by Louisa Reid
‘So you actually got up today, then,’ he barked at me when I returned home after college. I’d had to walk the mile home of course, and had struggled through the darkening afternoon, skidding my way over patches of black ice as my shoes soaked up slush. I’d had no lunch and just swallowed a few mouthfuls of water from the fountain by the nurse’s office during afternoon break. My knees were trembling. All I wanted was to creep up to bed.
I nodded in reply, knowing better than to look up at him and meet his eyes. Just the sight of me could often enrage him.
‘You’d better get to the kitchen and help your mother.’ I’d been let off lightly and hurried away. The Mother was emptying canned carrots into a pan. A joint of meat sat in its tin, leathery and dry. She always overcooked things.
‘Can I help?’
‘Set the table.’ She glanced up briefly from her tasks and I noticed how washed out she looked, like one of the dish rags hanging miserably from the taps. Her eyes were the same pale blue as mine, the colour of the early morning winter sky, and I wondered if she’d ever noticed. Hephzi had had big, beguiling brown eyes and long lashes which scudded over her cheeks like fluttering wings. You wouldn’t ever have guessed we were twins and I could tell Hephzi had been glad. When it suited she could pretend we’d never even met.
She pinches me when I think things like that. I brush away her fingers and tell her not to deny it; she knows it’s true. I would try to make her talk to me later. If she was really here then I wanted her back properly, not just listening in then disappearing again, leaving me all by myself.
We ate in silence. I chewed my food carefully, trying to make it easier to swallow, but I could feel bits of tough meat and gristle lodging themselves in the crooked nooks and crannies of my mouth. They would be impossible to dislodge. It was hard to eat with my mouth closed though, hard to be invisible. Every so often The Father looked up at me in disgust, ready and waiting to pounce. He stared at me, with that fixed gaze, so deep blue it was almost black, and I tried to be more silent, not to clatter my cutlery or slurp my drink, to masticate noiselessly. Eventually I decided to swallow the food whole to avoid the snarl and I could see The Mother do the same, cutting the pieces of meat so small they would slither down her throat. Tonight would be one of his nights, you could feel it in the air.
When he drank Hephzi and I had often been relieved. Sometimes it meant we could disappear out of range, go upstairs and whisper and giggle instead of being forced to remain under his vigilant gaze, reading the pieces of scripture he’d prepared earlier that day and then being quizzed and questioned on the obscure tenets of his faith. I don’t believe in his God. He’s never come to help me or my sister and that’s all the proof I need. And as for love. Well, if God was love then he’d died with my granny. As if The Father somehow knew my treacherous thoughts, he’d fire the hardest questions my way, pushing me and pushing me to say something I would regret. Then Hephzi would start to cry. She hated to watch when he started on me, and sometimes there’d be a reprieve. So when he was busy with his bottle we were usually safe. Usually.
Going to bed early was a good idea. If I’d had a key to my room I’d have locked myself in. The Father kept the key. But at least he never came in. He’s always done his dirty business downstairs, as if that makes it OK. I pushed Hephzi’s bed against the door and hoped she wouldn’t be angry.
‘Is that OK, Hephz? I don’t want him to come in,’ I whispered.
There was no answer. Again.
So instead I imagined she was playing invisible and I joined in and we carried on like that until I went to sleep.
Hephzi
Before
Here’s what I think of college so far. Firstly, the work sucks, especially the homework. Thankfully Rebecca is doing mine for me, even though I can tell she hates it too. Secondly, the teachers are boring and have no idea what it’s like to be young and want to have fun. They drone on for hours and hours and hours which is basically my idea of torture. Lastly, my new friends are fantastic and I’m having the best time of my life. Hallelujah!
Well, mostly I am.
The thing is you have to be careful what you say round here. When I’m with Reb I can say what I like and she knows mostly everything I think without me having to open my mouth. But here! There’s things you have to think, things you have to say. Things you definitely can’t say because if you do people will hate you.
