by Grace Lowrie
With a pang of guilt I thought of all the parties and birthday dinners I’d missed over the past few months. Years even. My friends were beginning to give up on me – I resolved to try to be more sociable, I was twenty-six years old, not forty! My eyes flickered to the two framed photos on the chest of drawers. One was of my three housemates drunkenly grinning. The other was of my parents and I on Brighton seafront at my graduation. We were all smiling, me in a cap and gown, Mum in her best hat and Dad in a wheelchair. He’d been so proud and determined not to miss it, it was a great day …
I shook my head. Focus! Unplugging the hairdryer I twisted my hair up behind my head and clipped it in place as neatly as I could. I donned some faux pearl drop earrings and glanced at my watch – just time to make a sandwich for lunch and down some coffee before I brushed my teeth.
Ten minutes later I clattered down the cramped, bare wooden staircase with my rucksack over my shoulder and locked the front door behind me. At least it didn’t stick at this time of year; in winter the door frame warped and it sometimes took me ages to get out. I turned and waved to Andrea through the plate glass window before joining the throng of assorted suits heading for Turnham Green station.
On the Tube, pressed into a corner of the carriage by the door, trying hard not to inhale the general body odour around me, my thoughts inevitably drifted back to that first day at the Walkers’ house.
Sebastian Walker’s gaze was severe and locked on mine as he approached the table, and I was unable to look away. He wore a dark blue T-shirt and faded jeans and his bare feet moved quietly across the paving stones. I’d never seen him outside of school before – he was truly gorgeous, but he wasn’t smiling and neither was I. When he reached the table he turned to set down the plates he was carrying and I dragged my eyes away to where my hands were clasped tightly in my lap. How could Celeste have not told me she was a twin? I thought we shared everything. Lucille served pasta salad from a large bowl, Philip poured white wine for his wife and himself, and Celeste talked about a school concert that was coming up.
Now that I knew, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed the similarities in Sebastian and Celeste’s features earlier – the same dark eyebrows, same straight neat nose, and same curvaceous pink lips. Their eyes were similar too, although different hues of blue – Celeste’s pale, Sebastian’s dark. But Celeste was so soft, blonde, and feminine, and Sebastian was just such a boy. I spent the entire meal avoiding eye contact with anyone. The pasta was tasty, with pieces of melon and Parma ham in it, but I had butterflies in my stomach, making it difficult for me to swallow. I drank lots of water instead. From the corner of my eye Sebastian seemed perfectly relaxed but he didn’t say very much and Lucille and Celeste did most of the talking instead.
After a dessert of fresh strawberries and ice cream, Celeste excused us from the table and we went back to her room so that I could collect my bag.
‘You didn’t tell me your brother was a twin,’ I said. I’d meant it to be a casual remark but it sounded more like the accusation it was.
‘Oh,’ Celeste said surprised. ‘Yeah, Sebastian, I didn’t think, sorry …’
‘That’s OK – I was just surprised, that’s all. He goes to our school and everything?’
Celeste shrugged apologetically. ‘People treat us differently when they hear we're twins – like we're freaks or something.’
‘I don’t think you’re a freak. But … aren’t you close?’
Celeste sat down on her bed. ‘Yes, we are in a lot of ways … but I guess we haven’t been hanging out as much lately.’ I didn’t say anything and she continued. ‘He hangs out with his friends and I hang out with mine … I don’t think he really wants his sister tagging along, and he can be really moody sometimes.’
I picked up my bag, preparing to leave. ‘I can’t imagine what it must be like to have a brother, let alone a twin.’
‘It’s pretty cool,’ Celeste said as she hugged me goodbye. ‘Most of the time,’ she added with a grimace.
Just over a fortnight later it was the summer holidays and six blissful weeks of freedom stretched out ahead of us. Celeste helped me choose a trendy pair of sunglasses to borrow from her extensive wardrobe. She said they made me look elegant and mysterious but I just liked how they hid my eyes. I’d decided not to tell Celeste that I fancied her brother – I thought it might make her uncomfortable and anyway it obviously wasn’t a mutual attraction – if anything I got the impression Sebastian actually disliked me. But Celeste and I had big plans for the holidays and I was secretly hoping I might see Sebastian around.
