Dad’s coming offstage now. I caught his eye while he was playing and he winked at me, and it made me feel special, like he did care and he was pleased I’d made it. But he isn’t coming over to me now; he’s going straight to the bar to get a drink and talk to his friends. I haven’t managed to chat to him at all since the last gig, even though I’ve rung a few times. He did pick up once, told me he was rehearsing and that he’d call me back later. He didn’t.
I stand on my own by one of the booths, feeling like a misshape in a chocolate box, wondering whether I should go over to him. Eventually, Shane spots me and beckons me over to join the group.
‘Hello again, Sky, can I get you a drink?’
‘Yes, please,’ I say, gratefully. ‘Just a lime and soda.’ I think it sounds more sophisticated than a Diet Coke.
‘Coming right up. So did you enjoy the gig?’
‘Yes, it was good.’
He laughs. ‘I guess it’s not really your type of music. You don’t have any blues on your MP-wotsit player?’
I’m embarrassed. ‘No, but I kind of like it. I remember some of the tunes from Dad’s CDs when I was little.’
‘There’s hope for your generation yet, then. Hear that, Connor, your daughter likes a bit of blues.’
Dad turns around and puts his arm across my shoulder. ‘Course she does.’
I sip my drink and join in with the banter for a while, wondering how I will ever get Dad on his own for a proper conversation. When he announces that he’s going outside for a cigarette, I seize my opportunity. ‘Can I come out with you, Dad?’
‘Sure,’ he says. ‘Do you want one?’
‘No! I’m only fourteen, remember. I don’t smoke. I just want to talk to you.’
‘Ah, aye. OK.’
I follow him outside and we stand with all the other smokers, puffing away. I wonder how I’m going to explain to Mum why my clothes stink of smoke. I’ll have to tell her that Rosie has started smoking.
‘So what did you want to talk to me about?’
‘You know, just stuff.’
‘Stuff?’ He seems uncomfortable. In fact, the expression on his face is just like the one Rich used to make when I told him I wanted to talk. Are all guys like that? Or am I just unlucky?
‘About you, me, life . . . You haven’t really told me anything about what you’ve been up to since you left.’
‘Not much to tell, really. I’ve been touring, living here and there, all over the country. Had a few girlfriends. Nothing special. I’m a “wherever I lay my hat” type of guy. Easy come, easy go.’
He doesn’t mention being homeless. Or the fact he lived in Camden for a while.
‘Why didn’t you stay in touch with us?’
‘I did at first. But your mother didn’t want anything to do with me. It made it hard. And I didn’t have any money to send. I figured you were all doing fine without me.’
‘Oh. But we missed you. I missed you.’
‘I thought about you girls all the time, always had your photos with me. I knew we’d see each other again, one day.’
He gives me a brief hug, then pinches my cheek, as if that’s supposed to make everything all right. ‘Come on,’ he says, dropping the end of his cigarette and stamping on the butt. ‘Let’s go back inside and sit down in one of the booths.’
He waits until I’m seated, then goes to the bar again, returning with two more drinks. ‘Let’s talk about you instead. Much more interesting. Do you have a boyfriend?’
I sigh. ‘Bad subject. I did have, but it’s finished. I don’t really want to talk about it.’
‘Aye, I know what it’s like. You’re a pretty girl, I’m sure there will be lots of lads all queuing up to date you.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Seriously? Where? Anyway, tell me about your girlfriend. Have you been together long?’
‘Girlfriend? Which girlfriend?’
‘The one over there at the bar, talking to some of your fans. The one who was at your last gig too. She looks dead young, long dark hair.’
‘Long dark hair?’ He nods in her direction. ‘Oh, you mean Katie!’ He laughs heartily, as though this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. ‘She wouldn’t be interested in an old fellow like me. Katie’s not my girlfriend. She’s my daughter.’
our daughter? But that means she’s my sister!’ I’m numb with shock. So numb that I don’t even laugh nervously.
‘Aye. Well, more accurately, your half-sister. Can’t you see the resemblance? You’re two peas in a pod, so you are.’
