15
I stood up to my sister and told her the things that have been whirling around in my head, but instead of feeling better I feel as if I am the one in the wrong. Sadness settles inside my chest like a stone.
Summer digs me in the ribs. ‘What did you have to go and say that for?’ she whispers. ‘She’ll be even worse now!’
I bite my lip. ‘I just … I couldn’t believe she’d say that stuff … oh, I don’t know. I’m sorry!’
Mum sighs. ‘Maybe you actually got through to her? I’m not getting things right with Honey at the moment, I know that. Perhaps we need to take a harder line … for her own sake.’
‘Worth a try,’ Paddy nods. ‘And, Skye, I think it’s good you challenged her. Maybe it’ll be the wake-up call she needs?’
‘Maybe,’ I say, but I don’t believe it, not really. I don’t think Honey wants a wake-up call. And what if Summer is right, and my words push her still further away?
My twin shoots me a cold look and heads off to the village to meet Tia for a trip into town. I head out to help in the workshop with Cherry, Coco and Paddy, but I can’t focus and end up getting the orders wrong. I keep thinking of Honey’s eyes, misted with tears, of Summer’s accusing glare. I feel like the worst sister in the world.
When Paddy suggests I take some packages down to the post office and then call in at the bakery to buy cream cakes for tea, I jump at the chance.
I am in the post office handing over a whole heap of parcels when Mrs Lee, the post office lady, stops what she is doing and stares at me, hard. Mrs Lee is pretty eccentric, and styles herself as some kind of gypsy fortune-teller. She has been telling me that I’m a little bit psychic ever since I was six years old, which used to make me feel very important and special because she never said anything like that to Summer.
She’s always coming out with some crazy prediction, which can be very unsettling when you’ve only gone in to buy a second-class stamp or a roll of Sellotape.
‘Skye, I’m sensing a sadness about you today … am I right?’ Mrs Lee says.
‘I’m not in a great mood, if that’s what you mean,’ I sigh.
‘It’s more than that, though, isn’t it, pet? There’s something on your mind. You look … haunted.’
‘What d’you mean?’ I squeak. I’m used to Mrs Lee, but that’s a bit close to home. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts!’ I say shakily.
‘Who knows?’ she says. ‘There are a lot of things out there we don’t fully understand … shadows from the past … echoes of unhappiness and sorrow from long ago. Those things are real enough, Skye, and tragedies can leave their mark on the present day. I’ve seen it again and again. For sensitive people, those with a sixth sense, an empathy with the past – like you and me, Skye – well, maybe ghosts aren’t as far-fetched as the scientists make out!’
My mind floods with possibilities. I’d almost forgotten about Clara and the letters what with all the drama at home, but Mrs Lee has brought it all back. Could I be tuning in to some kind of sadness from the past, something that surfaces in my dreams? Are sorrow and unhappiness folded around the velvet dresses and cotton petticoats just like the lingering marshmallow fragrance?
But I don’t think it can be that. The dreams don’t feel sad or scary, just the opposite. It’s tearing myself away from that world that is the challenge. Perhaps the clothes a girl once wore can hold on to some of her energy, some of her memories, even years and years later … but if the clothes were heavy with sadness and pain, wouldn’t I be able to feel that too, if I really am as sensitive as Mrs Lee says?
I blink, and Mrs Lee laughs. ‘That’s not actually what I meant, though, pet … I was just saying, you look upset. Haunted, you know. It was just an expression!’
Colour floods my cheeks. ‘Of course,’ I mumble. ‘Obviously. I had a fallout with my sister …’
Two of my sisters, actually.
‘Ah,’ Mrs Lee says, weighing and stamping the packages. ‘Families … they’re complicated things, Skye. People say and do things they regret.’
I push a couple of notes across the counter to pay, but Mrs Lee ignores the cash and picks up my hand, turning it over to study the palm. I am very glad there is nobody else in the post office.
‘Goodness,’ she says. ‘You’re growing up so fast, Skye. I see romance!’
I laugh. ‘I don’t think so …’
Mrs Lee purses her lips. ‘I’m never wrong,’ she says huffily. ‘I have the gift, you know. I learnt how to read palms from my mum. She was half Romany gypsy!’
