The Lost Twin

by Diana Finley

  ‘Don’t you forget, Robbie my pet,’ she sobs. ‘You’re a right good lad, right good. You make sure to stay that way. Keep working hard at school. You keep outa trouble, won’t you? Promise me now, darlin’. Remember, you’ll always be welcome here. You’ll always be our canny lad. We love you, Robbie. Come and visit soon, won’t you, son – there’ll always be tea in the pot, and a piece of cake. That’s if I can manage it …’

  Her voice trails away sadly. To tell the truth, I’m blubbing too. It feels like I’ve been crying for days. I walk over to see Len, lying on the sofa. He strokes my face with his good arm. He tries to say something, but it’s just odd sounds that come out, like he’s gargling. Len stares at me and a big tear squeezes out of his left eye and rolls slowly down. I hug him.

  ‘I love you, Len,’ I sob, and fly out of the room. Betty follows me. I give her a last hug. She hangs on to me for a long time, like her life depends on it. She’s trembling. Her body feels small and frail now. I feel her bones moving about under my arms.

  ‘I love you, Betty,’ I say, my voice all jerky. I’ve never said those words to anyone before. I turn and run out to the car.

  ***

  I visit them from time to time at first. Betty always makes a fuss of me, and Len smiles his sad, lopsided smile. They hug me and stroke my face, but things are never the same, of course. Two years later Len has another stroke. He’s taken back to the hospital. They tell me he died peacefully in his sleep during the night.

  Betty never really recovers from that. Never. She seems to get old overnight. She goes to live with Shirley and her family in the east end of Newcastle. Shirley rings now and then to tell me how Betty is, and to ask about me. I go to see them on the bus, but I can’t bring myself to visit more than a handful of times after that.

  Betty has always been a lively, funny, energetic woman. She’s been full of the joy of living. Now she’s just a shadow of herself: a frail, shrunken, white ghost. It’s as if life has played a cruel trick on her, and she can’t understand why, or what she’s done to deserve it. From being cheerful and enjoying all the simple pleasures in life, she has become old, confused and withdrawn. It really breaks my heart.

  Less than three years after Len’s death, Betty passes away in the night, at Shirley’s house. I go to the funeral and cry and cry. I lose contact with Shirley and the rest of the family in the end.

  Chapter 13

  1985

  Barry

  I remember the start of my first term at Wentford Grammar School, how I lined up with the other children in my new uniform with a tie and a blazer, with the school’s special badge on the pocket, and suddenly felt at home. I loved my new leather satchel. It contained a whole bundle of exercise books, as well as some interesting school textbooks. My new form teacher introduced me to my classmates and asked them to be helpful and friendly to me, because ‘it’s hard to be a new boy in a new school’. I didn’t expect them to do as he said. I was astonished that his request seemed to work. Several of the other children came to talk to me in a friendly way during break. No one called me names at Wentford.

  Three years after that introduction, I’m still happy to be here. There’s the usual group of boys who like to play football in the yard, and they even invite me to join them. The difference is they don’t abuse me when I politely decline. There are plenty of boys too, who like me, have many interests other than football! I’m suddenly among other human beings with brains!

  Due entirely to Auntie Erna, my life has been transformed. I have been spared the torture of life in my former school. To think that at first Mum didn’t even want to accept her offer! She took some persuading to agree to Erna paying for me to move to the grammar school. Well, it wasn’t her who had to suffer being the odd one out, the only boy with a brain and the desire to use it. In the midst of morons and savages.

  Gradually I have found out who are the more serious boys in my year – those who are bright enough to be in the top set, as I am for every subject. Over time some of those boys have become friends and companions, although I’m very aware of the difference in our backgrounds. It can be quite embarrassing.

  Some of my classmates invite me to their homes, and Mum is forever tediously trying to persuade me to ask them back to us for tea! She still keeps pressing me to invite them to our home, completely oblivious to how uncomfortable I might find it. Most of my friends come from well-to-do families, with highly educated, professional parents: lawyers, consultants, managing directors and suchlike. They live in homes that match their backgrounds, as you might expect. They talk about the kids from council estates as ‘plebs’. I’m hardly going to reveal that my mother cooks and cleans for her employer.

  Mum doesn’t seem to appreciate that no way do I want to expose my friends to our poky little flat, to be entertained by stories of her peasant life back in Ireland, and fed beans on toast, or similarly unsophisticated fare. She’s perfectly capable of cooking proper evening meals, but seems to feel anyone under about sixteen should be given ‘simple tea’, as she ate as a child. I’m certainly not going to reveal that I’m actually descended from Irish peasants.

  I find the gap between my mother’s experiences and my own grows wider day by day. Of course I’m fond of her, but I do resent the way she is constantly harping on about everyone having a ‘sadness’ in their life, which she says maybe she’ll tell me more about ‘when I’m older’, but that now is not the right time.

  I’ve always been aware of some vague feeling that I’m not enough for her, that somehow there’s something missing – as if she wants my sympathy. But as she’s not prepared to elaborate, what can I do about it?

