‘Wallies.’ I watch her face light up as she stares at the screen, her laugh infectious.
‘SMACK!’ We laugh together, before Bells presses rewind.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I flick the kettle on. Sam has already escaped from the house. His alarm clock went off so early that I thought it was still the middle of the night.
‘Morning, how are you, Bells?’ I yawn. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Bored.’
‘You’re bored? What do you expect to be doing at seven thirty in the morning?’
She shrugs. She is wearing her grey baggy tracksuit with her red Oxford University T-shirt which now has chocolate stains down the front. ‘I need to put some washing on,’ I say flatly, still trying to wake up.
I open the blind and squeeze my eyes shut. The sun streams through the window. I stretch my arms out above my head and let out a great big sigh. Bells continues to eat her chopped apricots and figs quietly, occasionally prodding the milk-bottle sculpture. Stevie Wonder plays in the background. Poor old Stevie never has a holiday. I want to turn him off, it’s too early for ‘I Just Called to Say I Love You’. Déjà vu screams at me. We get ourselves so tied up in a routine that we spin round and round like an old pair of socks in a washing-machine cycle. Wake up, go for a run, eat breakfast, go to work, come home, go out, go to bed. I’m not complaining, I like my life, but sometimes I don’t stop to think, I’m like a robot.
I’m going to skip my run this morning and instead make myself a bacon sandwich for breakfast with lots of tomato ketchup. Go on Katie, be wild! I make an even bolder step by deciding I will take two days off in a row. I’ll see if Eve minds being on her own. I think she likes being in charge. ‘You and me are going out today,’ I tell Bells.
‘Where? The shop?’
‘No, it’s a surprise, you’ll see,’ I say, trying to hide my own excitement. ‘Get dressed quickly. Look at the sun, Bells. It’s a beautiful day.’
She fidgets with her hands, as if she is conducting her muddled thoughts. ‘Upstairs!’ I tell her again. ‘Your dungarees are in the airing cupboard, I washed them for you, and it’s hot today so wear something cool. Don’t wear five vests!’
‘Where we going?’
‘It’s a surprise.’
‘Can Mark come?’
I dig into my handbag and give her the piece of paper, now crumpled, with his number on it. ‘Let’s ring him,’ I say.
*
I feel a tiny twinge of guilt for not being at work again, but it disappears when I see Bells. She rocks forward, tapping her hands together. After queuing for an hour and a half we are finally standing in our glass capsule, propelled one hundred feet into the air and surrounded by tourists. Mark wasn’t at home. I was ridiculously excited by the thought of seeing him again but also a little relieved there was no answer. It’s nice to spend time with Bells, just the two of us.
‘Not moving?’ Bells jitters. ‘Broken down, broken down!’
‘We are moving, I promise. Apparently we’re moving about one quarter of a metre per second,’ I tell her, putting Sam’s binoculars around her neck. ‘Take a look.’ I stand close behind her. She smells of Persil and lime. ‘You can see all of London from here, Bells,’ I say, pointing to different landmarks. ‘Doesn’t that make you feel tiny? Like an ant.’ She’s breathing deeply. ‘There’s Big Ben … the Houses of Parliament … look, you can see Buckingham Palace where the Queen lives. Isn’t it incredible?’
‘Yes, Katie, yes.’
Bells stops looking through the binoculars and puts her hands behind her head, rocking forward again then turning to face the other way. I sit down on the bench in the middle of our pod and stretch out my legs, the sun beating down on my face. I’m wearing my black and white spotted sundress with flat-heeled white leather sandals, and my hair is scooped up into a loose ponytail. The freckles across my nose have come out in their full glory.
‘Mira! Mira!’ shout the Spanish group sharing our capsule, running over to where Bells is standing. She flaps her hands, getting caught up in their excitement. ‘Mira!’ They point into the distance. Bells looks in their direction and then looks at me and then turns to them again. They run to the other side in a stampede frenzy and she follows them.
A Japanese couple ask me if I’ll take a picture of them both and they link arms as the flash goes off. Bells rushes over to me and they offer to take a picture of us. Bells is clapping her hands against her thighs now, then she runs to the side of the capsule and calls to me, ‘Look, Katie, look! London. Where Sam’s house?’