‘OK,’ I grin. ‘I’m sorry! Only I am not all that interested in boys, really.’
Unless they are boys like Finch, of course, but they don’t exist outside my dreams, I am pretty sure of that.
‘Perhaps you haven’t met him yet,’ Mrs Lee concedes, frowning. ‘But he’s here, all right … clear as day. I’m seeing something else too …’ She peers more closely at my palm. ‘A small bird? A finch, maybe?’
I pull my hand away as if I’ve been burnt.
Finch. A dream boy, a boy who must have lived almost a hundred years ago … if he existed at all.
This is way too weird, too freaky.
If Mrs Lee is right – how can a boy who belongs to the past be a part of my future?
Mrs Lee counts out my change and I take my receipt and run all the way to the bakery, where I try to pull myself together. I pick out cream cakes for everyone, including Honey’s favourite – a chocolate eclair – and I’m just on my way out, balancing the two boxes carefully, when I am ambushed by Alfie Anderson. Possibly the last person on earth I want to see right now.
‘Skye,’ he says cheerfully. ‘How’s it going? I’d buy you a milkshake, only I’ve got no money …’
‘I’d buy you a Porsche, only I don’t have any money either,’ I sigh, and Alfie laughs and falls into step beside me.
‘Playpark?’ he suggests. ‘We can scare the little kids away and hang upside down from the top of the swings and run up the shiny bit of the slide instead of sliding down it …’
‘Alfie, it’s cold,’ I point out. ‘And it’ll be getting dark soon.’
And I do not especially want to be seen in public with a dodgy boy who is in love with my perfect twin. I want to be alone, to pick over the weird stuff Mrs Lee was saying, to work out how come a ghost boy is written in my palm, and how I’m going to patch things up with Honey and Summer.
‘Please?’ he persists.
‘Alfie, seriously, there is no way …’
I may as well save my breath. Five minutes later we are sitting on the roundabout in the playpark, which just goes to show that some days are doomed.
I huddle on the roundabout trying to keep warm and guarding my boxes of cream cakes while Alfie spins it faster and faster. Just when we get to the point where I think my head might explode he stops and flops down beside me.
‘So,’ he says as the world spins by around us. ‘What do you want for Christmas then?’
I roll my eyes. ‘Christmas is ages away!’
‘Actually, it’s four weeks and two days away,’ he corrects me. ‘Not long at all. We’re getting our Christmas tree next weekend!’
‘I think we are too,’ I say. ‘We’ve had a fake one for the last few years, but Paddy says he’s going to find us the biggest tree in Somerset.’
‘Cool,’ Alfie says. ‘So … what did you say you want for Christmas?’
I give him a sideways look. Alfie has dropped the madman-in-a-wind-tunnel look and his hair is almost normal now, slightly tousled and trimmed into a messy fringe. He has not been spotted lately in the school canteen throwing chips or juggling fruit or cramming whole puddings into his mouth sideways either, which has to be a big improvement.
One thing he will never be, though, is subtle.
‘You’re not really asking about me, are you?’ I say with a sigh. ‘You are asking about Summer. Admit it.’
Alfie goes pink. Really, it is very sad that h
e is crushing on someone who barely knows he exists. If my twin thinks about Alfie at all, it’s probably in the way that you think about a small, annoying insect that is buzzing around you, just out of sight. You could swat that insect with a rolled-up newspaper and not think twice about it.
‘What d’you think?’ he asks, trying to be casual.
‘She won’t be expecting a present from you,’ I say, as kindly as I can. ‘It might not be a good idea.’
‘I want to, though,’ he frowns. ‘I was going to leave it in her locker at school, with a card, but not actually sign it … that might get her thinking, right? And she’d know she has a secret admirer.’
‘Maybe …’
‘It’s difficult, though,’ he frowns. ‘I was in town earlier, but I got really confused. What are you supposed to buy? What do girls like? I thought a box of chocolates might be a bit of a cop-out in the circumstances …’
‘It might,’ I agree. ‘Summer isn’t easy to buy for. How about something practical? A nice warm pair of socks?’