  I think perhaps I’m growing away from her and maybe that’s natural at my age, but it’s almost as though she pushes me away, so she can’t be surprised if there’s sometimes a distance between us. It’s not my doing.

  I do find her lack of ambition irritating and frustrating too. She tells me she did well at school and was considered bright, though it was probably basically a simple sort of hedge school and could hardly have had demanded high standards. Anyway, what has she done since then to improve herself and her qualifications? Absolutely nothing – except being pathetically proud of her sewing abilities. It appears that she does have a bit of a gift for designing clothes, so why not develop that side of things further? No, not even that. I don’t think I inherited my intellectual leanings from her … so from whom I wonder?

  Luckily, Auntie Erna has always been a kind of parent-cum-grandparent to me, and one who fulfils the more intellectual side of my life. From early on she recognised my ability, and the need to stimulate me with demanding cerebral activities. I’ve always enjoyed her company, although I suppose her own intellect may start to deteriorate now that she’s getting so old.

  Chapter 14

  1989

  Barry

  My Dear Barry,

  I’m so glad you’ve settled well at university and are finding your studies interesting. You were so ready to be stretched intellectually, and to make your way independently in life. I can just imagine how satisfying it is. I’m sure you have some interesting discussions with your fellows!

  Of course your mother loves and misses you dreadfully – as do I – but she is so proud of all you have achieved, and does not resent you having to be in London to fulfil your ambitions. It is inevitable that parents and children have some differences as young people spread their wings and get ready to ‘leave the nest’. I hope you appreciate that Marie wants nothing but that you follow your dreams. She had so few opportunities to pursue study or a career herself, but don’t forget too, that you have been fortunate in inheriting her genes. She is extremely able and I am sure you will come to see that more clearly in time.

  I don’t want to lecture you, Barry – you will have many at university who are much more able than I to take on that role! So study hard and enjoy all the opportunities your new environment offers you. I hope you will have a wonderful time. Enjoy yoursel
f.

  With fond love,

  Your Auntie Erna

  PS: I hope you received the cheque I sent you at the beginning of November? You maybe forgot to mention it in your last letter.

  What a relief it’s been living away from home this last year, though sometimes I do miss my conversations with Auntie Erna. There were some painful, overemotional goodbyes of course, especially with Mum.

  Erna is right that I was so ready for living independently. Sharing my life with two women, each clingy in their own way, for the first nearly twenty years of my life has felt pretty stifling at times. Just leaving the house with my suitcase and stepping on the train at Blackheath station felt like an extraordinary liberation. I’m sometimes impelled to take deep breaths to clear my lungs, my heart and my head of the cloying atmosphere.

  It’s just fantastic being in an environment so totally focused on cerebral pursuits. None of this could have happened without Erna, and I am eternally in her debt, as Mum never fails to remind me. I’m sure Erna has no intention of actually asking me to pay back what she’s spent on me. I certainly hope not! Maybe one day, when I’m earning pots of money, I’ll offer to pay her back … but I don’t suppose she’d accept it.

  Erna loves receiving letters from me, telling her all about the current focus of my studies, and about university life in general. I do actually enjoy sharing details of my courses and experiences with her. She always responds with great thought and intelligence to my comments about the lectures I’ve just attended, and about my latest research.

  What would I have done, growing up, without Erna? Of course it’s not just about the money, though that’s been a crucial enabling factor – but it’s been about the nature of my relationship with her. I think this last year, despite being apart for most of the time, we’ve actually grown closer, if that were possible.

  Of course I do miss and love Mum too, in a way. Somehow, she always seems to be withholding some part of her heart. It’s not an easy relationship. Well, perhaps it’s not surprising, her own experience having been so far removed from mine. It’s as if she can’t always connect with me … or maybe it’s the other way round.

  Erna has paid for whatever part of my course is not covered by my grant. She sends me regular generous contributions for my living expenses. Stupidly, I must have forgotten to mention her last cheque. They make quite a difference, so, luckily, I can manage financially without too much difficulty. I certainly wouldn’t have survived if I’d had to depend on Mum’s support alone. She has no idea of the cost of living independently in London as a student, although she should have some understanding, having been nearly destitute when I was a baby. Apparently we were practically sleeping on the streets.

  When I left the house to start at university, Mum and Erna each handed me an envelope to open on the train, or when I reached my accommodation, to give my finances ‘a bit of a boost’ at the start of my course. Erna’s envelope contained £200; Mum’s contained £50. That says it all.

  ***

  Most of the others on my course are men, but there is a small group of girls too. I get to know one of them quite well during freshers’ week. She’s called Helena, and both her parents are clearly high-earning professionals, so she’s had a lot of financial support throughout her childhood, and at university.

  We start going out together during the first term. She’s very good-looking in a conventional sort of way: long blonde hair and a good figure. I really fancy Helena. Although she isn’t the brightest star in the sky, at first, we get on well, and the regular sex is great.

  She went to a posh girls’ public school in Surrey. On our first date Helena revealed that it was one of the most expensive girls’ schools in Britain. Her parents must be loaded.

  ‘It was such fun!’ she told me, sipping her glass of top-quality white wine. I watched anxiously as the wine rapidly disappeared. It had cost me more than I’d ever spent on a whole bottle previously!

