Letters From My Sister

by Alice Peterson

  ‘Don’t know. Who?’ Bells punches his arm for an answer.

  ‘Hello, Mr Vickers,’ Eve says as she returns with the milk.

  I hand him a mug of tea and a chocolate digestive.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ he repeats. ‘Do you, er, know who it is?’ He looks at each of us in turn.

  ‘I did not see you do it properly,’ Eve says. ‘Can you do it once more?’

  He looks flattered by the attention and prepares himself again, putting on a distinguished voice, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘These plants look very interesting, well worth talking to.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness,’ Eve says, jumping up and down, ‘I know who you are, I know this voice.’

  ‘So do I! Prince Charles,’ I leap in before her.

  Mr Vickers’s face breaks into a smile and I find myself smiling back at him. His eyes look grey and weary, as if they have seen too much nastiness in the world, but when he smiles his entire face changes. He has an innate goodness, like Uncle Roger, a face that would never tell a lie. ‘Er, yes, you are right, er …’

  ‘Katie. Call me Katie.’

  ‘Another one!’ Bells claps her hands.

  ‘What is your, er, favourite hobby?’ Mr Vickers asks her.

  Bells looks at me. ‘You like cooking?’ I suggest.

  ‘Cooking,’ she repeats.

  He thinks. ‘I have one.’ He picks up his biscuit and takes a bite. ‘Delicious, just the right consistency.’ He licks his lips. ‘Well, after much ruminating and cogitating I think the …’

  ‘I know,’ I burst out.

  ‘Masterchef man,’ cuts in Bells. ‘I know!’ She is jumping around.

  ‘Lloyd Grossman,’ I finish.

  ‘Er, correct.’ I notice his stammer returns when he is not performing.

  ‘Another!’ Bells demands just as Henrietta and her mother walk into the shop. They gawp at the strange party around my desk drinking tea. ‘Do stay, Mr Vickers, and finish your tea.’ I smile politely at him. ‘My bank manager came round,’ I tell Hen and her mother, signalling to Mr Vickers. ‘It was so kind of you to come and see me personally,’ I add, smiling at him.

  That wipes the looks off their faces.

  *

  Bells, Sam and I sit in the corner of the restaurant looking at the menus. I take another sip of my vodka and tonic, and start to crunch a large piece of ice.

  ‘Don’t do that, Katie. It’s bad for your teeth,’ Sam says twitchily. A couple enter the restaurant. He casts his eyes in their direction and he visibly relaxes when he registers that he doesn’t know them.

  ‘Hello, Katie.’ Bells holds my hand and the vibration goes off loudly. We both laugh.

  ‘What is that?’ Sam furrows his brow. Bells holds out her hand towards him. ‘Um, the waiter’s coming over, do it later, yeah?’ he mutters.

  ‘I’d like the chicken, please,’ I tell the smooth-haired waiter when he stands at our table with his pad poised.

  ‘Chicken?’ I feel someone kick me under the table.

  ‘Sam, that hurt.’

  ‘Katie, I’m here to spoil you and Bells. We can eat chicken any old day.’ He looks at the waiter as if to say, Women, hey! Can’t take them anywhere. ‘What are the specials?’

  ‘We have salmon, or the smoked haddock risotto is very popular. I would also recommend the medallion of pork.’

  Sam closes his menu smoothly. ‘Thank you, but I think I’ll go for the beef en croûte, please.’

  ‘Certainly, sir, a popular choice,’ the waiter affirms. ‘How would you like it cooked?’

  ‘Rare, please. You can’t beat top-class beef.’ Sam looks at me again. ‘Choose something more adventurous, Katie.’

  ‘But I love chicken, Sam.’ I don’t like the sound of my voice, a whimpering pathetic little sound. The kind children make when they say they don’t want to eat their carrots and peas.

  He smiles at me as he touches his chin. ‘Kitty-kins, you’re a funny little mouse sometimes, a creature of habit.’ He scans the menu for me. ‘How about the scallops?’

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ I say. ‘The scallops would be lovely.’

  ‘How about you, Isabel?’ he asks.

  Bells has been noticeably quiet. She looks awkward. Perhaps she is quiet because she’s leaving tomorrow?

  ‘You have chips?’

  Sam’s face drops and now I kick him under the table. ‘Yes, I’m sure you have chips, don’t you?’ I ask the waiter.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Why don’t you have the homemade beef burger with chips?’ Sam says.

