by Carys Jones
Tilly reached for the DVD case within her grasp. What was so wrong with wanting to watch a movie? Especially when no one else was using the television?
‘You can watch it another time,’ her mother was saying, indicating with her eyes that it was time for Tilly to head back upstairs.
‘OK.’ Tilly gave a stubborn sigh before ejecting her disc and returning it to its glittering case.
‘You’ve already seen that one a dozen times.’
‘What difference does that make?’ Tilly wondered.
‘Don’t you get … bored?’
‘Bored?’ Tilly repeated the word as though she didn’t understand its meaning.
‘Yes, Tilly, bored. You watch the same things over and over. Not like your sisters, their tastes change on a weekly basis.’
‘But I like my movies.’ Tilly was clutching her DVD to her chest.
‘I know, sweetheart.’ Ivy smiled softly at her. ‘But there are thousands of movies. Don’t you ever think about the ones you might be missing out on?’
‘No.’
‘OK. Well, upstairs. And you stay in your bedroom this time, got it?’
‘Yeah,’ Tilly gave a slow nod. ‘I got it.’
By nine o’clock it was dark, and Tilly was wearing her long, blue nightgown which had the princess in her sparkling dress decorating the front of it. When she wore the nightgown Tilly liked to pretend she was actually wearing the glittering dress. Tilly’s hair was gathered down her back in one long plait and her mouth tingled from the mint of the toothpaste she’d just used. This was when she was supposed to go to bed.
Beyond her bedroom door she could hear her sisters starting up their usual evening routine of annoying their father by either playing their music too loudly or taking too long in the bathroom.
‘I don’t know what they do in there!’ he’d complain to their mother. ‘They spend hours in there, and then when I go in there’s steam everywhere, shaving foam all over the tiles, and wet towels on the floor!’
‘They’re teenage girls,’ Ivy would tell him lightly with a dismissive wave of her hand.
‘They’re monsters,’ Clive would mutter to himself.
Tilly was leaning against her door, taking comfort in the familiar discussions occurring out on the landing.
‘Dad! It’s not too loud!’ Monica shouted defiantly down the stairs.
‘I can barely hear the TV!’ their father shouted back.
‘Then turn it up!’
‘Monica, don’t make me come up there!’
He always threatened to come up there, but he never did. He wouldn’t dare risk missing a moment of his beloved shows.
‘Think about your mother!’
Doors slammed dramatically but the hum of music drifting from the other side of the house grew softer. Smiling, Tilly climbed back up her tower.
Tilly awoke to voices just outside her door. Rolling over in the darkness, she drew her duvet up against her chin. For a moment the dream she was in filtered out into the room and she wondered if the people outside were there to kidnap her, that they had been sent by the townspeople. Tilly hoped that if she remained perfectly still and silent that they might leave.
‘I’m worried about her.’ She recognised the weary lilt of her mother’s voice. It was her parents outside her door. She was safe and at home; no one was coming to take her away.
‘She just needs to grow up,’ her father stated.
‘That’s easier said than done.’
‘She’s at secondary school. She’ll have to grow up soon, even if she doesn’t want to.’
‘I just … I don’t want her to change.’
‘She won’t.’
‘She will, Clive.’ Her mother’s voice hardened. ‘She’s so innocent, and that’s going to be taken away from her and I worry she’s not … equipped for things.’
‘Is anyone ever properly equipped? Some days I struggle to cope, let alone the girls.’
‘She wraps herself up in these fairy tales and it’s like living in a giant ball of cotton wool. She’s detached from the world, Clive, and I think that’s dangerous.’
‘You’re over thinking it.’
‘Am I?’
Tilly quickly snapped her eyes closed as her bedroom door opened. She heard her mother gently walk over to the bed and lean up towards the top bunk.
‘Night-night, princess,’ her mother whispered, her breath was warm as she drew close and kissed Tilly’s cheek. ‘Sleep tight.’
