dressing gown and her eyes closed, Cassie considered this question. Did she? She didn’t know. What she did know, because she had learnt, was that when her daddy wanted her to do some something, it made him happy when she did it, and it made him very happy if she did it straight away, with a smiley face. So as much as the safe haven of her mum was preferable to facing the room, she lifted her head, shuffled around on the bed, held her arms out wide, and said, ‘Yes, please.’ There was a pause, then everyone laughed. Cassie felt tricked. They could see her now, of course, now that she’d done something stupid. Anger coursed through her. She folded her arms tight across her body and frowned. Grandpa laughed again, even louder.
‘Hey, it’s okay, honey. Dad!’ Her daddy’s voice held two very different tones at once, soft for her and hard for Grandpa. Her father came towards her, smiling. ‘Here. She wants a cuddle from her big sister.’
He bent forward and offered Cassie the rolled-up baby, but Cassie wasn’t going to be laughed at twice. She pulled her chin into her chest, keeping her eyes downcast. This whole performance was nothing to do with her. She stared at the scab on her knee, concentrating on the different colours trapped beneath the crusty skin. But her dad was not easily deterred. He surprised Cassie by slotting the cottony lump of the baby into the space between her face and her bare legs. Despite herself, Cassie looked at it.
It was like a doll, an ugly doll. It had a squished-in face and no eyes. Cassie knew this was because it was lying down. She was tempted to tilt it up and see if its eyes popped open, but something made her hesitate. It had a tiny, flat nose and a pouty mouth. She couldn’t see whether it had any hair, because it was wearing a little woolly hat. Although it looked just like a toy lying there in her lap, it felt completely different. It was absolutely still, but Cassie could tell it was alive by how heavy and uneven it felt against her legs. It was a strange sensation. She wasn’t sure she liked it. She stared down at its face, fascinated by how small its mouth, its nose, its eyes, its chin were. All the same features as hers, but shrunk down to fairy-size.
Cassie wondered what it would feel like if she put her finger up its nostril or in its ear. Would it be soft and squidgy or hard and cool, like a real doll? As if it knew what she was planning, the baby started to squirm – odd, light movements, kitten-like. It gave Cassie a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. She shifted her leg a little and the baby’s head flopped sideways. It obviously didn’t like its new position, because it started meowing. Cassie watched its mouth transform into a pink tunnel. She was about to do something to stop it crying, when it was taken away from her, suddenly and without warning. Cassie could tell by the look on her dad’s face that she’d done something wrong.
She didn’t get to properly examine the baby again for another four days. Though her mother came home with it, as promised, they never seemed to be on their own. The much-vaunted ‘routine’ that her parents always invoked, to get her to do things, went out of the window and they didn’t even seem to care. It was an endless parade of relatives and friends and people Cassie didn’t know, who came, drank tea and oohed and aahed over the baby – a lot.
So when Cassie walked into the lounge one afternoon and finally found it almost empty, she was surprised, but happy. She liked that she could hear the clock in the hall ticking, and her mother moving around in the kitchen, banging drawers shut with her hip. Of course the room wasn’t completely empty – the baby was in it. It had been left on the floor, on the rug. Cassie walked round it, taking care not to tread on it, then she climbed up on the sofa to get a better vantage point. She lay on her tummy and peered down at it, sucking on the biscuit that her mother had given her for being a good girl.
Its eyes were open; well, at least they were in between blinks. It had on a green dress and tiny cream tights, so it was more obvious that it was a girl. A real baby girl, not a doll. The baby was Cassie’s sister, and she was its. Everyone kept saying sister as if it was a special word. It wasn’t. Cassie had heard it lots of times before on TV, and in books and at nursery. She was also fairly certain that having two of something made it less, not more, special. Cassie watched the baby, quite contentedly, for ages, relishing the sweetness of buttercream and biscuit crumbs on her tongue. After a while her mother came into the room and flopped down on the sofa next to her. They both looked at the baby, waving its legs in the air.
‘Do you want Mummy to read to you?’ Grace asked.
Cassie did – a story in the daytime, she hadn’t had one of those for ever. She climbed down, scattering crumbs on the carpet, and went to the shelves where her books were kept. She tugged at one and a stack slid out, splaying themselves across the floor in a really helpful fan. Her parents didn’t grasp that it was impossible to pick a book by the narrow bit; you needed to see the picture on the front if you were going to get the right one. She heard a little puff of air escape from her mother’s mouth as the books spewed across the floor. It was the sound she made when Cassie made a mess, but she didn’t say anything. After some thought, Cassie selected the one about the monster who ate the little boy and no one noticed; and the big one with the dark-green pictures about the monkey who couldn’t find its mummy. But as she was passing the books to her mother there was a gurgling noise.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, not again,’ Grace said to the ceiling. She stood up, even though she was supposed to be staying put to read. ‘Sorry, poppet. Your sister’s been sick again. I won’t be long.’ And without even looking at Cassie’s choices, she walked out of the room. Cassie dropped the books on the sofa. She was never going get a story now.