Something Reg said at Dot’s Music Shop now comes back to me. ‘He had some photos that he put above his bed. All pretty girls, his daughters. A couple of you just like him too.’ I remember, at the time, thinking that it was a strange thing to say – Ocean and Grass look nothing like my dad. Reg must have been talking about Katie all along. He must have seen a photo of her.
‘I don’t understand, Dad.’ Nothing makes any sense. Katie must be older than Ocean, at least nineteen or twenty. How can that be? ‘How old is she, Dad?’
‘Ah, you know I’m not good at ages. She’s around twenty, twenty-one I think.’ He furrows his brow. ‘Yes, twenty-one.’
‘But that means . . .’ That means Dad had a family before he met Mum. That means that for the whole of my life, I’ve had a sister I didn’t know about. A living, breathing sister who’s been calling my dad Dad, going to his gigs, maybe even living with him.
I look over at her, watch as she talks to some guy at the bar and throws her head back in laughter, oblivious, and I realise that I feel horribly jealous of this girl who shares my dad’s affections. How much time did he spend with her when I was little? How much money did he give her, when we had to go without because he was broke? All those times he went away ‘on tour’ – was he really with her, with his other family?
‘I don’t understand,’ I say again. ‘How? Who’s her mum?’
‘A girl I knew way back, before I met your mother. We weren’t together long.’
‘So Katie’s never lived with you?’
‘Oh no. It wasn’t like that. Her mother and I split up before she was born.’
‘So how come she’s here now?’
‘Same reason you are,’ he says. ‘She tracked me down. A few years ago. She comes along to some of my gigs.’
‘God, Dad! Do you have any other kids I should know about?’ I blush. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. But I need to know; I can’t handle any more secrets, any more surprises.
Dad grins, perhaps a little too mischievously. ‘Not that I know of, no.’
‘Right. Good. But what about my mum? Does she know about Katie?’
‘Aye, she does. Katie was a baby when we got together. She met her once or twice.’
Now I’m angry with Mum. My mind is whirring. Why didn’t she tell us? I have a right to know that I have a half-sister, don’t I? Maybe I’d have liked the opportunity to get to know her. We could have been friends, closer than I am to Ocean and Grass. What if she’d been a boy, not a girl, and we’d bumped into each other and fallen in love . . .? It’s all just too weird to think about. ‘Does Katie know about us, about your other family? Does she know who I am?’
I remember thinking that the girl – Katie – might have been smiling at me earlier, when she caught me staring at her. I didn’t smile back. I just looked away. But that was when I thought she was Dad’s girlfriend.
Dad appears uncomfortable. ‘She knows I have other daughters. She knows your name. She was asking about you, wondering who you were. I said I didn’t think you knew about her. Maybe I should introduce the two of you.’
My stomach flips over. I’m not sure if I’m ready for that. Five minutes ago, I wasn’t aware that Katie existed. ‘Um, I don’t know . . . Maybe, yes, you should, I guess.’
‘All right. Stay there,’ he says, before I can change my mind. He picks up his pint from the table and walks over to the bar, leaving me sitting alone, unsure what to do with myself. I fidd
le with my hair and cross and uncross my legs, trying to pretend that everything is normal. I watch as he walks up to her and whispers something in her ear. She smiles, swings her handbag over her shoulder, and the two of them start heading towards me. Dad catches my eye and winks.
They’re here. Oh God. How do you greet the sister you didn’t know you had? I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, certain that my voice, if I still have one, will come out in a high-pitched squeak.
‘Hi,’ she says. ‘I’m Katie.’
I try to scramble up to meet her but my seat is too close to the table. I sit down again, clumsily. ‘I’m Sky.’
She leans over to kiss me on the cheek and, at the same time, I hold out my hand. We both giggle, awkwardly.
‘OK, I’ll leave you girls to it,’ says Dad. He seems relieved. He wanders back over to the bar, leaving me alone with Katie. We sit in silence for a moment, grinning at each other.
‘Um, nice to meet you,’ I say. ‘Um, this is weird.’