‘Turn round for a second,’ I say, asking the Japanese man to take our picture quickly before she runs off again.
*
Bells and I are lying on a pale yellow checked rug in St James’s Park, looking up into the clear blue sky. We have finished eating our picnic: vegetable samosas and a Diet Coke for Bells, a Pimm’s and a packet of Marks & Spencer sushi for me, and two large chunks of chocolate biscuit cake.
‘There are no clouds, Bells. Just clear blue sky like the sea.’
‘No fluffy clouds,’ she echoes. ‘In Wales we have sea.’
‘Do you miss Wales?’
‘Yes.’ She tilts her head. ‘No. A bit.’
‘What do you miss?’
‘Miss Ted.’
‘Who’s Ted?’
‘My friend.’ She laughs mischievously, restlessly kicking her legs and knocking over the cups.
I lean on my elbow and look at her. ‘Really? So Ted’s the lucky man. You’ve kept that very quiet. You’re a dark horse, Bells.’
‘A dark horse,’ she laughs back at me. ‘Ted my friend. Ted has parrot like Grandpa.’
‘Are you happy there?’
‘Yes, Katie, yes. Sometimes sad.’
‘Why sad?’
‘Miss home, miss Mum, Dad.’
I bite my lip, surprised by how much I want to be added on to the list now. ‘I’m sure they miss you too,’ I tell her. ‘Let’s give them a call, tell them we’ve been up in the sky.’
I take the mobile out of my bag and punch in the numbers. Their phone is switched off. I knew this would happen. They’re hopeless. I should have insisted Dad or Mum give me the Walters’ number. Why wouldn’t they? ‘Not there,’ I tell Bells. ‘How often do they call you in Wales?’
‘One time a week.’
They’ve called twice since she has been staying with me, yet each time have sounded oddly distanced. Why won’t this nagging feeling that something is wrong go away?’ ‘Tell me more about Wales. What do you do all day?’
‘Go to college Monday.’
‘What do you do there?’
‘Learn respect.’
‘Respect?’
‘Towards other people,’ she tells me. ‘Learn health and safety too.’
‘What’s all that about?’
‘In kitchen. Fire rules and safety.’
‘Oh, right. That’s important when you’re the Queen of the Kitchen, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right. Me the Queen.’
‘Do you enjoy college?’
‘Yes, love college.’
‘What else do you do?’
‘I go to football club each week, watch my team play. Watch Budge play. Budge very handsome. I cook. Ted and I make stuff, weave and paint, we watch football videos. Clean room, make beds.’
‘Are you on a rota system? You clean and make the beds one week, Ted the next?’
‘Yes, that’s right, Katie, that’s right. Rota.’
‘Do you want to clean my room and make my bed?’ I ask her with a smile.
‘Very funny, Katie!’
I realize how little I know about Bells’s life. I know a tiny fragment from her childhood and that’s about it. I’ve never wanted to be involved, but now … ‘I can see why you get bored with me.’
‘Sometimes bored, that’s right, Katie. You marry Sam?’
I look away. ‘How did you learn to cook so well, Bells?’
�
�You marry Sam?’ she asks again, quite insistently.
‘I can’t see myself marrying anyone, not yet anyway. Bells, you’re not burning, are you? We’d better put some cream on, just in case.’ I dig into my basket for a tube of sunblock. ‘Sit still.’ I apply it gently to her forehead and cheeks. She doesn’t flinch. Her skin is as pale as a china doll’s and soft as cashmere. As I look at her, it’s hard to believe she’s twenty-two, only seven years younger than me.
‘What you looking at?’
‘You,’ I say, wiping the chocolate crusts from the corners of her mouth before dabbing a large blob of cream on her nose.
‘Not funny, Katie,’ she laughs with me.
‘Ha ha, Bells. I think it’s very funny.’
*
Bells and I sit on the bus and it’s rush hour, the traffic is as slow as a slug. After our picnic we went shopping. In a charity shop we found Bells a pair of red shoes with clover-shaped patterns embroidered on to them. In other stores, if there was no one helpful, we walked away. Why should they get my money? In the end, with the help of a lovely shop assistant, we found a dark red and gold Chinese dress with a jacket for Bells. ‘You like it?’ she asked the girl.