  ‘I was quite sporty,’ Helena said, her cheeks growing pink. ‘I was in the school lacrosse team. We had such a fabulous time!’

  I sense we don’t have a lot in common and it soon becomes clear that she’s quite ‘high-maintenance’. All that money behind her from Mummy and Daddy, but she still clearly expects me to pay her share most of the time, whatever we’re doing, and ‘economy’ is not a word in her vocabulary.

  ‘It’s just what a gentleman should do,’ she would say coyly.

  ‘Maybe I’m no gentleman. Maybe I’m just your bit of rough.’

  She likes that – at first. Then she starts complaining I’m ‘too rough’.

  It’s quite a turn-on seeing how far I can go playing the rugged ‘hard man’ role. I get bored with Helena after a while though, and decide I’m not prepared to waste any more time, or money on her. I start looking around for someone more exciting, and less costly. There are plenty more fish in the sea.

  ***

  I wouldn’t say I make particularly close friendships at university, but I meet people whose company I enjoy from time to time, and with whom there are no trying emotional entanglements – just interesting discussion, light-hearted banter, plenty of alcohol and an introduction to a range of increasingly strong substances. I’d started on occasional joints in sixth form, but it’s at uni that I start exploring some of the harder stuff.

  Mum – and Erna – would be horrified, no doubt.

  Chapter 15

  1992

  Marie

  I run to Erna’s sitting room, the letter clutched in my hand.

  ‘Erna! Erna!’ I shout.

  She looks up from her newspaper in alarm. ‘What is it, my dear? What’s the matter?’

  ‘No, nothing’s the matter. Nothing at all. Barry’s been awarded a First Class Honours degree at university! Just think – our Barry! What an achievement, and he says he’s been offered a top job at an international bank!’

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful. Where will he be working? Is he coming home soon?’

  ‘He says it’s in the City! He says he’s going to find a flat to rent, somewhere to share with a friend, I think. Oh, Erna, I’m so proud of him. I just don’t know where he gets his brains from!’

  ‘I do! Barry gets his brains from you, my dear. In any case, Marie, you have brought up your clever son, and encouraged him in all he does, and that’s your wonderful achievement.’

  ‘Mmm.’ I smile thoughtfully.

  ‘Oh, Marie, you never seem to realise how clever you are. You may not have had the chance to finish your education, but just look at what you have achieved yourself. Your dress designs are in demand all over south London! I always felt you could have become anything: a teacher, a nurse, a lawyer … anything. Maybe now that Barry is through university and progressing professionally, you could think of opening a little boutique, or at least selling some of your designs in an existing boutique.

  ‘Or, if you wanted, what’s to stop you retraining for a different line of work? You could do anything you wanted. I would gladly support you.’

  On these occasions I feel a great knot of anxiety build in my stomach. I sit there, a weight like a stone inside, heavy, dragging me down. I suppose I take on a doubtful expression, because Erna studies my face intently. She looks as if she clearly recognises that expression – she knows me so well – and realises that now is not the time to push her arguments further. She puts it aside for the time being, but I know she’ll return to it again another day.

  My self-confidence has always been fragile, and still is to this day. I feel so uneducated. The only thing I’ve ever been really good at is sewing and dressmaking, even years back as a young girl at school in Ireland.

  It had felt good to excel in something. I was a hard-working and careful pupil, always in the top few of the class in other subjects. I loved to read, and the teacher praised my writing and number work too so I wasn’t stupid, whatever Barry thinks!

  I suppose I might have been even cleverer if I’d attended school every day, but w
hat with my four little sisters – Bridie, Ava, Nuala and Grace – Ma often kept me home to help her.

  The domestic studies teacher praised my sewing all the time. She let me use the new electric machine – there was only one for the whole school. I knew my skill in dressmaking was something exceptional, and that gave me a special feeling.

  Sure, hadn’t I made little frocks and nighties for my younger sisters by cutting up old sheets and curtains that neighbours had discarded, or Ma’s old clothes? After a while I even made my own patterns, drawing them carefully on sheets of old newspapers. Ma said the clothes I made were better than shop-bought and anyway there was no money for buying new clothes in the shops. She said I had a real way with a needle. Coming from her, that meant something; she was sparing with her praise was Ma.

  Those first months in Blackheath with Erna, when Barry was a toddler, I realised I could make something of that skill. Sure enough my work is valued by the fine ladies who are Erna’s friends, and visit the house. It feels so special to know I can do something and do it well, when they can’t, however clever and educated they are!

  Barry has certainly made the most of the opportunity Erna gave him. He always worked hard at school: completing his homework assignments on time and getting good marks in all his subjects. I was, and am, truly bursting with pride in my clever son, but I’m always careful not to show off to others.

  I always loved Barry to show me his schoolwork, though he was often reluctant to do so. I have to admit that when he did show me his exercise books, often I could hardly make head nor tail of what he’d written, especially some of the science and mathematics! It could have been Egyptian hieroglyphics for all I understood of it, and Barry would often raise his eyebrows at my ignorance. I tried to ask intelligent questions but they must have seemed foolish to him.