‘Oh, yes, they’re fine, we’re all fine,’ she says. ‘And you?’
‘I’m doing great,’ I lie.
‘Taking care of yourself?’ she goes on.
I sigh heavily, but not so she can hear.
‘Yes, I am,’ I reply. ‘So, what’s up?’
The phone goes silent for a few seconds.
‘Emma? Are you still there?’
‘I need a big favour,’ she eventually says. She sounds rather casual, for someone who just used the words ‘big favour’.
I’m a little taken aback. Emma needs a big favour from me? What on earth could she need from me? What could I possibly do for her that no one else could do? Oh, God, you don’t think she needs a kidney, do you? That’s all I can think of, that she needs me for my DNA. Ergh, I’d have to give it to her as well, wouldn’t I? We might be estranged but she’s still my sister. It’s just that, if there’s anyone on this planet who needs both their kidneys, surely, it’s me? With my terrible luck, I need a back-up everything. If I’d had a back-up flat, car, or job I might not be sitting here right now.
‘Oh?’ is all I say. I don’t try and make a case for needing both my kidneys just yet, instead I wait and see what she says.
‘I’ve got myself into a spot of bother and you’re the only one who can help me,’ she explains, still so casual. ‘Basically, I’m going to prison.’
I laugh wildly.
‘Emma, look, I’m sure it’s wine o’clock and you’re bored about the house, but some of us live in the real world and have jobs we have to do. I’m really not in the mood for jokes right now,’ I tell her.
‘I’m not kidding,’ she says quickly. ‘Ella, seriously, I’m going to prison.’
‘What on earth are you going to prison for? Did you use self-raising instead of plain at a WI meeting or something?’
She doesn’t laugh at my joke.
‘Ever since we got the new Range Rover, I don’t know, it’s massive, I have trouble parking it,’ she says. ‘So, I started trying to see what I could get away with, parking on a double yellow here and there – but only where it wouldn’t cause any problems for anyone. I had a few fines come through, but I read online that you could just ignore them, and they were too minor for them to chase up… but I guess that’s not true.’
‘Oh my God, Emma, you’re literally a millionaire, just pay your fines,’ I say.
‘Honestly, it’s too late for that,’ she replies. ‘This went on for quite a while. I was way into double digits as far as offences went and the fines really mount up when you don’t pay them, and saying I would pay them all immediately didn’t help, it just made it seem like I thought I had enough money to put me above the law. The judge is making an example of me. He’s given me six weeks. My sentence starts tomorrow.’
‘Holy shit, seriously, I wish Mum were alive to see this,’ I blurt. ‘If either of us was going to end up banged up she probably would have bet every penny she had on it being me.’
‘Ella, this isn’t funny,’ she says. ‘I need you to come here and be me.’
‘To what?’
‘You know how important image is here in the village – no one in the community can know I’m going to prison, and I certainly don’t want the kids knowing. I’m mortified and it sets a terrible example. I need you to come here and fill in for me while I’m away. I’ve had a word with Rich and he’d really appreciate it too. With the amount he works, he can’t run a house and look after the kids too.’
Ah, good old Richie Rich. Emma’s childhood sweetheart who she wound up marrying at eighteen. Hilariously, Rich was my first boyfriend, but when we were ten, so I don’t hold it against either of them that they got together when they were teens.
‘So, you want me to pretend to be you?’ I ask. ‘Will that even work?’
Wow, she really does want me for my DNA.
‘Of course, it will – you haven’t shown your face here for a decade. Most people I know don’t even know you exist. Henry is nine and he’s never even met you. Millie doesn’t remember you and, anyway, she’s like any nearly sixteen-year-old – she hates my guts and she doesn’t look up from her phone. She’s basically you when you were that age.’
‘Oh my God, is Millie sixteen next?’ I say.
It doesn’t seem right, that my niece is a teenager. The last time I saw her, which is the last time I saw my sister, I think she must have been four or something like that. I always send them birthday cards but I guess I hadn’t been counting just how many I’d sent over the years.