It was always spitting something up, or crying, or pooping. That was why there wasn’t ever enough time any more – the baby gobbled it all
up. No wonder it was always being sick. The milky smell it gave off made Cassie cross. She thumped down on the floor and glared at it. At this level it looked quite big, bigger than when she’d been looking down at it, or maybe it was just growing, really fast. There was sick everywhere: in its neck, stuck in its hair and splattered all down the front of its dress; see-through milk with white blobs in it. Disgusting. While Cassie was examining the baby, it made a funny coughing noise and more lumps spurted out of its mouth, then it started coughing and crying. Cassie edged closer. Its face changed, turning from milk-chocolate to purply-red, the colour of a new bruise. Despite the sea of sick, Cassie edged even closer. It kicked it legs and cried even louder.
Cassie decided it was time she made it stop.
It was disgusting, but it didn’t take too long and once it was over, the baby wasn’t crying any more. After she had done it, she sat, cradling her little sister on her lap, supporting her head, exactly as they’d shown her in the hospital, listening to her mum crashing around upstairs, waiting patiently for it to be her turn.
She took a long time.
Eventually Cassie heard her mum clattering down the stairs. ‘Sorry, Cassie. Mummy couldn’t find the wipes. I’m coming.’ A moment later she walked back into the lounge.
Cassie looked up and smiled, shyly. ‘She was crying, Mummy, so I helped her.’ The baby lay quiet and very still in her arms. ‘I sang her “Old MacDonald”,’ she announced, proudly. ‘She likes the piggies best.’ For moment Cassie thought she must have done something wrong, again, because her mother’s face went stiff.
Grace dashed across the room, knelt down and tugged the blanket free of the baby’s face. The baby blinked in the light and sucked on its flaky little fist. Grace smiled, but it was a flickery one that didn’t stay on her face for quite long enough. ‘You’ve done a fab job. All those yucky clothes, and I’m grateful, honey, but you really didn’t have to. Mummy was coming. I was just fetching her some clean clothes. And really, you shouldn’t be lifting Erin up on your own. She’s only tiny and we have to be very careful with her.’
Cassie looked at her mother, listening, but she didn’t agree with what she was saying. Her sister had needed her, and it had been her responsibility to step up.
Grace was still fussing. ‘Next time shout for Mummy, okay?’ Cassie dipped her head, which Grace took as assent. ‘Do you want me to take her now?’ she asked.
‘In a minute,’ Cassie replied. She shifted Erin in her arms, getting more comfortable. The baby blinked three times, then closed her tiny eyes, perfectly content.
Grace smiled properly then, a real smile that reached her eyes and stayed in place. ‘Look at you. You’re just like a mummy.’
‘No,’ Cassie said, ever the stickler for things being correct, ‘I’m not a mummy. I’m a big sister.’
And she always would be Erin’s big sister.
It was still Cassie’s job to protect Erin, although nowadays the threats to her little sister’s happiness were more complex and far less easily resolved. So as much as Erin kept sitting next to her on the bed, staring, waiting for her to spill the beans, Cassie knew that she simply couldn’t. It wasn’t right to burden Erin with her growing need to find out about her birth mum. Erin was only thirteen. She was her little sister. She was the person Cassie should be protecting.
Cassie knew that her relationship with Erin was different from the relationship that her mates had with their brothers and sisters. At best, they ignored their siblings. None of her friends seemed to like their sisters. Cassie did. She enjoyed spending time with Erin; she felt relaxed around her, somehow better when she was with her, more herself. It was true, they were chalk and cheese in terms of personality, but they were still exceptionally tight. The lack of shared blood made no difference.
Cassie flopped back onto the bed and rested her forearm across her face, pressing down hard, suffocating the overwhelming compulsion to talk to the one person she knew would listen to her.
Time passed and the words stayed trapped inside.
After a few minutes she felt the mattress bounce as Erin came and lay down beside her.
Cassie was vibrating with pent-up confusion and directionless energy, while Erin was wrestling with a burgeoning anxiety about her sister, but both girls kept their thoughts to themselves. They lay side-by-side, self-consciously at first, listening to the muted sounds of the traffic and the stirring of the leaves coming through the open window. After a while their breathing found the same rhythm and began to keep time, moving from fast and shallow to regular and steady, until their hearts were beating in sync. They inhaled each other’s scent, a reassuring mix of deodorant and familiarity. It was calming. Their silence had an ease about it, an absence of pressure, that they both appreciated. Cassie felt herself slowly relax. She rolled onto her side, and Erin did the same, each of them getting comfortable. They curled close together, but not touching, warmth radiating between them. After a few moments Cassie felt herself begin to drift. She closed her eyes and drew her knees up to her chest, returning to the position she’d slept in since she was tiny, feeling safe in Erin’s company.
