You Must Be Sisters

by Deborah Moggach

  Finally, being lazy, she’d left the room as it was, the only concession to her virginal visitor being the removal of Mac’s more obvious possessions and the concealing of them in the cupboard. And she changed the sheets in honour of the chaste couple who would be occupying them that night.

  And anyway, once Holly had arrived it was at once obvious that no effort had been needed at all. It didn’t matter what they did. Everything was delightful to Holly because every rule could be broken. How fascinatingly lawless to lie on the carpet at one o’clock on a sunny day and read Beano! ‘Holly, really!’ her mother would have said. ‘Just look at that sun outside.’ But all Laura had said was ‘There’s a Beezer in my bag when you’ve finished that,’ and gone on stirring something in a saucepan, something that smelt funny and foreign. Everything was so different here, even the meals.

  And then she’d seen some ants walking across the floor, a little line of them carrying crumbs towards a crack in the wall. ‘Oh look, Laura!’ she’d said, and Laura had stopped stirring and knelt down beside her. ‘Mac!’ she’d called, and Mac had woken up (a funny time of day to be sleeping!) and got off the bed and they’d all knelt down together and watched the ants for ages. They both seemed really interested. Back home Mummy would have swept up all the ants with tut-tutting noises. But then, back home, there wouldn’t have been any crumbs on the floor anyway.

  After lunch they’d gone off into the woods, which was fun, and she’d broken in her shoes which she’d been meaning to do for ages when she was at a safe distance from Mummy and Daddy.

  Then they’d come back and seen some chairs piled up behind a fence. Mac had climbed over the fence and taken some. ‘Aren’t you stealing?’ she’d asked. ‘I expect so,’ he’d said, calm as anything. How naughty! It had made her feel quite peculiar. Nicely peculiar, she’d decided after a bit. And back in Laura’s room they’d broken them up and had a real fire. At home it was just a dreary pretend one. This one was lovely.

  And now they were all sitting round the fire and she was teaching them how to do cat’s cradles. At home nobody would have sat with her long enough. Certainly not Mummy and Daddy at the same time. Mummy and Daddy were always looking at their watches. Mac didn’t; he practised them again and again and got jolly good at them. Nobody told her to wash or anything boring like that; in fact, nobody got boring at all, except once or twice Mac got funny about school. Questions like Did the girls have any power in the running of the school? And she’d said No fear.

  Later they had another meal, sort of soupy stuff with bits in it. ‘What’s this funny branch?’ she asked. She lifted it out on her spoon.

  ‘Time,’ said Laura, or something like that. ‘It’s a Herb.’

  She sucked it. All new tastes today. After supper Mac went out and she thought he’d gone back to his home. Laura kept saying what a nice home he had. But he came back a bit later with a bottle. The fire had gone out because they’d run out of chair and it had got rather chilly. There was only one light, too, so she had to crouch on the floor to finish her Beezer while they poured out whatever it was into glasses. She had a sniff; it smelt horrid, like Badger’s big jobs in the sandpit, and sick, and stuff the doctor had given her when she had tonsilitis – no, actually, it didn’t smell like them, she was just thinking of all the worst things she could.

  They took ages drinking it, as if it was nice or something and she, Holly, was feeling jolly cold by now because she’d not brought another jersey with her; but she couldn’t get into bed because Mac was still there and she certainly couldn’t get undressed with him there, no fear, because her bosoms were starting to show. So she found a book and looked at it beside the lamp. It had peculiar pictures in it of bare men climbing all over each other, and monsters.

  ‘That’s bosh,’ Laura said, or something like that. ‘He’s good, isn’t he?’

  It was funny, they were doing such odd and rude things, she spent ages looking at all the rude bits. She never knew people did things like that. But she didn’t like it much, it made her feel queasy. And anyway, to tell the truth she was rather sleepy. It was eleven o’clock and Mummy always made her go to bed at half past nine, which was soft of course, but –

  ‘By the way, Holly, if Mummy and Daddy ask if anyone was here, just say Mac came to tea.’

  ‘But he didn’t.’

  ‘I know, but say that. Please. Be a sport. Anyway, he’ll be going, er, home in a minute. So it’s nearly true.’