A tear fell where the kiss had been planted as her mother closed the door. Tilly tightened into a ball and tried to dismiss what she had heard. Tears dripped onto her pillow as she shivered beneath her duvet. Why would her mother call her a princess if she really thought Tilly needed to grow up? Didn’t her mother like her anymore? Tilly thought of the times they had sat together watching films and eating biscuits and drinking lemonade. Those were some of her happiest memories but her mother obviously didn’t feel the same. Betrayal burned through Tilly as she continued to cry. Her shoulders shook and her body trembled but she took care not to make a sound. She didn’t want to draw her mother’s attention.
At breakfast, Tilly had no appetite. She pushed her cereal around in her bowl but ate hardly any. The conversation she’d overheard the night before haunted her, but more than that she feared the day ahead: the day when she’d spend a lunchtime detention with Kate Oswald. The prospect was terrifying.
‘Tilly, eat your breakfast,’ her father told her. Lately he was the one who prepared breakfast, which meant they only ever had cereal and juice. When her mother used to get up with them she would make porridge or scrambled eggs and serve tea. But lately, her mother was always sleeping in. Tilly resented that she was now too lazy to see her off to school.
‘I’m not hungry.’ Tilly dropped her spoon into her bowl and pushed it away.
‘You’ve got to eat something,’ her dad sighed.
‘Is your detention today?’ Maria asked as she appeared in the kitchen, running her hands through her long hair.
‘Yeah.’
‘Ooh, have fun,’ she laughed.
‘Maria, come and eat.’ Clive pointed at the table and the empty bowls which were surrounded by several tall boxes of cereal.
‘Dad, I don’t do breakfast,’ she told him with a hair flick. ‘You know that.’
The sound of footsteps upon the staircase proceeded Monica’s arrival in to the kitchen. Her hair was gathered on top of her head in a messy bun which made her cheekbones appear even more pronounced than usual. Tilly slid down in her chair. She wished she was as beautiful as her sisters but she doubted she’d ever be willing to dedicate as much time as they did on her appearance. Her sisters were always preening: plucking this, waxing that, straightening something else. Maintaining their looks seemed like a never-ending task.
‘Monica, breakfast.’ Clive ordered, raising his voice.
Laughing, Monica shook her head, ‘Yeah, right.’
‘Are you ready?’ Maria addressed Monica. They took a moment to check each other’s makeup before giving nods. They were about to head through the door when Maria paused, glancing back at Tilly.
‘Squirt has detention today.’ She raised a hand towards the table.
‘Really?’ Monica seemed instantly amused. ‘Have fun.’
‘It’s detention, not a disco!’ their father said, his nostrils flaring.
‘Careful, Dad, next she’ll be getting a tattoo!’ Monica giggled.
‘Do you have a tattoo?’ Clive was staring at his daughter in horror.
Maria was laughing heartily as she leaned against her sister.
‘Come on, we need to go.’ They were giggling as they headed out the door.
‘See, this is why you should eat breakfast.’ Tilly’s father wilted in his chair and pushed the bowl back towards her. ‘I refuse to have another of my daughters turn into one of those.’
‘One of what?’ Tilly asked as she reluctantly picked up her spoon and continued nu
dging around the cereal.
‘A teenager.’
‘I think that’s inevitable, Dad,’ Tilly told him as she forced down a mouthful of cereal. She frowned as she chewed. Wasn’t that what everyone wanted, for her to grow up and become like her sisters? Her head was starting to throb from the mixed messages she was receiving.
‘Is your detention today?’
Tilly nodded.
‘Well, take the time to think about why you’re there and make sure it never happens again, OK?’
Tilly nodded.
‘You don’t think your sister really has a tattoo, do you?’
Tilly remained silent.
Kate ignored Tilly during registration, which she considered to be a blessing. Perhaps she was so mad about the detention she’d been rendered speechless. Tilly hoped the effect would last the rest of the school year. But when lunchtime arrived and Tilly trudged over to Miss Havishorn’s classroom she found Kate leaning against the doorframe and her power of speech had returned.
‘Thanks for this,’ she said sarcastically as Tilly stood beside her.
‘It wasn’t my fault.’