  ‘Bells is a vegetarian,’ I say yet again. Does he never listen?

  He raises his hands in a gesture of apology. ‘Sorry I spoke,’ he mumbles.

  ‘Bells, why don’t you have the vegetarian lasagne, with chips on the side?’

  It worries me how quiet she is. Is she nervous about catching the train tomorrow?

  ‘Can choose my own food,’ she shouts, banging her elbow against the table.

  ‘Bells, I’m sorry,’ I say. Sometimes I slip into talking to her like a child and I have to stop it.

  ‘Would like risotto,’ she states.

  ‘You order the wine, Sam.’ I push my chair back and it hits the wall. ‘There’s no space! Is this the only table they had?’ It feels like we have the children’s table in this dark corner.

  ‘Afraid so.’

  ‘Really? But there are tables outside. It’s warm tonight.’

  He rubs his nose. ‘Let’s stay here, shall we?’ His mouth begins to twitch too. ‘So, what have you two been up to today? Your last night, hey, Isabel. Bet you’re dying to get home.’

  I know Sam is trying but he just irritates me.

  ‘Mr Vickers said goodbye. I like Mr Vickers, nice man.’

  ‘Mr Vickers? Who’s he now? I’ll just check I ordered the right wine.’ Sam swiftly changes the subject. I look ahead and see a vaguely familiar man joining the group in front of us. Sam is now lifting the menu to shield his face. His mobile rings. Still holding on to the menu with one hand, he picks his phone up with the other. I talk to Bells and Sam excuses himself, darting through the doors that lead downstairs to the loos.

  After five minutes he still hasn’t returned. ‘Bells.’ She holds out her hand again and the buzzer goes off. I touch her arm. ‘Be back in a minute.’

  *

  ‘Oh, mate, this is a nightmare,’ Sam says.

  I stand at the top of the stairs, then quietly tiptoe down a couple and lean over the banister far enough to allow me to see him. Sam is by the cigarette machine, his back to me, one hand leaning against the wall. He laughs. I bet he’s talking to Maguire. ‘It’s Isabel’s last night and I seriously, I mean seriously, mate, need to get back in the good books with Katie. I’ve avoided them as much as I can.’ Sam is silent; he must be listening to something very profound. ‘Too right, Maguire, hopefully more action between the sheets when she’s gone. Jesus, it’s been like the Gobi Desert!’

  I open my mouth and close it again.

  ‘I tell you, mate, when she told me her sister was coming to stay I didn’t expect this.’ He pauses as he listens. ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah … absolutely.’ He paces the floor. ‘Too right, Maguire. This isn’t what I signed up for.’ Pause. ‘Yeah, I’ll see how it goes. I mean, I do love her. At least, I think I do, and I know she’s crazy about me.’

  Who does he think he is? I want to hit him so hard, or better still put him in the stocks and throw rotten eggs at him, in front of Maguire and all his work colleagues.

  ‘Look, mate, better go and butter them up … Back to my post, yeah, you know how it is.’

  *

  The food still hasn’t arrived when Sam returns. ‘Sorry about that,’ he says, ‘a client, I had to take the call.’

  On the surface I remain calm, but the pit of my stomach is a seething knot of fury. ‘Really? Who was it?’

  ‘No one you’d know, honey. All very boring stuff.’

  ‘What did
they want?’

  ‘What’s with all the questions? It was a guy from work, that’s all. Crikey, Isabel, your sister can be a pain, can’t she?’ He laughs, hoping Bells will follow.

  I watch Sam and can tell he is still preoccupied with the group in front of us.

  ‘Do you know those people, Sam? You keep on looking over?’

  ‘Tell you what, Bells. Why don’t we eat outside, hey?’ He gets up and takes his jacket.

  ‘Look.’ I smile sweetly at him, pressing a hand against his arm. ‘Our food’s arriving.’

  Sam grimaces as he sits down again.

  ‘Lakemore?’ a man calls across to him then. ‘It is you! Good God,’ he bellows.

  ‘Hi,’ Sam says, trying to sound surprised, his cheeks burning with colour. The stout man with glasses comes over to our table. He is small and round, with curly brown hair and sideburns. I wait for Sam to introduce us but after a second-too-long gap do it myself. ‘Hello, I’m Katie.’

  ‘Yes, sorry, this is Katie. Katie, Colin Lucker.’