‘I love it.’ The girl beamed at her, kneeling down and adjusting the hem. ‘I think it’s dead stylish, you are going to be the belle of the ball.’ I thought my heart might burst as I watched Bells looking proudly at herself in the mirror, her outfit finished off with the shoes she’d bought. I found myself wishing Mum could see her looking so pretty. When Bells was out of earshot I thanked the girl. ‘For what?’ She looked almost put out. ‘It’s my job.’
‘You know what I mean,’ I said.
She nodded. ‘I’ve had more fun today than during my whole time here. And I’ve been working here for over a year!’
I bet you that nice shop assistant goes home tonight and tells her flatmate/boyfriend/whatever that she managed to find a really great outfit for a slightly unusual customer.
‘Pull my finger,’ Bells says. I turn and look at her dubiously. The moment I pull it she sticks out her tongue and bursts into laughter. The grey-haired woman sitting opposite stares at us strangely and then returns to her paperback.
‘Pull mine.’
Bells leans forward to touch my finger.
‘Bad luck, missed,’ I exclaim, withdrawing my hand.
She laughs and the woman opposite stares directly at Bells with cold blue eyes. I want to tell her to stop staring. When I was much younger, I hated people staring at Bells in the supermarket or on the street or at the bus stop. I know I’m guilty of wanting to hide my sister, yet am surprised by how much it still angers me when people are rude or stare. Who are they to judge anyone? I shift in my seat. She is still looking at us. It makes me feel uncomfortable but at least Bells doesn’t appear to notice, or does she? Mum and Dad used to tell strangers what was wrong with her. Dad always explained to me, ‘It puts them at their ease. It’s normally fear or ignorance that makes people stare. You have to work hard to reassure them. It shouldn’t be like that, but that’s the way it is.’
‘Oh, dear.’ I shake my head solemnly at Bells. ‘Too slow, miss a go.’
‘Not funny, Katie!’
‘Pull my finger, come on.’ She misses again. ‘Sorry, if you snooze, you lose.’ That’s an expression of Sam’s. I doubt he meant it to be used in exactly the same context, however. ‘Shit, this is our stop!’ I grab our bags and Bells follows. ‘Mind the step.’
I wish I’d said something, I think to myself, as the sour-faced woman bristles and looks down at her book.
*
Bells points animatedly to each tray behind the counter – couscous with pine nuts and peppers, carrot cake with a whipped orange and butter icing, warm ciabatta bread with olives or spinach, rice cakes with garlic. We buy some ginger to make a sticky ginger pudding ‘like the one Mum makes’, she tells me. I buy some pistachio nuts, fresh bread and olives. Emma’s coming over tonight especially to see Bells.
‘You think Mum eats nice food in France?’ Bells asks me.
‘I reckon she’s eating like a queen and she doesn’t even have to do the washing-up.’
Bells rocks forward. ‘No hot soapy water?’
‘I’m not going anywhere near those chillies,’ I tell her when she asks Eddie for three red ones. ‘The last time I chopped them I forgot to wash my hands, picked my nose, and boy, did it kill!’ I laugh. ‘Sam almost had to ring for a doctor.’
‘Not funny, Katie.’ She comes forward and touches me briefly on the shoulder.
‘No, it wasn’t!’ I carry on, still glowing from her touch. It’s the first time she has initiated affection, and it makes me feel as if someone has wrapped a warm soft towel around me.
‘It was supposed to be a romantic evening and I had to spend the entire night with my head in a bowl of cold water.’
‘That’s disgusting, Katie,’ says Eddie. ‘Is that all, girls?’ I had forgotten he was there. He’s wearing a short blue apron that shows off his hairy legs, finished off with brown sandals and socks.
‘You wearing anything under that?’ Bells asks him.
‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ he replies, winking at her.
*
‘No, I’d prefer the table in the corner, please … um, say about seven-thirty … yep, thanks,’ I hear Sam muttering as Bells and I come into the kitchen. He puts the phone down. ‘I’m taking you and Isabel out tomorrow evening, for her last night in London,’ he announces proudly.
‘Are you?’ I look at him strangely, wondering what has suddenly brought all of this on.
‘I am,’ he declares, and looks at Bells for a response.
‘Where are you taking us, then? Bells, did you hear that? Sam’s taking you and me …’ I am tempted to add ‘the two bad smells’, ‘. . . out on the town.’