  ‘OK,’ she said, but she felt confused. Why must she say that? What was wrong with Mac being there?

  She hid a yawn behind the violent pages of her book. How sissy to look tired! Specially after the fuss she always made, about going to bed at half past nine!

  ‘By the way,’ said Laura. ‘Claire’s coming tomorrow. She wrote and said Geoff has some business here so she’s coming for the day. And they’ll take you back to London in the evening.’

  ‘Claire?’ Surprisingly, Holly suddenly felt better. Somehow, Claire and Geoff meant things being done properly. And just for a humiliating, homesick moment that was just what she wanted. Silly, but she did. It was something to do with it being night and nobody minding what time it was, and that book and things.

  She yawned again, and when she woke she was lying with Laura’s legs all tangled up with hers and it was morning.

  twenty-five

  ‘CLAIRE!’

  They hugged each other, then stood back, each sister with so much to say.

  ‘Excuse the stink, excuse the mess.’ Laura led Claire into the passage. They squeezed past the pram and the potty cupboard. ‘There’s a family with about thirty children upstairs. They have a social worker visiting and everything.’

  Claire picked her way over the curling lino. ‘I feel I know this place, every inch, from your letters. Where’s Mac?’

  ‘Out for a walk with Holly.’ It pleased Laura to link their names together, so that Mac was a part of them all. ‘Let’s go straight into the garden and wait for them there.’

  They edged their way down the passage and out of the back door. ‘And Geoff?’ Laura asked over her shoulder.

  ‘Seeing some client. He said he’ll come here after lunch.’

  Something in Claire’s voice made Laura stop in her tracks. This Geoff business couldn’t be more serious than she thought, could it? He seemed so much part of Claire’s day, accepted into it.

  Geoff. Mac. The names hovered round their speech, but for a moment they just let them hover. ‘Here’s my garden, then,’ said Laura. ‘Our garden.’

  They stepped across some rusted iron spokes, the bowels of something long past recognition, and sat down in Laura’s small square of cut grass.

  Claire gazed round, smiling at the sun on Laura’s lettuces which struggled through the weeds. Then she gazed at a clump of cornflowers; such intense blue – if she closed her eyes until everything went blurry, the blue still pierced through, ‘It’s idyllic,’ she said. ‘Your own room, your own garden, your own Mac. Do you feel all fulfilled and happy?’

  Laura lay back on the grass and closed her eyes. ‘I suppose so. Yes, I’m sure I do. It’s just that sometimes I feel it’s all a bit too idyllic, if you see what I mean.’ She lay still. If for once I organize my thoughts, actually speak my doubts, won’t that make them concrete? And then won’t I have to do something about them? Better just to lie back and feel the sun warm on my arms and listen to the hum of the traffic.

  But then she thought: Geoff must be amongst that hum somewhere. And she felt uneasy again, especially as she could hear Claire pulling up bits of grass. Claire, usually so straightforward, wasn’t the sort to fidget.

  Laura took a breath, kept her eyes closed and asked: ‘What gives with Geoff, then?’

  A pause, a long one.

  ‘Well,’ came Claire’s slow voice. ‘That’s really why I came down here. I wanted to tell you first.’

  Oh no, thought Laura. Oh no.

  ‘You see. Well.’ More grass-pulling sounds. ‘Wel
l, I was thinking …’ She paused. A silence, but for the tearing sounds. ‘What I mean is, Geoff and I were thinking of …’ Another silence. The tearing sounds stopped. ‘Amazingly enough, we were thinking of getting married.’

  Laura let out her breath. Christ. She sat up and stared at Claire. Claire’s eyes looked bright and enquiring; anxious too? She stared at Claire’s hand, stilled on a clump of grass.

  ‘Well?’ asked Claire.

  ‘Well, how about that! Claire! When did you know?’ It hardly mattered what she said.

  ‘Just a week or so ago. I wanted to tell you in person.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Honestly, she couldn’t think what to say. So she said: ‘Congratulations!’ as if Claire were a total stranger.

  The grass-pulling started again. Claire was watching her. ‘Go on, Laura. Tell me what you think.’

  ‘Honestly, I think it’s all jolly exciting. Jolly exciting, I must say. What a thing to happen, eh? You and Geoff. Goodness.’ She burbled away at random. ‘He’s very handsome.’ She nearly added: ‘And he’s got such a lovely car,’ which showed how hard up she was.

