The Sun Sister

by Lucinda Riley

  I paced up the stairs to my room and in my bottom drawer found my old Lycra leggings and a T-shirt with a rude slogan on it that Ma had insisted I turn inside out when I’d worn it. Beneath the clothes, I saw one of the old sketchbooks that I used to doodle in as a child. I pulled it out and leafed through the pages, which were half filled with pencil sketches I’d made of dresses with outrageous ruffled collars, jeans with a split running from thigh to hem, and shirts that looked formal at the front, but had no back . . .

  ‘Wow,’ I muttered, remembering the shirt I’d worn only recently for a photoshoot that was almost identical in style to the ones I’d drawn. I’d even attached samples of fabric I’d found, all of them brightly coloured. I’d loved bright colours when I was younger. I slipped the book into the front pocket of my holdall, thinking that it was the one thing I had that linked my childhood self to the adult me. Then I retrieved my old running shoes from the back of the closet, changed, and left the house through the kitchen. I jogged through the vegetable garden and opened the back gate that led upwards towards the mountains.

  I followed the path I’d last used ten years ago, and even though I went to the gym regularly, my legs ached and the last few metres were tough. I scrambled over boulders and slipped over damp, tough grass, but finally, I got there.

  Panting hard, I stepped onto the rocky outcrop that represented only the foothills of the mountains still rising behind me, but had the most spectacular vista of the lake. I looked down on the rooftops of Atlantis, and with the advantage of all the therapy I’d had, realised why this view had been so special for me when I was younger: Atlantis had been my universe when I was young – all-encompassing – and yet up here it looked like a doll’s house – tiny and insignificant.

  It gave me perspective, I told myself as I dangled my legs over the edge of the ridge. It even made me feel small.

  I sat there for some time, enjoying what really was a fabulous day. Out on the lake, I saw what looked like a toy boat, its sail rippling in the breeze, gliding smoothly across the water. And suddenly, I didn’t want to go back down to reality, I wanted to stay right up here where no one could find me. I felt free and the thought of flying back to New York and the man-made mountains of Manhattan made my gut churn. There, everything was false and greedy and meaningless, while everything here was real and pure and clean.

  ‘Jeez, Electra, you’re starting to sound like Tiggy,’ I reprimanded myself. But even if I was, what did it matter? All I knew was that I was desperately unhappy, and that I envied each of my sisters their new full and happy lives. When Ma had talked about all of them bringing their new partners and friends and relatives to Atlantis, I’d felt even more lonely because I had no one I’d even think of bringing.

  As I stood up, knowing I had to go back down simply because I’d stupidly forgotten to bring a water bottle with me and I was thirsty, I took one last look at the view.

  ‘How come I’m meant to have everything, but feel like I have nothing?’ I asked the mountains above me.

  As I jumped off the ridge, I realised that somehow I needed to get myself a real life – and some love. But where I should begin to look for it, heaven – and maybe Pa within it – only knew.

  In the days that followed once I was back in New York, I took the memory of how good I’d felt after my trek up the mountain at Atlantis and began to run in Central Park whenever my schedule allowed it. The good news was, even if anyone spotted me, I could out-pace them, no problem. I also tried to limit my alcohol intake and – maybe it was due to the running and the natural high I got from it – I didn’t feel the need to do so much coke. If I felt panicky, I opened the book of Telegraph crosswords I’d had delivered, and did one of those instead to calm myself.

  In short, I felt a little more in control.

  The only thing that was bugging me was that even though I’d searched my whole apartment, I couldn’t find Pa’s letter anywhere. I racked my brain to try and remember where I’d put the envelope when I’d moved into this place. I’d even had Mariam on the case too.

  ‘Oh Electra, we must find it,’ she’d said, her expressive eyes full of sympathy as she’d knelt down to let rip on my lingerie drawers.

  ‘Hey, I’m not saying I want to read it even if I do find it, but it would be good to know it’s there.’

  ‘Of course it would. They were his last words to you and I am sure they were words he wanted you to read. Do not worry, Electra, we will find it.’