‘Yep, it’s been a while,’ Emma says. ‘Only Rich would be able to tell you weren’t really me, and Rich will be in on it… so… what do you think?’
‘God, Emma, I’d love to help you out,’ I start as I search for the right words. ‘But, honestly, I don’t know the first thing about looking after kids, or a house. My flat was literally destroyed by a fire this morning.’
Emma laughs.
‘Emma, I’m serious,’ I insist.
‘Where are you living?’ she asks.
‘I’m going to check into a hotel tonight, just while I find a new job – I mean a new flat,’ I quickly correct myself.
‘Ella, are you homeless and unemployed right now?’
She asks me in such a parental way, and as if she knows the answer is yes.
Ergh, she is literally going to prison tomorrow, for being an entitled idiot, and somehow, I’m the one coming across as the worst right now.
‘Only temporarily,’ I say. ‘You worry about your own problems.’
‘But our problems have lined up – it’s perfect,’ she enthuses. ‘I need someone to fill in for me, you need a home and a job. Live in my house, look after my kids, turn up to my social events. I have a digital assistant that will keep track of everything for you. I’ll pay you, put you on my car insurance, and so on. I mean, unless you want to go to prison for me, it doesn’t seem like you have a whole lot of options right now…’
Family life or prison? I don’t know which is worse. She does have a point though – I really don’t have many options.
It’s interesting, how our problems have aligned like this – people always used to ask us about mysterious links between twins, but I always dismissed them because we’ve always been so different, I just never felt it. I’m still not sure I buy into this being an act of twin-chronicity but, when you think about it, it’s strange how these things have lined up.
‘Look, if you don’t want to do it for me, please do it for Millie and Henry,’ she begs. ‘We both know what it was like, growing up with a mum who wasn’t always there, who left us with issues. Please help me to not screw up my kids.’
As a cold breeze rushes past me I tighten my scarf around my neck to keep the chill out. I don’t know how many nights in a hotel I can afford, or how quickly I can get another job, plus, she’s right. My mum completely screwed me up. Never mind that my sister’s image means everything to her, just think about how Millie and Henry will be treated for having a mum who has done time.
‘Please, Ella,’ she says. I can hear a real desperation in her voice. This really, really matters to her. I don’t know if she’s embarrassed, or she feels like she’s let her family down, or a combination of both, but something in her voice tells me how badly she needs me to say yes.
Thinking about it – how hard can it actually be? Take the kids to school, hoover, make them chips. Rich has always been fine, we’ve always got along well, and it doesn’t sound as though he’s in much. Emma must have one of the easiest, most comfortable lives going. It’ll be the easiest job I’ve ever had…
‘OK, sure, fine, I’ll do it,’ I say. ‘But – did you say you’re going tomorrow?’
‘Yes, in the morning. I could call you later tonight and fill you in, and we could come up with a plan together?’ she suggests. ‘Oh, Ella, thank you, honestly, you don’t know what this means to me.’
‘It’s fine, it will be nice to see my niece and nephew – even if t
hey don’t know it’s me,’ I say.
‘Ella…’ Emma starts.
‘Yes?’
I wait a few seconds, but the call is silent again.
‘Hello?’
‘Never mind,’ she blurts. ‘I’ll let you go get sorted and I’ll call you tonight.’
‘OK, speak to you then,’ I reply.
Gosh, my sister, Amazing Emma, the jailbird. I can’t believe it. I mean, prison seems a bit extreme, but it kind of serves her right, thinking she can park her big, flash car wherever she feels like parking it. I’m not surprised the judge made an example of her. The only thing more surprising than Emma heading off to prison is me agreeing to fill in for her while she’s gone. Can I do this? Can I really do this? I mean, I’m sure the day-to-day will be easy, but will people actually believe that I’m her? We’ve spent our whole lives with basically everyone we know finding it impossible to tell us apart – it was usually our actions that made us more distinguishable – so perhaps it’s all going to come down to my acting skills… if I have any.