  Avoiding Claire’s eyes, she stared at the backbone of iron that stuck up through the grass. The sun went behind a cloud and she shivered.

  ‘I can see his faults,’ said Claire brightly. ‘I’m very level-headed. Anyway, I’ve got faults too.’ Oh no! Laura shouted silently, not like his! ‘It’s just that, although he may not bowl one over with excitement at first glance, one discovers more and more as time goes on. He’s very very nice. Decent. He’s so sensible. I like that.’ She was still searching Laura’s face; Laura, avoiding her gaze, could yet feel it burning her cheeks. Claire went on: ‘It’s all right for me, you see. I don’t mind about intriguing lifestyles and all. He doesn’t have to set the world alight.’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ she replied simply. ‘And I do hope you will. Give him a bit of a chance. He’s very English, you know. Sometimes you have to break through a sort of code.’ She was still pulling at the grass. ‘I know you’ll love him too.’

  ‘Goodness,’ protested Laura, ‘I’m sure I like him already. I think he’s very nice, honestly.’ How terrible to have to be polite to one’s sister!

  After a while Claire got up to wander about the garden. Laura felt suddenly lonely. All at once she and Claire were miles apart; it was the same desolate feeling as when Mac had shown her his awful paintings. From now onwards Geoff stood between them; from now onwards she would have to pretend about him. She could never say what she thought.

  For Geoff surely was boring. Now Claire was down the garden she could sort him out better in her mind. Wasn’t his the dullness she so despised, the well-nurtured dullness of Harrow? The most comfortable emptiness? She tried to picture their married evenings, Claire looking out of the window and Geoff totting up his Barclay-card counterfoils. Dead! Dead!

  She threw herself back on the grass. Perhaps she was unjust; perhaps he was the type to blossom as a husband. After all, he was perfectly pleasant, not unintelligent, he’d care for Claire.

  He’d had no brothers or sisters to loosen him up. Perhaps he’d improve; she must give him a chance.

  She sat up and watched Claire walking towards her, brown hair billowing round her face. Oh, but nobody was good enough for Claire, with her unshowy, independent life! Claire, who never lost touch with her fellow humans whatever they were like, and who was so special just because she believed herself to be so ordinary.

  Just then Claire started waving to someone behind Laura’s back. Laura turned round. Mac had appeared at the back door with Holly. She got up. Claire approached, brushing the bits of grass off her skirt. Grass lay everywhere, green scatterings of her huge news.

  Mac and Holly looked companionable standing there together; this warmed Laura. She also needed him at this moment. Bereft of Claire, he suddenly seemed more important to her. She ran towards him.

  But as she approached, her warmth drained away.

  ‘Hello folks.’ Mac looked sheepish; he scratched his head. She could see at a glance that he had been drinking. There was something about his smile lingering forgotten on his face; anyway, she could smell the booze now she was this near. And she’d wanted him so much. He gave Claire a kiss; it would be, unmistakably, a beery one.

  ‘Where did you go?’ she demanded, feeling shrewish as she said it, the nagging wife.

  He replied, unabashed: ‘To the Downs.’

  ‘Then where?’ Her patient voice. ‘Which pub?’

  ‘Oh, just the Oak. On the way home, that is.’

  ‘Where did Holly go? She’s not allowed in pubs.’

  ‘I sat outside in the garden,’ said Holly. ‘It was lovely.’

  ‘What, all alone?’

  ‘But I could see him inside. And anyway I played with a dog. It really was fun.’

  But sinkingly Laura could see that Holly protested too much. She wouldn’t have told her it was such fun if she hadn’t thought it was odd. And from this she gathered that he must have spent ages in the pub; longer, for sure, than a quick one.

  Oh Mac! Even the fact that his jumper was inside-out failed to melt her. As he stood there, scratching and blinking, she thought: Is this what my father feels? This disappointment and feeling of sheer waste? ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go in.’

  They started towards the door. Just then they heard some thuds amongst the thistles, followed by a pattering noise. They looked up at the house; in an upstairs window they saw a figure sinking back into the darkness of the top room. Closer inspection of the thistles revealed eggshells and two tins saying Batchelor Peas.