‘Please,’ Kate scoffed, and she exhaled sharply, blowing away blonde strands of hair which had gathered in front of her eyes.
‘Where are Sophie and Claire?’ Tilly noticed that Kate was alone, a phenomenon that hadn’t happened in years. Usually, wherever Kate went her loyal posse followed.
‘They didn’t get detention, did they?’ Kate said with a tightness in her voice.
‘No,’ Tilly admitted, ‘they didn’t.’
‘I mean, they could have come along for support but no. They’d rather go off to the field and watch the guys play football.’
Tilly couldn’t think of a duller way to spend her lunch hour. In her free time she liked to visit the library and discover new books, but she had a tendency to be drawn to books she already loved, eager to read them over and over. Maybe her mother was right; maybe she was missing out on things because she kept seeking out the same experiences.
‘Were your parents mad?’ Tilly wondered, remembering the disappointment etched into her mother’s features.
‘About what?’
‘About the detention.’ Tilly tried not to sound too shocked. What else was there to be mad about?
‘They don’t know.’
‘They don’t know?’
‘For them to know, Terry would have to acknowledge my existence.’
‘Who’s Terry?’
‘My dad,’ Kate replied flatly.
‘Doesn’t he work with my dad?’
‘Probably,’ Kate shrugged. ‘I don’t know. We’re not close.’
Tilly was about to say something when Miss Havishorn’s imposing figure loomed over them.
‘Come on,’ she said briskly as she unlocked her classroom door. ‘Let’s get this over with. You’re not the only ones giving up your lunch time.’
The girls were told to sit on separate desks and write about why they shouldn’t talk during registration.
‘At least one hundred words,’ Miss Havishorn insisted, which caused Kate to roll her eyes dramatically. ‘Miss Oswald, I can assure you that I’ll be counting every word.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ Kate replied in a sickly sweet tone.
Tilly opened up a crisp new page in her notebook and began to think over the task at hand but her mind quickly began to wander. She thought about what Kate had said about her father, about how they weren’t close. What if he were some tyrant who tormented not only his daughter but Tilly’s father, the King? Terry Oswald might be behind the uprising amongst the people.
He might be out there holding court, declaring it was time the people climbed up the stone tower and stole the princess held inside. Tilly shuddered. She wished she had a fairy godmother who could intervene.
A quick glance around the classroom made Tilly yearn to see the desks turned into ornate wooden sledges, the whiteboard to a slick wall of ice which would turn the entire school into a giant snow castle. Tilly’s drab uniform would transform into a glittering blue gown and her fairy godmother would place her in one of the sledges and turn Kate into a snow-white unicorn. The unicorn would pull the sledge across the slick floors, out of the ice castle, and into the world, away from Terry Oswald and his quest to overthrow the Kingdom.
‘Tick tock, Miss Johnson.’
The ice melted in an instant and Tilly was back with Miss Havishorn glaring angrily at her. Tilly pressed her mermaid pen against the page and began to write.
After twenty minutes, Miss Havishorn shifted in her chair and pushed her glasses up her nose.
‘OK, what do you have?’
‘Miss Havishorn, we already know why we shouldn’t talk during registration, we don’t need to write a hundred words about it.’ Kate stubbornly crossed her arms. Glancing over, Tilly could see her piece of paper was still blank.
‘So why shouldn’t you?’
‘Because you say so.’
Miss Havishorn’s eyes widened with displeasure.
‘Because I say so?’ she repeated, rising to her feet. ‘Is that an adequate response, Matilda?’
Miss Havishorn’s head swivelled on her thick neck to look at Tilly, who was cringing upon hearing her full name.
‘It’s disrespectful to talk during registration,’ Tilly said meekly. ‘So we should be quiet and listen.’
‘Do you think you could accomplish that in future?’ Miss Havishorn was looking between them.
‘Yes,’ Tilly blurted desperately. ‘Of course.’
‘Sure,’ Kate shrugged.
‘OK then.’ Miss Havishorn nodded with satisfaction. ‘Go and enjoy the rest of your lunch break.’