‘Are you kidding? You don’t buy something practical for your girlfriend. Especially not socks!’
‘I am kidding,’ I grin. ‘But, Alfie, she is not your girlfriend.’
‘Not yet,’ he says. ‘I did get something in town. Shall I show you?’
The roundabout has spun to a standstill. Dusk falls around us like a blanket, muffling the sound of kids down on the high street, laughing and yelling, the rattle of a tractor up beyond the village. Alfie takes a small tissue-wrapped package from his pocket, unwrapping it carefully to reveal a pink silk rose attached to a shiny hairclip. It’s beautiful – exactly the kind of thing Summer might pick out for herself.
‘It’s lovely,’ I tell him. ‘Perfect.’
Just like Summer herself, I think sourly, then feel instantly ashamed.
‘You think so? Cool!’ Alfie is saying. ‘I appreciate it, you know – the advice about the hair and the messing around in class was top stuff. And I’m grateful that you haven’t said anything to Summer. Um … you haven’t, have you?’
‘No, that bit’s up to you.’
‘Phew,’ he grins. ‘You’re a good mate, Skye, I mean it. If there’s ever anything I can do for you … well, y’know. Just ask.’
For a moment, I think about it. It would be good to talk to someone about all the stuff going round my head at the moment. But the things I want to say are too weird, too complicated. How can I tell Alfie I’m falling in love with a ghost boy? Or that Honey is on a collision course for disaster? Or that my twin sister is starting to feel like a stranger, these days …?
16
I say goodbye to Alfie and as I am walking home along the High Street, the bus pulls up ahead of me, a pool of yellow light in the darkness.
People get off, people with shopping bags and coat collars turned up against the cold, mums with pushchairs and toddlers, teenagers laughing and clowning around.
‘Skye!’ a voice calls out. ‘Hang on! Wait for me!’
Summer is hurrying along the pavement towards me, her coat pulled tight against the cold.
‘We were Christmas shopping,’ Summer says, falling into step beside me, smiling as if we never fell out at all. ‘Me and Tia. Well, window shopping in my case! I thought you were helping out in the workshop?’
‘I was,’ I say. ‘I couldn’t concentrate, so Paddy sent me down to post some parcels … Summer – I feel rubbish. I hate it when we quarrel. I wish I’d never said anything to Honey.’
My twin hooks an arm through mine. ‘Look … what I said earlier … snapping at you about how you spoke to Honey. I’m sorry, OK? I know you didn’t mean anything. It’s just … Honey seems so distant, so prickly, these days. I hate seeing her that way.’
‘Me too,’ I sigh. ‘I get fed up treading on eggshells sometimes, that’s all.’
‘I know,’ Summer says. ‘I hate it as well, but I always let her get away with it. For an easy life, I suppose – she’s so mad at Mum and Paddy and Cherry, and I don’t want her to be mad at me too. Does that make sense?’
‘I guess,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to lose her either, you know that. I just worry that the more we let her treat people that way, the worse she’ll get.’
‘You’re probably right,’ my twin sighs. ‘I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I know you were only trying to help. It was just a surprise because usually you’re trying to keep the peace, and lately … well, you’re challenging Honey. Saying what you think.’
Is that Clara’s influence, I wonder? I’m sure she must have been a girl who said what she thought.
‘We can’t let Honey go on thinking it’s OK to act that way,’ I sigh. ‘Somebody has to say something, or she’ll get worse and worse.’
‘I guess,’ Summer says. ‘I just forget sometimes that you might have different ideas, different ways of handling things. Sorry, Skye.’
‘It’s OK.’
The idea that identical twins might not always have identical feelings and views is something I think Summer has always struggled with. But I’m not going to let that bother me now – we’ve cleared the air, wiped away the bad feeling. I’m relieved.
We walk along the lane for a while, and then Summer breaks the silence. ‘Skye … I was just wondering … is everything OK with you and Millie?’
‘Millie?’ I echo. ‘Yeah, I think so … Well, I guess she’s kind of obsessed with boys and stuff lately. I’m trying not to get wound up by it.’