  ‘Hello, Katie, wonderful to meet you.’

  ‘Hi, Colin.’

  ‘Hello,’ Bells says, holding out her hand.

  ‘Hello, er …? Now who might you be?’

  ‘This is my sister, Isabel,’ I tell him.

  ‘Bells,’ she corrects me.

  ‘Hello, Bells.’ Colin shakes her hand. ‘Oh, my, what was that?’ He laughs curiously.

  As I’m about to tell him Sam says, ‘Isn’t it hilarious, Colin? She’s a funny one is our Isabel.’

  ‘Better be getting back to my table.’ He shuffles back a few steps. ‘Nice to see you again, Sammy boy. We must catch up soon.’

  ‘Who was that, Sam?’

  ‘My old boss,’ he says, cowering behind the menu again and taking another large gulp of wine.

  ‘Really? What a coincidence. We could join them for coffee.’ The knot is unravelling in its own way. ‘Mr Lucker?’ I call out.

  ‘Christ, Katie. Leave it, will you,’ Sam snaps.

  ‘Er, yes?’ Colin Lucker answers tentatively.

  Sam now kicks me so hard I don’t dare to continue. ‘Sorry, Colin, we’ll leave you to your dinner, please ignore us,’ Sam says to him cheerfully. He turns back to face me. ‘What’s your problem?’ he asks in a low whisper.

  ‘You,’ I reply. I didn’t want to say anything, not on Bells’s last night, but I can’t help it. I lean closer towards him. ‘I heard everything you said on the phone just now. Everything.’

  Sam runs a hand through his hair. ‘What?’ he says.

  ‘This isn’t what you signed up for, is it?’ I try to look discreetly at Bells.

  ‘Hello, Katie,’ she says, holding out her hand.

  ‘Sorry, Bells. Not now,’ I say, turning back to Sam.

  ‘Don’t know what you’re on about,’ he mutters. ‘I was talking to a client.’

  ‘Don’t lie!’

  ‘Don’t lie!’ Bells repeats.

  ‘You were talking to Maguire!’

  ‘To Maguire.’

  ‘What is your sister going on about?’ he says to Bells, trying to keep his composure.

  ‘Sam. I heard.’

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t have been fucking eavesdropping.’

  ‘Sam said F word,’ Bells laughs.

  ‘Bells!’ both Sam and I say together.

  ‘You having pudding?’ she asks me.

  ‘I’m pretty stuffed.’ He waves a hand at a waiter.

  ‘I want a pudding.’

  He allows Bells a quick chocolate brownie. While she is still eating he grabs his jacket from the back of the chair, tells me he’s going to pay the bill and that we need to be ready, by the door, in five minutes. Sharp.

  *

  Sam sweeps round the corner in his BMW.

  ‘Slow down!’ I insist as we hurtle round another corner. I press my foot on an imaginary brake.

  ‘It’s all right, shut up. These cars are designed to belt along.’ He puts his foot down even harder.

  ‘Not funny, Sam, not funny.’ Bells is grappling with her seatbelt.

  ‘Bells, don’t take the belt off,’ I tell her.

  I hear a click and twist round just as her door swings open and nearly hits a lamppost.

  ‘Jesus!’ Sam shouts. He grabs Bells’s floppy jumper and pulls her in, one hand anchored firmly on the leather steering wheel.

  ‘Pull over!’ I am shouting, turning from Bells, to the road, to Sam, to Bells again. ‘Sam, STOP!’

  He pulls over swiftly, the tyres burning against the pavement, and turns off the engine. Thank God no one was driving behind us.

  ‘Not funny, Sam. Not funny,’ Bells berates him.

  ‘Christ Almighty,’ he repeats, his head in his hands and almost weeping. ‘My new car.’

  *

  ‘But you nearly fell out of Sam’s car, Bells. Promise me you won’t do it again.’ I lift her feet on to the bed.

  ‘Too fast, Katie.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Was scared.’

  ‘So was I, but you could really have hurt yourself.’

  She is still quiet.

  ‘’Night, Bells, sleep well.’ I turn off the main light.

  ‘Nothing around me?’

  ‘Nothing around you.’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘I promise.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I stand on Bells’s bed and take down her Stevie Wonder poster. The Beatles poster is pulled off the door. I open her wardrobe and take out her Chinese wedding outfit.