I’m freezing my toes off out here, so I’d better go find a hotel for tonight. If it’s just for the night, maybe now that I’m kind of employed again I can afford somewhere a bit nice – a sort of halfway house to prepare me for going back to the house I grew up in. Yep, it’s Emma’s house now, but that’s another story…
4
The bath in my hotel room is nothing fancy, but it’s a bath, and after the day I’ve had, a long soak was exactly what I needed. I laid back, relaxed, scrubbed the smoky smell out of my hair, and then climbed into bed. It would have been a completely chilled end to a totally hectic day, were it not for the fact that I’m on the phone with Emma again, planning exactly how I’m going to take over her life for her.
It’s so strange, being on the phone with her, chatting – I was going to say ‘like normal’, but there’s nothing normal about taking over your sister’s life. You know what I mean though. Considering I haven’t heard from her in years, even having a conversation is a big deal.
‘So, my digital assistant will keep track of everything you need to do, so you don’t need to worry about that, just do what it says, when it says to do it,’ she explains.
To be honest, I haven’t got a clue what she’s talking about. What is a digital assistant? Should I be imagining a robot or human at the other end of the Internet? I suppose I’ll just wait and find out tomorrow – she makes it sound simple at least, and I don’t want to look stupid.
‘How much do you actually do in a day?’ I ask. I’m not having a go, I just can’t imagine that either. I’ve never known Emma to have a job and it doesn’t sound like she needs one.
‘Oh, you know, just keeping the house clean and the kids alive,’ she says.
Suddenly she makes it sound easy, but I can’t help but wonder. Aren’t kids supposed to be a nightmare? And I remember how big that house is…
‘You don’t have a cleaner like Mum did, then?’ I say.
‘Oh, we do, but I tend to have a pre-cleaner clean. I feel so guilty, having her come in and clean up all our mess,’ she explains.
I just about manage not to laugh out loud at her for saying that.
‘And you’ll have Rich to help you, when he isn’t working, and everything else is easy – just show your face at coffee mornings, attend a few Parents’ Association meetings. None of it is a big deal, I promise.’
I like to think that, even though we lost touch, I would have helped Emma out if she needed me, no questions asked… but it’s hard to imagine me agreeing to doing something like this if I wasn’t completely desperate.
‘Do you have any advice for me, on how to survive in prison?’ Emma asks.
‘Oh, charming,’ I reply, although I do know that thing about punching the biggest inmate on your first day, I suppose, not that I’ll recommend that to Emma.
‘Hey, I didn’t mean that as an insult,’ she says. ‘You’ve always been able to stand up for yourself, and for others. I remember when you nearly broke that kid’s jaw…’
‘He deserved it,’ I insist, as I did at the time.
I’ve always found it hard not to call-out injustice when I see it. I remember in secondary school, one of the bigger year 11s was bullying one of the smallest year 7s I’ve ever seen in my life. He was in the process of tying him to a lamp post in the car park. I asked him to stop, then I told him to stop – then I guess I lamped him. His jaw healed absolutely fine though, and he never did it again. I’d punch that kid again in a heartbeat… if I was still a kid too, obviously – even I draw the line at punching kids.
‘Emma, my life is not so bad that I’ve had to learn how to survive in prison,’ I point out, because apparently it needs saying. ‘Not yet.’
‘Are things bad?’ she asks softly.
I don’t say anything for a few seconds.
‘Ella, I’m so sorry about… the money thing,’ she says.
And there it is, the elephant in the room, the reason we fell out all those years ago. Money. Isn’t everything always about money at the end of the day?
‘We don’t need to talk about it,’ I say.
‘I am sorry though,’ she says. ‘I’ll always wonder, if I handled it right…’
‘Emma, can we not do this now?’ I say seriously.
‘OK, sorry. At least you’re thirty-five soon, hey?’ she reminds me.