‘It’s just … something funny happened today, Skye. Millie was chatting with me and Tia one lunchtime – I think you were at Drama Club – and she heard us talking about going shopping today. I think she was angling for an invite too, but I didn’t suss it at the time.’
‘Oh, she’s got this thing about us all hanging out at that new cafe on the Esplanade in town,’ I explain. ‘Loads of kids from the high school go there, apparently, and she thinks she might get chatted up. I said I was busy, but it’s not my kind of thing anyway, Millie knows that.’
‘OK,’ Summer says. ‘It’s just … well, she turned up today. We didn’t ask her along, honest, but she tracked us down and latched on, as if we’d all been planning to meet. And she did drag us to the cafe, but it was full of mums and toddlers and it was so expensive we had to have one cappuccino between three. Nobody was chatted up, that’s for sure. It was all a bit weird!’
There’s a little jolt of hurt inside me. For years now, it has always been Summer and Tia, Millie and me. Sometimes we all hang out together, and there’s actually no reason why Millie shouldn’t spend some time with Summer and Tia, but … why didn’t she mention it to me?
Millie has always liked Summer, but in a sweet, star-struck way, as if my twin was slightly out of her league. They’re not friends in the way we’re friends – Millie and I understand each other, we’ve always been close.
Suddenly, it’s starting to look a little different. Did Millie want to hang out with Summer all along? Am I second best to my own twin – again?
‘Maybe she was in town anyway,’ I say, looking for an excuse so it won’t seem like my best friend is ditching me.
‘Maybe,’ Summer agrees. ‘I just thought I’d say. She is hanging around me and Tia a lot these days. It’s weird, and it was weird it being the three of us today, without you.’
Summer and I don’t say any more about it, but I am starting to feel more and more like a shadow girl. First Alfie, then Millie, both crushing on my twin in their own ways. Why does nothing ever seem to be truly mine?
Predictably, Honey doesn’t appear at supper. We eat the cream cakes, but the rich, sweet taste can’t take away the sourness from the day.
Before I go to bed I leave the cake box with Honey’s lone chocolate eclair just outside the door of the turret bedroom, a peace offering, and in the morning, sure enough, it’s gone.
17
The following weekend we go to pick up the Christmas tree. It may not be the tallest one in Somerset, but it’s bi
g all right. It takes all of us to lift it off the roof of Paddy’s minivan and carry it into the house, hauling it upright in a slow battle with spiky branches running their fingers through our hair.
Honey is the only one not helping, but at least she is still speaking to me, thank goodness. She used to love putting up the Christmas tree, when we were younger, but these days everyone knows it’ll be way less stressful without her.
‘It’s the best tree we’ve ever had!’ I declare.
‘We might need more tinsel,’ Summer says.
‘And another string of lights,’ Coco says, deflated. ‘We’ll have to wait to decorate it. I wanted to do it now!’
‘We can,’ Paddy says brightly. ‘We’ve got our stuff from the Glasgow flat! There’s plenty of tinsel, and baubles, and another string of lights. Cherry, I think our box of decorations is in the storeroom next to the workshop …’
‘Ours is on top of my wardrobe if someone wants to fetch it,’ Mum says. ‘And then I think we need the Christmas CD …’
We take our time with the decorations, listening to cheesy Christmas songs and draping coloured lights and shiny baubles and the brightly painted wooden decorations that belong to Paddy and Cherry in among the branches. We add the home-made decorations too, the lumpy salt-dough shapes we made when we were little, the sequinned felt hearts, the little criss-crossy twig stars sprayed with fake snow.
There are even six beautiful birds, made from glittery card with carefully folded paper tails that look like Japanese fans, Cherry’s origami-inspired contribution.
Mixing two boxes of decorations together feels good, like combining our two families to make one patched-together one. It’s like adding 2 + 2 and coming up with a whole lot more than 4, if that makes sense.
‘Which angel?’ Mum asks as we look at the two contenders, the Costellos’ cool sparkly shop-bought one and our papier-mâché ballerina, dressed in vintage silk and net. We’ve had it forever – Mum made it herself, back in her art student days, and I have always loved it.
‘It has to be your ballerina one,’ Cherry says firmly. ‘It’s gorgeous.’
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