  We fold her baggy jumpers, shirts and holey vests together. They go into the zip bag along with the medley of junk, including the buzzing device, her CDs, notepad, photograph album, box of paints and the football badges. ‘Do you want to wear these … or these?’ I hold up her large black boots and the purple pixie pair. Today she’s wearing a black T-shirt I gave her from the shop with a little silver star in the middle, which is sadly hidden by her dungarees on top. She decides to go for the pixie boots.

  Her large purple zip bag is finally packed, there is only one Stevie Wonder CD we can’t find. ‘I’ll send it on to you, promise.’

  Bells doesn’t appear too bothered. She tells me she will take the sheets off the bed, like they do at home.

  ‘’Bye, Isabel,’ Sam says, standing at her bedroom door in his jeans and leather jacket. ‘It was great to meet you. Come and see us again.’ He looks relieved as he scans the room, seeing it clean and clutter-free. Back to his normal routine. Nothing out of place; CDs in their correct boxes; the kitchen surfaces positively sparkling. I’m going to miss Bells’s meals. What do you do in a kitchen if you don’t cook, Sam?

  ‘Thank you, Sam.’ Bells goes forward and shakes his hand.

  ‘It’s a pleasure. No problemo.’ He looks pleased that she thanked him without any prompting. ‘Katie, I’ll see you later.’ Sam and I didn’t say a word to each other last night. By the time I had said good night to Bells he was asleep on the sofa, so I left him there. I told him this morning that we needed to talk. Now he walks away and minutes later I hear the door shut.

  ‘Right, ready to rock ’n’ roll?’ I ask her, and put a hand over my mouth. Without thinking I say things that Sam would and I don’t like it anymore.

  Bells says goodbye to her bedroom.

  I take her bag and shut the door behind us.

  *

  ‘Passengers going to Haverford West need to change at Swansea,’ says the loudspeaker. People are bustling past while Bells and I stand at the information desk waiting for Fiona, one of the staff in Wales, to meet us. She is going to accompany Bells back home. She should be here by now; the train leaves in ten minutes.

  ‘Got your ticket?’

  ‘Yes, Katie.’

  ‘What does Fiona look like?’ I am scanning the crowds. Perhaps we’re in the wrong place?

  ‘She’s fat.’

  ‘Bells!’ I laugh at her.

  ‘Like partridge.’

>   ‘Eddie and Eve would love to see you again, you’ll come back, won’t you?’ I would love to see you again, that is what I should be telling her.

  ‘Very nice people. Would like to see Mark again.’

  ‘I know, me too.’ I still think about Mark and what he did for us. We didn’t manage to meet up again, and now that Bells is going, I have no excuse to ring him. Yet it’s hard to believe I’m never going to see him again. Was he only supposed to come into our lives for that single brief evening? ‘If I do see him, what message shall I give?’

  Bells rocks forwards and backwards. ‘Will he marry me! Here’s Fiona!’ Bells waves her hands in a flutter as Fiona waddles towards us in a checked skirt and white blouse with a frilly collar.

  ‘Hello, I’m Katie.’ I shake her hand.

  ‘Hello,’ she says. ‘Hi, Bells. How are you?’ Her voice warms up. ‘How was your holiday? Mary Veronica has missed you very much, she got back yesterday.’ She takes Bells’s bag and I walk behind them. ‘We’d better be quick, I’m running late, aren’t I? I thought we were meeting at the ticket desk?’ She turns briefly to me.

  ‘No, I’m sure we said …’

  ‘Never mind, Katie, all is well. Was it fun?’ she continues.

  ‘Yes, fun,’ Bells says. Fiona marches us on to the correct platform. I won’t have time to say anything now, I panic to myself, feet pattering along to keep up. I’ve had all of this morning to tell Bells that I would like to visit her, that I have enjoyed the last few days so much, but I haven’t said anything. ‘Got your ticket?’ is about the sum of it.

  ‘Went on London Eye,’ Bells says. ‘Saw all London.’

  ‘How marvellous,’ Fiona says. ‘It sounds like you’ve had a smashing time.’ She turns to me. ‘Thank you, Katie. We’d better get on, the train leaves in a couple of minutes.’

  I look at the big clock, the seconds ticking by.

  ‘We want to make sure we’re near the buffet car,’ Fiona says, stepping up on to the train. Bells follows her. ‘Say goodbye to your sister, Bells.’

  NO! I want to shout. This is not how I imagined it would be. I want to say goodbye properly.