You have to think Daisy is the prettiest girl in Year Twelve, and the most popular. You have to think that she’ll definitely get the part in the school show they’re going to do at Christmas. I wish I could audition, it’s a musical, but I know there’s no point.
You also have to laugh at the teachers and call them names. That’s quite funny, but I didn’t expect it.
You have to really not start a row in the common room. I found that out the other day when they were all talking about this boy, Sam, who I’d actually thought was quite sweet. He asks how I am every day and says he likes my outfit, even if I know that he knows that it’s the same as yesterday’s. Well, I thought maybe he even fancied me, until Samara told me about him.
‘Sam’s met a new guy, from the sixth-form college in town, I saw them together. He’s adorable.’
‘Sam who?’ I thought she must be talking about someone else, one of their friends who I’d yet to meet.
‘You know Sam Roberts? In our tutor group? I met his new boyfriend last Saturday.’
‘What? He’s a homosexual? Really? That is disgusting!’ My voice was loud and the whole place fell silent. I didn’t know what I’d said wrong. Someone sniggered on the other side of the common room.
‘What? Are you a homophobe or something?’ challenged Daisy. I didn’t know what that was and looked at Samara, hoping she’d explain.
‘D’you hate gays?’ she said, darting her eyes at the others.
‘Well, they’re dirty, aren’t they? It’s like, you know, totally evil what they do. It’s a sin.’ I’d heard my father preach about it. I didn’t listen mostly but I must have tuned in for that one. I should have known better than to repeat anything I’d heard in the church or at my father’s table but the words had come out before I’d had time to remember to keep my big mouth shut. I searched the room for Rebecca to see if she’d heard, looking for her to get me out of trouble, but we were at college and college meant staying apart.
‘God! What planet are you from?’ sneered Daisy, and she shook her head and gave me the hard look I’d seen her level at others who she thought were odd or stupid or ugly. I laughed then and forced myself to meet her eyes.
‘Oh my God! It was a joke!’ I cried. ‘Of course I don’t hate gay people! I was just messing around!’
No one looked convinced and I laid it on even thicker. ‘Of course I know Sam’s gay, he told me himself. Is his boyfriend really that good looking, then?’
Samara nodded and helped me out by describing him and I oohed and ahhed and breathed a sigh of relief as my cheeks returned to their normal colour. But I bit my tongue for the rest of the day and kept checking no one was whispering about me. I’m being especially nice to Sam too and I’ve made sure everyone sees me talking to him. But I’m still not certain that Daisy’s forgotten what I said and I press it to the back of my mind with a whole stack of other stuff I’m not dealing with right now.
And I do like Sam. I’m not just pretending. He is the opposite of evil. There’s another thing Roderick Kinsman got wrong.
From now on I think before I speak. I copy what the others do and say and I make myself blend in.
Craig bunks off quite a bit. I haven’t dared to yet but once I’m his girlfriend I’m going to see what it’s like. I haven’t escaped from the vicarage just to sit in a classroom all day and be bored to death. Even Rebecca hates it, but then she never wanted to come in the first place. I don’t know what she wanted, how else she imagined we’d ever break away from them. She should b
e thanking me instead of giving me the silent treatment. I’ve done my best to be nice but she’s in a major strop. Well, I’ve got new friends now, so who cares?
Tonight we’re going to the pub. I nicked the fiver from Mother’s bag – she hasn’t said anything but she must have noticed because it was the only money that was in there. Craig handed me my fake ID today. It’s so cool. I’m going round to Daisy’s to get ready and she told me I could borrow her new Topshop jeans. We’re the same size and I have a black top I can wear with them. I found it at the bottom of one of the charity bags last night and washed it out in the bathroom sink when I was sure everyone was asleep. It should be OK. The logistics of getting out of the house are a bit of a worry but I reckon if I pretend I’ve got a headache and then just slope off no one will notice. Rebecca won’t tell, she’d only be for it too. He always has liked hitting her best.