She nods.
Sam looks disappointed. ‘We’re going to my favourite restaurant. They have the best wine list in town.’ He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. ‘And the best steak.’
‘Bells doesn’t drink,’ I can’t help saying.
‘Don’t eat meat,’ she adds.
I feel bad for sounding ungrateful. ‘Sam, that’s a lovely idea, thanks.’
‘Thank you,’ Bells murmurs, turning Stevie Wonder on.
Sam and I go upstairs. ‘I have had such a lovely day,’ I tell him, sitting down on our bed and kicking my shoes off.
‘Really? At work?’ He lies down next to me.
‘No, with Bells. We went on the London Eye, had a picnic, went shopping and Bells bought an outfit for Emma’s wedding. I really feel like I’m getting to know her.’
‘What d’you mean, getting to know her? She’s your sister.’
‘Yeah, but what I mean is …’
‘I’m going to the gym tonight, want to come?’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘You go.’
‘I need to buy some more trainers,’ he’s muttering. ‘Remember, we’re going away for the weekend when Bells leaves.’ There’s a book on hip hotels on his side of the bed which he now picks up, turning to the marked page. ‘I booked the Moroccan Suite, Katie. Look at it, it’s beautiful and we need to get away. Look at this place, honey.’ He points at the picture again.
The hotel bedroom looks like a mini-paradise. A four-poster bed with white linen sheets, pale blue shutters, and creamy blue tiles in the bathroom. Tiny windows looking out on to the gardens. It is very tempting. ‘It looks nice …’
‘Nice? I don’t do “nice”, Katie. I do “amazing”. The place ticks all the boxes. I mean, even Madonna has stayed there,’ Sam boasts.
I smile. ‘You are …’ I’m about to say ‘a sad name-dropper’, but then stop myself, realizing that he’s being completely serious. Normally, am I impressed by all of this? Yes, I suppose I am. All I want to say to him now is, Who cares?
Finally he finds his trainers in his gym bag. ‘Check out the spa and beauty room,’ he continues, ge
sturing to the picture in the book of a woman being massaged. ‘You can have a seaweed wrap, apparently it gets rid of the build-up of toxins. You girls are funny. Right, got to run.’
He stands in front of the mirror to make some last-minute adjustments to his hair. ‘I’m looking forward to having this place to ourselves again.’
‘Um … me too.’
‘No offence to your sister, nothing like that, but, well, you know what I mean.’
She touched my arm today and it felt wonderful, I want to shout. You should have seen her expression when I took her on the London Eye. It was one of pure joy, and I was responsible for that. We played silly games on the bus and it was fun fooling around with her. Today made me feel alive. I want to tell all of this to Sam, I am aching to tell someone; but I don’t think it will mean anything to him.
Only a few weeks ago I was telling Emma how much I was dreading Bells coming to stay. Now I want to say how stupid I’ve been, how wrong I’ve been. I can’t wait to tell her all about our day together.
Sam kisses me, bringing me back to reality. ‘In a few days it’s back to you and me.’ As I kiss him, all I feel is dread. The prospect of waving goodbye to Bells leaves me feeling hollow.
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘When are you, er, going home, Isabel?’ asks Mr Vickers. He was walking past the shop and Bells had rushed out to greet him.
‘Tomorrow, catch train from Paddington. Do your funny thing,’ Bells demands.
He looks at me nervously. He doesn’t do his impersonation of a man on the train, holding on to the bar, which I know he’d do if I weren’t there.
I clear my throat. ‘Mr Vickers, would you like to stay for a cup of tea?’
This question sets him in a spin. ‘Er, er …’
‘Stay, Mr Vickers,’ Bells says.
‘How very, er, kind, er, of you. You are so very kind. Yes, please.’
I leave them downstairs while I go to the box room. Eve nipped out to get some milk, she’ll be back in a minute. I make the tea and take it downstairs, only to find Mr Vickers parading about in front of Bells. He appears to transform himself into a confident comedian when he is performing in front of an audience. ‘Who is, er, this?’ He clears his throat, puckers his lips and places his large purple hands behind his back. ‘These plants look very interesting, well worth talking to.’
Letters From My Sister Page 12