  But after searching through every drawer, closet, coat pocket and scrap of paper in the apartment, even Mariam’s positivity had waned.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said one sunny April morning as she emptied my bedside drawers for the umpteenth time. ‘Maybe I wasn’t meant to read it. Now, I’m gonna fix myself a lunchtime drink. Want one?’

  As always, Mariam refused and said she wanted water. We sat down and ran through the day’s emails, which mostly consisted of invitations to the opening of a new fashion store, or a film premiere or a charity ball. I remembered the days when I’d been so excited about receiving these – but now I understood they didn’t want me at all, just column inches for themselves.

  ‘Oh, I almost forgot.’ Mariam delved into her satchel. ‘Susie passed on a letter that was sent to the agency.’

  ‘That’s your job to deal with,’ I said irritably. ‘They’re normally begging letters, or a request for a donation, or someone pretending to be my long-lost brother.’

  ‘I know that, Electra, and usually I would deal with it, but Susie and I think you should read this.’ She passed the envelope to me and I saw it was addressed care of the agency in an elegant hand. I eyed Mariam across the coffee table.

  ‘Why? What does it say?’

  ‘I just think you should read it, that’s all,’ she repeated.

  ‘Okay,’ I sighed, and I slid the letter out of the envelope. ‘It’s not anything bad, is it? Like the IRS writing me personally?’

  ‘No, Electra, it isn’t, I promise.’

  ‘Okay.’ I unfolded the paper and saw a Brooklyn address at the top. Then I began to read.

  My dear Miss D’Aplièse – or may I call you Electra?

  My name is Stella Jackson and I am your biological grandmother . . .

  ‘Jesus!’ I balled the letter in my fist and threw it at Mariam playfully. ‘Do you know how many of these kinds of letters from “lost relatives” I get? Susie normally puts them in the trash. What did this one want?’

  ‘From the letter, nothing, other than to meet you.’

  ‘Okay, so what is so unusual about it that you gave it to me?’

  ‘There’s something else in the envelope, Electra.’ Mariam indicated where I had discarded it on the coffee table. ‘I really think you should take a look.’

  Just to shut her up, I picked up the envelope again and looked inside. There was a small photograph lodged in one corner. I drew it out and saw it was black and white, yellowing slightly at the edges. It was of a very beautiful black woman holding a baby and smiling at the camera.

  ‘Well?’

  I looked at Mariam.

  ‘Well, what?’

  ‘Can’t you see the resemblance?’

  ‘To who?’

  ‘You, of course! Susie noticed it immediately and so did I.’

  I looked again.

  ‘Yeah, so she’s black and okay, she’s definitely a beauty, but,’ I shrugged, ‘I’m sure there are thousands of women who look like her – and me.’

  ‘As you know well, Electra, there are very few women who look like you. The shape of her face, the set of her eyes and the cheekbones. Seriously, she could be you. Or what I mean is . . . you could be her.’

  ‘Yeah, well, until I find that letter from Pa, I’m not adopting random people who write to me as family just ’cos they look a little like me, okay?’

  ‘We’d better find that letter then,’ said Mariam as she retrieved and unscrunched the granny letter (which looked seriously unscrunchable to
me), then folded it back inside the envelope together with the photograph. ‘I’ll put this in the safe, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ My cell pinged with a text notification and I glanced down at it.

  ‘So, I’ll be here to collect you at eight tomorrow morning. You have the meeting with Thomas and Marcella to discuss the Christmas fragrance campaign. Electra?’

  ‘Yeah. Cool. Bye.’ I waved to dismiss her as I studied the message that had arrived.

  ‘And then the watch shoot tomorrow afternoon. So if there’s nothing else for now, I will see you in the morning.’

  I wasn’t listening as I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the words on the screen, so I just nodded in Mariam’s direction as she walked towards the door. I reached for my vodka and took a good deep slug as I reread them.

  Hi honey, in town for a gig and wondered if you were around tomorrow? Would be good to talk. Mitch.

  ‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’

  I drained the vodka and stood up to pour myself another in order to calm my racing heart.

  I read it again, and again, then turned to my laptop to look up whether he was telling the truth. He was. His latest tour was winding up at Madison Square Garden in just two nights from now. I stood up, went to the long windows and slid one open so I could walk onto the terrace. Somewhere close by, Mitch was in town. Tonight, wherever he was, we breathed the same air.

  I looked down at my cell again and tried to decipher whether he was offering me an olive branch and what that meant if he was. But olive branches could have twigs sprouting from them, like, one that said, ‘Hey, I miss you and love you and I’ve realised my mistake,’ and another that said, ‘Now we’ve had some time, it would be good to move on as friends . . .’

  And I had no idea which it was.

  Just say no, Electra . . . It’s too dangerous to go back there.

  ‘Shit! Goddamn it!’ I punched the glass barrier that stopped me from plunging however many hundreds of yards to my death. At this moment, I wondered if that was the easier option; I was literally in agony because I really didn’t know what to do. I wished I had a close friend who I could call on to ask advice. How sad was it that I had five sisters, yet there wasn’t a single one of them I could say was a friend or someone I completely trusted.

  ‘Ignore the text,’ I said out loud as I paced the terrace, deadheading a flower from a bush and throwing the petals over the glass wall as I went.

  Back inside, I dumped my cell facing downwards on my bed. Maybe I should leave it. After all, if I didn’t reply, and he didn’t bother to re-text me, then that would tell me a lot.

  Yes, that was what I would do. I fixed myself another vodka, then wandered to my walk-in closet, thinking about what I would wear if I saw him. The one thing I had in my armoury was clothes. A call to any designer in town and the look I wanted would be biked round within a few hours. Of course, it depended where we were meeting. If it was at my place, I had to look casual but sexy. He’d always loved my legs, so maybe the answer was simple . . .

  I walked into the bathroom and stripped off before taking a white fluffy towel off the heated rail. I draped it around me, then turned on the faucet, put my hand beneath it and trickled some drops of water onto my skin. I took hold of my hair and twirled it up into a topknot, then studied myself in the full-length mirror.

  I giggled, because this was what I would definitely wear if Mitch was coming to visit me here. However, if I was going to see him . . . I dropped the towel on the floor and went back to my closet. I was just pulling an emerald-green Versace mini-dress from the rack when a text made itself known with a ping and I ran to grab my cell.

  It was from Mitch and I held my breath as I opened it.

  Electra. Did you get my text? Really like to hook up and talk tomorrow.

  ‘Yesss!’ I screeched. ‘He’s desperate!’

  Jumping – literally – onto my bed, I drank some more vodka for courage, then tried to form a reply.

  Hi, only just seen this.

  My fingers hovered over the screen as I worked out the kind of schedule he’d have tomorrow. Media interviews would take up his morning, then after lunch, he and his band would go to the venue for rehearsals and sound checks. I reckoned he’d be free by eight.

  Can’t do tomorrow day as have meeting for fragrance campaign but should be home around eight.

  I read the whole thing back to myself and felt happy enough to send it off. It was only a few seconds before his reply bounced back.

  Can make nine your place. Does that work?

  At this point I decided to go have a bath. I turned up the volume on my sound system and lay in a deep pool of scented water, listening to Mitch’s latest CD. Climbing out and relishing that I currently (for a change) held all the power, I sauntered into the bedroom and picked up my cell.

  Yup, that works. See you tomorrow.

  I pressed send and allowed myself a smile. And the best thing about it, I thought as I looked at myself in the mirror, is that I can wear my new favourite outfit.

  I hardly slept a wink that night and – even though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t because Mitch could spot a cokehead a mile off – I was so jittery that I had to do a line before I went into my morning meeting to discuss the fragrance campaign.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Mariam when I emerged from the restroom.

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Shall we go in?’

  When we came out a couple of hours later, I was glad that Mariam had been there to record what had been agreed about my schedule for the upcoming commercial shoot in Brazil, plus the actual launch in October. All I knew was that I stank like a cheap prostitute – the client had been at the meeting and they’d obviously had someone spray the room with the perfume before we’d all arrived.