With my mum’s grudging permission Lucille paid for me and Celeste to attend summer dance classes in the community centre three times a week. Miss Lesley was a professional dancer and taught us a mixture of disco, musical theatre, and street dance. It was the most fun I’d ever had and felt eternally grateful to Lucille for her generosity.
I began to sleep over at Celeste’s. In the evenings when we were getting ready for bed we brushed our teeth together in the bathroom, pulling faces in the mirror to make each other laugh. We shared her huge double bed and talked quietly, late into the night. We knew each other so well by then and we liked so many of the same things that I missed Celeste whenever she wasn’t around. Was this what it felt like to have a sister?
Alone in the bathroom in the mornings I would open the cap of Sebastian’s shower gel to smell it. I knew it was his because their parents had their own en suite bathroom on the floor above. Sebastian’s soap smelled so different to mine and Celeste’s, both musky and fresh at the same time, but I liked it. I knew his bedroom was further down the corridor past the bathroom but I didn’t have any excuse to walk past his room unless we needed extra writing paper from the study. Sebastian’s bedroom door was always closed anyway – in fact he was hardly ever around and I was both disappointed and relieved.
One day, at Celeste’s suggestion, we went cycling – she wanted to take me to a park with a duck pond that was easy to get to without using main roads. I hadn’t owned or ridden a bicycle for years so I was nervous at the prospect.
‘Oh, don’t worry, you can borrow Sebastian’s,’ Celeste said.
‘Really, are you sure?’ I flushed at the thought, while Celeste packed drinks and crisps into a small knapsack.
‘Yeah of course – your legs are as long as his so you should be OK, but if not we can lower the saddle.’ I felt uneasy about borrowing something of Sebastian’s and tingled with anticipation.
The black mountain bike was surprisingly comfortable even without adjustment. Once I’d figured out how to use all the gears we set off and the sense of freedom was immense. I’d changed into a pair of shorts but Celeste wore a floaty red dress that rose high up above her knees and billowed out behind her like a superhero’s cape. We cycled faster and faster, zigzagging our way through residential streets connected by a network of alleyways. I’d never noticed these public footpaths before, tucked in between the houses, but Celeste knew them well and boldly led me through the labyrinth as if we were in an alternate world.
Many of the passages were dark, overshadowed by dense trees and tall buildings. My stomach lurched with regularity as I plunged from the sunny street into the gloom, too quickly for my eyes to adjust. Some paths dropped steeply downhill and abruptly changed direction at the bottom. These were our favourites and we free-wheeled down them before slamming on our brakes just in time to avoid hitting a fence or wall. We grinned and laughed at each other, heady with adrenaline – after all, an unsuspecting pedestrian could have been lurking around any corner.
Luckily we arrived at the park without incident, breathing hard, our legs like jelly. We chained our bicycles to a lamppost and then crawled beneath the canopy of a large old willow tree, so that we were hidden from the world by a curtain of foliage that swayed gently in the breeze. It was tranquil in the green light of our cave and we lay down in the grass and dozed. We listened to scraps of conversations as people passed by and watched
children as they fed the ducks, squealing in delight while their parents fussed around them. Celeste gathered buttercups and daisies and delicately arranged them in a chain running up my leg. As she hummed to herself and her fingers gently brushed my skin, my thoughts drifted. In three days’ time the Walkers were due to leave for their annual fortnight’s holiday to Corsica. I was beginning to feel more and more despondent at the prospect, while Celeste brimmed over with excitement. I was jealous and I knew I was going to miss her but I didn’t say so.
By the time I emerged from my childhood memories and from the Underground at South Kensington station, the sun was already warm on my skin. I quickly made my way to the staff entrance to the V&A Museum and flashed my ID at Alan the security guard on duty. As much as I loved thinking back to happier days, I had a long to-do list of work to get through and decisively shut the memories away.