Tilly began to pack away her things. Kate hadn’t done the task they had been set, how could they be dismissed?
Tilly had to hurry to catch up with Kate, who’d left with such urgency you’d think the classroom was on fire.
‘Hey,’ Tilly called. Kate spun around, her lips curling up in annoyance.
‘Yes?’ she demanded.
‘You didn’t do the task. Why not?’
‘Because it was stupid,’ Kate declared.
‘But we still had to do it.’
‘No, we didn’t,’ Kate insisted, rolling her eyes, which drew Tilly’s attention to Kate’s poorly applied eyeliner. ‘Miss Havishorn was on a power trip. She just wanted to make sure we wouldn’t talk in registration again, and guess what, we won’t! Lesson learned.’
‘How did you know she wouldn’t check our work?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘But you still didn’t do it?’
‘Jeez, you’re so uptight!’ Kate glanced along the corridor, blatantly eager to get away from Tilly. ‘What’s the worst that could happen? She gives me another detention?’
‘That doesn’t worry you?’ Tilly couldn’t understand how Kate could be so flippant. She had the same attitude as Monica and Maria but was a few years below them – had they been as blasé as Kate?
‘No, it doesn’t worry me,’ Kate said tersely, her tone almost scolding. ‘I worry about who I’ll sit with at lunch or what I’m doing Saturday. I don’t waste energy worrying about detentions. And neither should you. You’re such a little princess.’
Kate stalked off, taking her sweet aroma with her. Tilly stared after her in confusion. Why would anyone worry about what they were doing Saturday? They were one of the best days of the week. Tilly would be allowed to have a big bowl of popcorn as watched one of her DVDs in the lounge. Then she’d go to bed and read until her eyes ached. How did worrying about things like detentions make her a princess?
‘So, you survived?’
The dinner hall was almost empty, as Tilly was late. Everyone else was outside enjoying the rare sunshine warming the trimmed grass in the playing field. Tilly put down her cheese sandwich and looked up to see Maria, one hand loosely placed on her hip.
‘I told Mum I’d check in on you,’ she explained as sh
e dropped down on the bench.
‘I survived,’ Tilly nodded.
‘Good.’ Maria smiled though it didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Just think of it as a rite of passage.’
Her sister was preparing to leave but Tilly wanted her there a few moments longer. Lunch times felt unbearably long when she ate alone.
‘Did you used to worry about getting detention?’
‘Huh?’ Maria frowned as she lingered beside the table. ‘I guess when I was in your year.’
‘What made you stop worrying about it?’
Maria shrugged. Tilly noticed how her sister’s dark hair glimmered in the sunlight. If only she had the same locks. Instead, her hair was the colour of dirt and dry leaves. It didn’t shimmer in sunlight or sway elegantly with her every movement. Tilly’s hair tumbled in confused curls which didn’t seem to know which way was down.
‘Tilly.’ Maria chewed her lip. ‘Try not to worry about detentions, OK? I know Mum and Dad make out like they’re a big deal but there are bigger things to worry about.’
‘Like what?’ Tilly blinked innocently.
‘Like …’ Maria nervously twirled a dark strand of hair around her finger.
‘Like a meteor crashing into Earth and killing everyone?’ Tilly recalled a film she’d once caught. It had terrified her to her core.
‘Yes,’ Maria pointed towards Tilly. ‘Big stuff like that.’
‘OK.’ Tilly was left slightly confused.
‘But you’re OK? – About detention and stuff?’ Maria was sending longing looks to the double doors which led outside.
‘Yeah,’ Tilly nodded as she raised her sandwich to her mouth. ‘I’m OK.’
Two Ugly Step-sisters
Tilly was getting better at disappearing once she got to school. She allowed herself to get absorbed by the swarm of students and she drifted absently through her days. She no longer felt like a salmon struggling up stream. Instead, she let herself get carried along with the flow.
Tilly knew better than to get complacent. It was only her third week and the map she’d been given seemed just as confusing as it had on her first day. Normally, she’d follow a familiar face to her next class after eavesdropping on where they were headed.