Katie laughs. ‘Yeah. On a scale of weirdness, this is about a hundred. Must be weirder for you, though. Dad says you didn’t even know about me till tonight.’
I bristle when she calls him Dad. Now that’s really weird. But she seems all right – warm, friendly. I feel comfortable with her, even in this bizarre situation. Instantly comfortable, like I can talk to her about anything.
‘I’m sorry if I was rude, earlier. I thought you were Dad’s girlfriend. It made me sort of hate you. I don’t even know why.’
‘Oh good God, you didn’t, did you? Ha! Believe me, he’s really not my type. Even if he weren’t my dad. Eugh! Funny, I thought you were just acting cool. A cool Camdenite. I meet a lot of them when I work around here.’
‘Me, cool? No way!’
‘You look pretty cool,’ she says. ‘I love your hair, and your style.’
‘Really? Thanks. I like what you’re wearing too. So what do you do? In your work, I mean?’
‘Well, mainly I’m a student – art – at the Slade. It’s part of UCL, up the road. That’s how come I ended up living round here. But I also work as a DJ, doing parties and clubs. My moniker is Lady Luscious. I didn’t come up with it!’
‘Wow, now that’s really cool.’
She grins. ‘Thanks. I love DJing, and the money’s not bad. Most of all, I love the music.’
‘Yeah? Do you like R&B? I saw Bizzie Trip in Camden recently. At the MTV studios. I totally heart him.’
‘He’s OK,’ she says. ‘Not bad. I prefer slightly more alternative stuff. I’ll play you some of my tracks if you like, some time.’
‘Yeah, I’d love that. I wish I knew how to DJ.’
‘I can teach you.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah. Why not? It might be fun. I’ve always wanted a little sister.’
‘When all along you had three of us.’
‘Yeah.’ She chews her lip. ‘I don’t know if I should say this but I actually used to hate you too – not you personally – but all of you, the idea of you. I thought you’d stolen my dad. You were all playing happy families with him, while me and Mum had to cope on our own.’
‘It wasn’t like that . . . He only stuck around till I was eight, and before that he wasn’t around much either, always away on tour. He used to drink a lot. We never had any money.’
She smiles. ‘I know. Don’t worry, I didn’t make voodoo dolls of you and stick pins in them, or anything like that. Although I was tempted.’
‘Phew! So how did you find Dad?’
‘My mum is a musician too – she teaches violin – and she knew a few people on the circuit who knew what he was up to. When I came to uni, I did a bit of Googling, found a gig he was playing at and pitched up.’
‘Wow, that’s almost the same as me.’ I don’t say “except for the mum part”. ‘So have you seen a lot of him since? Got to know him?’
She stares at me, dead in the eyes. ‘I don’t want to make you sad, but no, not really. He doesn’t seem to want to play Dad. We’ve met up a couple of times – and not met a few more times when he didn’t show. He’s pretty unreliable. Mostly I just see him when he’s in town, playing gigs. He seems happy with that, to have me around, but at a distance. I don’t even know much about his life, where he lives. I’ve never been invited round.’
‘Oh.’ I feel suddenly tearful, even though I’m not that surprised. I was hoping that Mum was wrong about Dad, that he’d changed. It sounds like he never will.
She puts her hand on my shoulder. ‘Sorry, Sky. I didn’t mean to upset you. Maybe he’ll be different with you. But I don’t think so. And it’s better that you don’t get your hopes up. He’s good company, fun to be around and I think he does love us. Just not the way he should, maybe.’
‘OK.’
She grins. ‘Hey, Dad thinks we look alike. We do, actually.’
‘Do you think so, honestly?’ I study her face. I wish I did look like her. She’s gorgeous, effortlessly so. ‘You’re much prettier than me. I have this hideous nose. Everyone says it’s Dad’s nose.’ I cradle it in my palm, wondering why I’m stupid enough to have drawn attention to it.
‘What? This nose?’ She points to her own nose, turning to the side so that I can see her profile. ‘Mine’s almost exactly the same. Look.’
‘No, I didn’t even notice your nose. Mine is much bigger.’
‘Rubbish.’