  ‘Wow,’ Mariam said as we took the elevator down. ‘They’re sparing no expense on this one. I’ve never been to Rio, have you?’

  ‘You know what, I can’t remember offhand, but I don’t think so, no.’

  ‘Didn’t you tell me that your eldest sister lives there?’

  ‘I must have done if you know,’ I said, wondering if I had time to get my manicurist to drop by this afternoon.

  ‘You can go and visit her, can’t you?’

  ‘Yup, I suppose I can,’ I said as Mariam led the way out of the building before we settled ourselves in the back of the waiting limo.

  ‘Is there anything you want me to order in for lunch?’

  ‘No thanks, I’m sure I’ll be able to find something at home.’

  ‘Electra, your refrigerator is empty and it’s important you eat. You have the photoshoot at three for the Jaeger-LeCoultre campaign.’

  ‘What?’ I turned to her in horror. ‘You didn’t mention that to me yesterday.’

  ‘I did, Electra,’ she said quietly. ‘Remember, we had that incredible watch set with pink diamonds sent over with two security guards last week to make sure it fit you?’

  Sadly, I did remember.

  ‘Shit,’ I muttered, under my breath because I’d begun to notice Mariam wincing every time I swore. ‘Can we cancel? Say I’m sick or something?’

  ‘I suppose we could of course, but why would we?’

  ‘Because I’d, like, totally forgotten I had something on tonight.’

  ‘What time does it start?’

  ‘Oh, around eight,’ I said, thinking I needed a good hour to prepare for Mitch’s arrival.

  ‘Well, they’re looking for a sunset shot and it will be dark by seven thirty anyway, so I reckon you could just about make it if you go straight to your appointment from the shoot.’

  ‘But I need a while to get ready! Christ! Can’t they delay by a week? The campaign isn’t starting for months. How much time do these guys need?!’

  ‘Electra, I’m not your keeper, but—’

  ‘No, you’re not! No one is, though everyone acts like they think they are!’

  I watched her blush and lower her eyes. ‘I do apologise if you feel that way.’
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br />   I suddenly felt terrible. This wasn’t Mariam’s fault, it was mine. ‘No, I should apologise. I’m just real antsy today, that’s all. Anyway,’ I sighed, ‘I guess you’re right. It wouldn’t look good to let them down. I’ll just have to be brilliant and get the perfect shot fast.’

  ‘If anyone can do that, it’s you, Electra. Okay, so you’re sure you don’t want anything to eat?’

  ‘Maybe order me up some wasabi noodles with a side of kale.’

  ‘Will do. Now, I have to go see Susie, but I will be back here to pick you up at two thirty. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  Back in my apartment, I did a couple of lines because my nerves were jangling, and washed down lunch with my friend Grey Goose. Then I drank a pint of water, gargled half a bottle of mouthwash and chewed minty gum as I sat on my bed trying to relax by practising the breathing exercises my therapist had given me.

  They didn’t work. Nothing worked except the Goose and its powdery companion, which I’d nicknamed White Heaven.

  ‘Why are the good things always so bad for you?’ I complained as I took another couple of snorts of the only medicine that I knew would calm me down.

  ‘Hi, Electra, you’re looking as gorgeous as always.’ Tommy, my super-fan, approached me as I stepped out of the building.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do for you today?’ he asked.

  ‘No, but thanks for asking.’ I gave him a smile as I passed him, before climbing into the waiting limo.

  ‘He is such a sweet man,’ Mariam commented as she got into the back of the car with me. ‘And so protective of you. Maybe you should hire him officially as your bodyguard. Underneath those old sweatshirts he wears, you can see he’s ripped.’

  ‘Mariam!’ I turned to her and raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m shocked.’

  ‘Honestly, Electra, I might not drink or swear, but I do have a pulse, you know,’ she smiled as we pulled out into traffic. ‘So what are you doing this evening that’s so important?’