At 1 p.m. I brought Evelyn some lunch and ate my cheese sandwich alone at my desk with a cup of tea. I started to read a recent article on the Art of Enamelling but I felt unusually restless and soon realised I was eavesdropping on co-workers, and not reading at all. I couldn’t join in with my colleagues’ conversations because my work relationships were professional rather than friendly, a situation entirely of my own making. I had become a workaholic and I knew how other people saw me as a result – or rather didn’t notice me at all. I was used to it. On impulse I decided to brave the general public by visiting the Tapestry Room. It was always cool, calm, and restful – a good place to sit and think, immersed in the rich detailing of sixteenth century rural meadows. I set off at a swift pace, grateful that the school holidays hadn’t yet started and that the galleries weren’t as crowded as they soon would be.
As I moved through the Edwin and Susan Davies galleries my eyes automatically searched out some of my favourite paintings;Ophelia Weaving Her Garlands by Richard Redgrave, Joseph Severn’s oils depicting Ariel … As my eyes glided over to Disappointed Love by Danby Francis my steps slowed. A young, expensively dressed woman was standing in front of the canvas, blocking my view and gazing intently into it. The modestly sized oil painting was mounted at eye level and the woman appeared to be transfixed. As I drew nearer she shifted her head slightly to one side, revealing her delicate profile, and I stopped abruptly.
I was only a foot away and a brief moment passed, a few seconds of hesitation that felt much longer. I was holding my breath, simultaneously hope-filled and disbelieving, as she sensed my presence. The woman turned as if in slow motion, dragging her eyes away from the painting, her lips parted slightly with an unformed question and a faint frown marring her brow. Then our eyes locked and her shock mirroring my own. It was Celeste.
Chapter Three
As I gawped, speechless, Celeste’s eyes swept over me in amazement, her face expressing a myriad of emotions.
‘Tasha Graham!’ she gasped. ‘Just look at you!’
Before I could reply she reached forwards and hugged me. I was stiff and awkward, still in work mode, still in shock, and when she pulled back to look at me again I instantly regretted not having hugged her back – tightly, warmly, and with the intensity of how much I had missed her.
‘How are you? Are you OK?’ She asked, concern creeping into her voice as I tried to find mine.
‘Yes, no, I’m fine, I’m good actually, I … It’s just so good to see you, such a surprise!’ I beamed at her and she visibly relaxed.
She was radiant. She looked better than ever – womanly, curvaceous, beautiful, and so classy. Her clothes, her hair, her makeup – so elegant, so stylish. And yet her smile, the way she smiled at me, she was still my thirteen-year-old best friend with a twinkle in her eye.
‘You work here?’ Celeste gently touched the photo ID card hanging on a cord around my neck.
‘Yes, I’ve been here a couple of years now, I love it. What about you? How are you? Are you back? Are you still living in Paris or …?’
‘Yes, no!’ she said grinning. ‘We’ve just moved back, literally.’
My heart skipped. ‘That’s great!’ An understatement.
‘Tasha, darling, you and I are obviously destined to be together, we should have been expecting to bump into each other really!’ We laughed in agreement and sat on a bench in the middle of the gallery to talk. It had been six long years and yet it somehow felt like we’d never been apart.
‘We stayed in Paris longer than we originally intended to,’ Celeste said apologetically. ‘Sebastian got his degree easily enough but then he went off the rails for a bit – worked as a labourer on a building site for a whole year, can you imagine! Then he went back and got his masters in architecture while I did an extra internship and then it took us ages to find a house to buy here – one we both liked and could agree on. But we’re finally here and we’re in and I can’t wait for you to see it!’
Before I could reply, Celeste’s handbag buzzed and she politely excused herself and stepped a few paces away to take a call in a lowered voice.
As I watched her I recalled how excited my teenage self had been at the prospect of her return from holiday.
I’d frantically pulled all my clothes out of the wardrobe in a fevered attempt to find the perfect outfit and when the doorbell rang I’d jumped and dropped my hairbrush with a clatter.