  ‘It’s too much,’ said Laura. ‘They can’t go on just chucking out their rubbish.’ She turned to Mac. ‘Will you go upstairs and tell them to shut up?’

  Mac paused and considered this.

  ‘Go on!’ she urged.

  He scratched his head again. He looked uncomfortable. ‘Can’t you go?’ he said at last. ‘I’m scared of that big bloke. He always gives me dirty looks when I meet him on the stairs.’ He put on a persuasive face. ‘Honestly, my sonner, he likes you. You do it.’

  Laura blushed, ashamed of his feebleness – or of his gentleness – he became coloured differently according to her mood. She knew Claire must be thinking of Geoff and how he would have leapt up the stairs wordlessly, no hesitation. ‘You’re hopeless,’ she said with a laugh. But it was important, for her. Claire was always calling Laura’s life bohemian, but in truth it was bohemian only in its trivial things, like odd hours and harmonium playing. Its essentials, such as her feelings about Mac, were of the most ordinary kind. Nothing exotic about her disappointment, or her impatience, or her love. At the bottom she was exactly the same as everybody else. Whether that was a comfort or not she couldn’t, for the hundredth time, decide.

  Lunch had gone on so long that at three sharp, when Geoff arrived, they were just thinking about coffee. On the doorstep Laura didn’t know how to greet him. Should she give him a kiss? He was now definitely in the kissing category. But she didn’t dare, he was so tall and straight. Not unpleasant, though, at close view. She would next time. After all, he didn’t know that she knew yet.

  She led him past the junk, apologizing for it this time with a touch more smugness than she had with Claire. His leading such a very conventional life made her prouder of hers. Upstairs he shook hands all round, even with Holly. Holly looked pleased; hardly anyone ever shook her hand. Laura poured out the coffee.

  And as they took their cups, Geoff was informed that they knew. Congratulations were given, even Mac wished them good luck for the great unknown, and suddenly, sitting round the table, they were united. It was quite unexpected. They gazed into the brown liquid; as they stirred the sugar they were hushed, each gazing into his cup and into the mysterious years ahead. They sipped and drank as if drinking a sacrament. Claire and Geoff sat side by side, impressive; even Holly for an instant looked older. The weight of marriage had taken
them all by surprise.

  But the moment passed. Conversation broke out, Claire got up to clear the plates and the general feeling changed to: What now?

  And the consensus was: The Zoo. An agreeable enough way for this little assortment, this motley fivesome, to spend the afternoon.

  ‘My favourite place,’ said Mac. ‘Some truly amazing creatures.’

  ‘I haven’t been to a zoo for years,’ said Geoff.

  ‘There’s an otter,’ said Mac, ‘who I have deep conversations with.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Geoff.

  ‘And a very motherly giraffe.’ Mac started foraging under the sink for some carrots, another farewell haul from the gardens. Getting them past the foreman, he’d told Laura, had been very cinematic. ‘Let’s bring these. They must get pissed off with all those buns.’

  ‘But I don’t think one’s allowed to feed animals in zoos,’ said Geoff. ‘People give them the wrong things, you see. Their diet’s carefully worked out, I’ve been told.’

  A pause. Laura looked at him sourly. He was right, of course.

  Holly asked Mac: ‘Can we see the white tigers?’

  ‘Uh-huh. They’re amazing, but snooty.’

  ‘And can we stay a long time, not be hurried?’

  Mac nodded.

  ‘Good.’ She did like Mac. He made things special, somehow.

  Geoff was shuffling through his briefcase. ‘Lucky I brought my camera along, wasn’t it. Is there a shop on the way where I can get some more film? I only have six exposures left and I’d like to get the Zoo down on record.’

  Laura looked at him severely. He was the sort of person, she decided, who only enjoyed something if he could take a photo of it. Document it. In fact he seemed to surround himself with apparatus. Now he was rummaging around for his umbrella, looking out of the window at the sky as he did so. She watched him, thinking of the series of boulders that must constitute his day, each one to be heaved aside or negotiated somehow. The equipment he used to weigh himself down! No doubt he was right about the possibility of rain. People like that usually were, whereas people like her got drenched.