Morning-bright light. The sun is smashing around the room, bouncing off the mirror, splashing diamonds across the walls.
She closes her eyes to block out the sunlight and ‘sees’ the diamonds burning blue and white on the insides of her lids. Beneath her she can feel the buttons and the dips of the mattress. She knows where the spikes and lumps are and where the smooth patches are. It’s a familiar map. When she stretches out, she’s disconcerted to find there is no one there. She stretches wider, pointing her toes and her fingertips to the far-flung corners of the bed, searching for her.
But she’s not there.
She can hear her bones popping as they try to burst through the limits of her skin, but when she twists her head she feels a dull, deep ache, the bruise on her neck reminding her to stay small. She recoils and starts to fret. Where is she? She’s always there when she wakes up. Where can she have gone? Why has she left her behind? She never leaves her behind.
Then she hears a voice full of croaky sleep from across the room. ‘It’s early, Cassidie. Go back to sleep.’ Her voice is close, reassuringly so.
She rolls onto her side and does as she’s told.
Chapter 7
SATURDAY AFTERNOON. Cassie was out shopping with her mates, looking at tops. She’d been nagged into it by her friends. They were, apparently, sick of her staying in all the time – missing one girls’ night out, and not ‘liking’ every one of Aimee’s thousands of posts, immediately. The shopping trip had also been encouraged by the unexpected gift of thirty quid from her dad, and by her mum’s offer to drive them all into town. There seemed to be some sort of concerted effort going on to cheer her up. She wasn’t sure it was going to work.
‘Get lost! Not with my tits.’ Tegan threw the itty-bitty vest back on the pile and they moved on to look at the dresses. They clacked through the racks, knowing, through osmosis, which dresses to pause over and which to react in horror to. Over the PA, old-school music played. Cassie shifted her bag onto her other shoulder and reached out to touch the fabric of a white sundress that might suit her, an instinctive action. She didn’t feel remotely interested in looking at clothes.
The beat changed and the girls moved in a shoal across to the jewellery, leaving the dresses behind. Tegan started rooting through the display, picking out bangles; like a magpie, she was drawn to the shiniest ones. She slipped a few over her hand and held her slim arm up to the light, watching as the bangles slid back and forth with a clatter. ‘Ooh. Old-school. I love this. He was fit when he was young.’ On the screens a loose-hipped Justin Timberlake appeared, dancing in a light-box.
Cassie picked up a fake pearl drop-choker, looking for the price, but when she turned it over in her hands, the numbers on the sticker blurred. She suddenly felt queasy. Tegan was still there, standing right next to her, yakking on about stuff, but Cassie could no longer hear he
r; all she could hear was the music. The beat filled her head.
So you grab your girls... She felt someone grab her and lift her up, holding her close – so close she could feel the vibration of their voice in her chest. Don’t be so quick to walk away, Dance with me. There was the sensation of being spun around, dipping and rising in time to the music. Cassie reached out to steady herself, but her hand connected with nothing. Round and around she spun, faster and faster. Someone’s hot breath was on her face, their voice close, mimicking the beatboxing. Chicka-boom, Chicka-boom… Just let me rock you till the break of day. Laughter. Hers and the other person’s. The voice grew breathless, laboured. ‘You’re getting heavy.’ … Dance with me… Spinning round and round. Then the sensation changed. The hands holding her lost their purchase. She was slipping. Falling.
‘Cassie!’ Tegan grabbed her and tried to hold her upright, but failed. Cassie’s hip crashed into the counter. A stand of earrings crashed to the floor. The lights pulsed and the room tilted violently, as a thousand tiny flashes of silver danced around her feet.
Afterwards, with her head tilted forward, a glass of water in her hand and the girls cooing around her, Cassie felt embarrassed. ‘I’m okay,’ she kept saying, but they weren’t listening. They were enjoying the drama too much. If one more person patted her back, she would scream.
The store manager was fussing as well. ‘Try and have another sip of water. Girls. Girls! Give her a bit of space.’ They retreated; all of a few centimetres.
‘He’s coming now.’ Ayleah’s voice cut through the concerned chatter. Of course it was Ayleah who’d taken charge.
‘Who’s coming?’ Cassie raised her head.
‘Your dad. I rang him from your phone. He said he’ll be here ASAP.’
No, he hadn’t. Her dad would never have said ‘ASAP’. Oh, for God’s sake, that was all she needed. Cassie put her head back down and tried to block them out. As they fussed around her, she poked nervously at the flashback, or whatever the hell it was that she’d just experienced. It was the first time she’d had one outside the house and, more scarily, it was the first time she’d been completely awake. The others had all been when she’d been on the cusp of sleeping or waking up; indistinct images and feelings that had shimmered briefly and brightly, then faded to a faint echo.
The Forgotten Sister Page 4