‘You’re just being kind, like everyone else is. I’ve been trying to get a nose job. But I don’t have the money. And most people say I’m too young . . . that it’s still going to grow!’
She shakes her head and frowns. ‘No way! You don’t want a nose job! Think of all the snot and the blood, and the black eyes. I didn’t like mine either, when I was younger. It’s kind of grown on me.’ She giggles. ‘If you know what I mean. Not bigger, just better.’
‘Yeah, everyone says that too. You’ll get used to it, Sky. It gives you character. Blah, blah, blah. My best friends even got pictures of what I’d look like after surgery to help talk me out of it. It’s helped, a bit, I guess. I’m not quite as paranoid as I used to be . . . Maybe if it was a teeny bit smaller, like yours, I’d be OK with it.’
She sighs. ‘Oh Sky. Right. Follow me.’ She gets out of her chair and takes my hand, so that I have to get up too. ‘I’ll prove it to you.’
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘You’ll see.’
She leads me across the pub to the Ladies, taking me straight to the sinks. The lighting is dreadful, and the mirror cracked and dirty. She pulls a tissue out of her handbag and wipes it.
‘Right,’ she says, turning to the side and pushing her face against it. ‘Take my lipstick and draw around the outline of my nose.’
‘What? Are you serious?’
‘Yes, go on.’
I giggle. ‘OK. You’re bonkers!’ I do as she says, recreating her profile in bright red lipstick on the mirror. It’s hard to get close enough without painting her actual nose. When I’ve finished, she has three bright red spots on the bridge.
‘Cool. My turn now.’ She gives the mirror another wipe, a few centimetres away from my drawing. ‘Hold your face still.’
At that moment a woman comes out of one of the cubicles and gives us a funny look. We both collapse into giggles. She washes her hands, and dries them, pretending not to notice us.
‘Hold still, Sky. Otherwise you’ll have a squiggly nose.’
I let Katie draw around my profile – something I probably wouldn’t have let anyone do just a few weeks ago. It tickles. As she finishes, she paints a red spot on my nostril.
‘There you go – you’ve got a nose stud.’
‘I used to have one of those,’ I tell her. ‘Took it out.’
‘I bet it would suit you.’
‘Hmm.’
‘OK, stand back,’ says Katie. ‘Look at what we’ve drawn.’
I take a step backwards. This is probably the craziest, weirdest situation ever.
Half an hour ago, I didn’t even know I had a sister. Now, here we are, comparing lipstick noses in a toilet mirror. I can’t wait to tell Vix and Rosie about this.
‘Tell me what you see.’
‘Um . . .’ I have to admit it: our nose outlines are virtually identical, the same shape and size, with the same bump. Mirror images, on the mirror.
‘We have the same nose! Don’t we?’ says Katie.
‘I guess.’
‘Not bigger, not smaller, not straighter. Exactly the same.’
‘Yeah, but maybe my face is smaller.’
‘Bollocks,’ she says, grabbing my cheek. ‘If you don’t admit I’m right I’m going to paint red lipstick all over your face, got it?’
‘OK, OK!’
‘Good. Honestly Sky, believe me. You look great. And if you’re ugly, then so am I. Do you think I’m ugly?’
‘No, course not.’
‘Good. OK, let’s go back to the table.’
She takes my hand again, and starts leading me to the door.
‘What about our noses on the mirror? Aren’t you going to wipe them off?’
She turns and glances at our handiwork. ‘Nah, they can stay. Look at the state of the mirror, already. Call it a new type of graffiti – it’ll get people wondering. Better wipe our noses though. We look like we’ve had a punch-up.’ She hands me a tissue.
Back at our table, we talk about boys, studying, our lives. I tell her about Rich, and she tells me about a relationship with a guy she really loved, which recently ended. Talking to her is so much easier than talking to my full sisters, even though I’ve known them all my life. It feels like she’s one of my closest friends, already.
We’re both aware it’s late now. She picks my phone up from the table and enters her details straight into my address book. ‘Text me yours,’ she says. ‘And give me a call and we’ll arrange for you to come round.’
Stuck on Me Page 12