People usually only excitedly count down to birthdays in the first part of their life. Milestones as kids, big birthdays as teens when you can finally do things like drive or drink. By the time you’re in your mid-twenties, you don’t count down to birthdays any more, and I’m sure no one in the history of the world has actively looked forward to turning thirty-five. It’s a kind of depressing age, when you think about it. I’m noticing when I fill out forms and surveys, that when I tick the box for my age range, as soon as I turn thirty-five, that’s it, I’ll be in the next category. Eighteen to twenty-five is but a distant memory, and moving into the twenty-five-to-thirty-five bracket didn’t bother me all that much. Thirty-five to forty-five though… that one stings a little. Not because there’s anything wrong with getting older, but because I’m falling behind on where I’m supposed to be. Forty-five isn’t that far off fifty, and I have absolutely nothing to show for my life – if I vanished, no one would notice. And let’s not even get into the whole ‘geriatric mother at thirty-five’ thing… Oh, God, I’m spiralling.
The reason Emma is mentioning my thirty-fifth birthday is because it is linked to the reason we fell out.
We were teenagers when we found out Mum had breast cancer. We went from having a mum who worked all the time, who we never really saw all that much, to having a mum who was still working an awful lot – as much as she could manage – and then the only time we did see her was on her bad days, when she was too ill to do much else. I guess Auntie Angela was worried about leaving behind a world without giving all the advice she could give. She didn’t worry quite so much about her daughters though.
Mum lived long enough to see Emma and Rich tie the knot at (just) eighteen, but not long enough to see Millie born soon after.
I found it really hard, during that last year. Emma was so busy with Rich, trying to throw an amazing wedding – but mostly for Mum’s benefit, which made it like a weird kind of send-off party that I struggled to get on board with – and I found myself drifting further and further away from her. When it came to Mum, her end-of-life care, her funeral and so on, Emma and I could never quite agree, but somehow Emma always got her way. By the time Mum’s will reading came around Emma and I could hardly look at each other. I felt like Emma wasn’t including me and that she didn’t care about what I wanted or what I was going through, she thought I wasn’t pulling my weight or taking what was happening seriously. Our relationship really was at make-or-break point. The will reading finished us off.
When Mum was alive, she didn’t really want Emma and me to feel her wealth. She wanted us to grow up standing on o
ur own two feet. It’s strange, when you’re a kid, living in a big house, going to private school with a bunch of spoiled rich kids, when your mum doesn’t want you to be a spoiled rich kid yourself. It was kind of like growing up in a sweet shop but being told you weren’t ever allowed sweets – which we weren’t. Auntie Angela did not endorse parents giving their children too much sugar. Honestly, forget smoking behind the bike sheds, I was putting away bags of Maltesers there.
I should have realised, when Mum died, that her stance would remain the same.
Mum was a bestselling author, a TV star, a newspaper columnist. She’d made a lot of money and she’d invested it well. With Emma and me not even being in our twenties when Mum passed away, we were both still living at home. We didn’t have jobs yet – we’d only just finished our A levels. And, look, it’s not that I just wanted to get my hands on my mum’s money, of course I didn’t. Even if we weren’t all that close, and she was strict with me, she was my mum and I was devastated when she died. But she really did leave me up shit creek without a paddle.
You see, my mum, adamant her children must learn to stand on their own two feet – just as she’d always preached – left all her money to me and Emma equally… but she left it in a trust fund, that we wouldn’t have access to until we were thirty-five. For a moment this briefly brought me and Emma a little closer together. I remember, sitting in the solicitor’s office, sharing a laugh together. It was just so like her. And while I knew that the implications of Mum’s will weren’t going to put Emma in any kind of immediate trouble – she had just married Richie Rich, after all, a boy from one of the wealthiest families in the village – when the house immediately went up for sale I really hoped Emma would help me out until I found my feet; found a job, found somewhere to live.
But then came the kicker. The small print. The thing that drove the wedge well and truly between us. The stipulation that our money would be kept in a trust until we were thirty-five unless we had kids, at which point we would get it immediately. I suppose the idea was that she wanted her kids to learn to stand on their own two feet, but she wanted to do right by her grandkids, but I just felt so royally screwed over, especially given the fact that Emma was already pregnant. At first, I felt relieved – Emma would definitely help me out… except she felt as if that would be going against Mum’s wishes. She said she would help me look for a job and a flat, and I’d already delayed going to uni because, you know, my mum was dying.
Faking It Page 3