‘I’ll get it!’ I yelled as I hurtled down the stairs. I flung open the front door and there she stood. She wore a short white linen sundress, flip-flops, and a flower in her hair. Her skin was golden brown, her blue eyes shone, and she smelled of oranges. I immediately felt shy, but Celeste propelled herself through the doorway where I caught her and we hugged tightly.
‘I missed you so much!’ I gasped into her hair.
‘I have so much to tell you!’ she said at the same time.
I dragged her into the flat and shut the front door. ‘Tell me everything,’ I said.
Celeste described their luxurious hotel, the exotic cuisine, the pool she swam in every day, the rugged landscape, the pretty beaches, the people she’d met, friends she’d made, and the boy she’d kissed. At my request she went into great detail about the kissing. I’d never kissed a boy and wanted to know what it was like. Celeste encouraged me to close my eyes and kiss my own arm, but I just felt foolish and giggly and soon gave up. She talked for hours as we sat in my stuffy little bedroom, with the windows as far open as they would go. I listened intently, soaking up every detail and trying to picture it. I asked her lots of questions about lots of things and that way, when I asked about Sebastian, it didn’t sound significant.
‘Yeah, Sebastian had a good time too, but he’s a bit of a loner sometimes. I mean, he’d hang out with the rest of us for meals and stuff, but most of the time he’d just go off on his own – just his camera and his Walkman for company,’ Celeste shrugged. ‘I think people get on his nerves sometimes, but Mum says it’s just a phase.’
Two weeks later Celeste and I lay on towels in swimsuits, sunbathing on the Walkers’ back lawn. We were due to start back at school in three days’ time and I was trying not to think about it. I suggested that we could go for a bike ride, but Celeste admitted that Sebastian didn’t like me borrowing his bicycle, and I cringed with embarrassment. But I was no good at sunbathing – I felt self-conscious of my flat chest, I burned easily, and I got sweaty and bored. Before long I told Celeste I was going back to the house for another glass of water.
‘’Kay,’ she mumbled. ‘Can you get my sun cream while you’re there?’
‘Where is it?’
‘In my room on the dresser I think,’ she said drowsily.
‘OK.’ I wrapped myself up in my towel before getting up to go.
‘Or in the bathroom,’ Celeste called after me.
At the top of the stairs I heard male voices coming from Sebastian’s open bedroom door and quietly tiptoed to the bathroom so that they wouldn’t know I was there. I could make out at least three other boys’ voices besides Sebastian’s, along with the electronic sounds of a computer game
. They were taking turns to play in pairs and talking about Guns ‘N’ Roses, one of them idly strumming a guitar.
‘Hey, where’s your sister’s friend gone, man?’ I realised he must have been looking out of the window.
‘I dunno,’ Sebastian mumbled.
‘She’s cute.’ I was surprised at this unexpected compliment and although I had no interest in the boy who had said it, I held my breath and strained to listen for Sebastian’s response.
‘She’s a sap,’ he replied.
It felt like he’d slapped me.
‘Your sister seems to like her,’ the other boy said.
I could almost hear Sebastian shrugging. ‘She probably just feels sorry for her – she lives on the estate. Anyway are you playing or not? It’s your turn …’
Pressure built up behind my eyes at the sting of Sebastian’s words, but I didn’t want to get caught crying. I grabbed Celeste’s sun cream from beside the sink, quietly tiptoed back into her bedroom, and quickly put my clothes back on. Was that really why Sebastian didn’t like me? Because of where I lived? He was wrong about Celeste, he must be! She had never given me any impression that she felt sorry for me. Despite our different backgrounds and against my initial fears, she had always treated me as an equal. Had I misheard or was Sebastian Walker a snob?
Outside in the sunshine again I told Celeste that I didn’t feel well and that I was going home. She was surprised and concerned and I nearly started crying there and then, but I could sense eyes watching me from the window above and just about managed to leave with my head held high. As soon as I turned the street corner I burst into tears and cried all the way home.