So tonight’s the night. I’ve really got to find a way to get Craig to take more notice of me. Even though Samara says he definitely fancies me, I think it’s hard to tell. He’s too cool. My stomach’s in knots and I’m not sure whether to giggle or vomit. To be sure she’ll help, I have to let Rebecca in on the secret. She says nothing but I can see her little huff of disapproval.
‘Cover for me. Promise?’
She nods and I give her a quick hug. I’m always a bit shocked to feel how thin she is. Bits of bone stick out of her shoulders and back, and were I to squeeze tight enough I’m sure I could snap her in two. For a moment I sit down on her bed and make an effort.
‘Look. Let’s be friends again, Reb. I hate it when you’re cross with me.’
She looks up at me through her hair, her eyes are sad blue stars in her long face. Then she sighs a huge sigh.
‘OK, Hephz,’ she whispers. ‘Just be careful. OK?’
I nod, jump up and drag her down with me for supper. I’m so excited I can’t eat, not that it tastes good anyway, and it seems almost plausible when I excuse myself with a headache and stomach pains. Father looks at me, I can feel his eyes on my back when I go out of the room. But Rebecca will cover for me, I can trust her with my life.
I run all the way to Daisy’s so by the time I get there I’m panting and sweaty. It’s not a good look but there’s time for me to sort myself out. Daisy laughs when she sees the state of me and I can’t explain, I just giggle too. In fact we spend most of the time laughing as we get ready. I tell her how lovely she looks and she smiles and I think she’s definitely forgiven me for the Sam thing after all because she straightens my hair and lends me the jeans and a top, so in the end the charity thing doesn’t even get worn. The one I’ve borrowed is sparkly and strappy and definitely makes me look eighteen. I grin into the mirror and Daisy grins back. We’ve been drinking as we’ve been getting ready and I feel giddy, like I’ve been on the merry-go-round that comes to the village green once a year. Our Auntie Melissa took me once, just me for some reason, I can’t remember why Rebecca didn’t come too. I must have been about four years old and I remember the thrill, the screaming for joy, the way the horses rose higher and higher like they might take off and fly up into the summer evening. But there was a terrible row afterwards and I never went again. Auntie Melissa never comes to see us now.
Daisy has to hold my arm as we totter out of the house on her high heels and down to the bus stop. I try not to feel sick. That would ruin everything. I guess it’s not cool to puke up everywhere but, since I’ve never had alcohol before, I didn’t know it would happen like this. I’ve seen the state of my father when he’s been drinking, his red face and eyes, his lurching, swaying body, but when Daisy gave me the fizzy drink it tasted good, sweet and sticky, and I didn’t imagine I’d actually feel so wasted so fast.
Daisy tells me to sober up on the bus and I try my best but when we get off at the next village I have to be sick into a hedge. I hope no one from college sees. This is seriously embarrassing. My stomach churns and I heave again but all that comes up is burning liquid and then green bile. I lean against the bus shelter shaking, a film of sweat beading on my forehead and upper lip and Daisy looks at her watch.
‘Come on. Everyone else’ll be there by now.’
There’s a DJ at this pub tonight, apparently he’s good. I wouldn’t know but Daisy doesn’t want to miss a second more so I totter after her, feeling stupid and kind of wanting to go home. I don’t tell her that, she’s pissed off with me enough as it is. We walk up to the pub, doing our best to look indubitably eighteen. A crowd of smokers is gathered outside and I flick my eyes quickly over them, not wanting to make eye contact but curious. Craig’s lounging on one of the tables, sprawled like a resting cat in the late evening sun. My heart booms and skips and there’s that merry-go-round feeling again and I’m almost taking off with excitement. Daisy calls out to him in her flirty voice – I’ve known her two minutes and can already tell when she’s playing that part – and he lifts a languid hand in our direction, cigarette dangling from his mouth, eyebrow coolly raised.
I go straight to the loos when we get inside and try to fix my make-up with the little bits I have in my bag. I’ve nicked a lip gloss from the chemist and found an eyeshadow at the bottom of one of my mother’s drawers. I can’t imagine her ever wearing make-up, it must be an antique. Women who put make-up on are harlots, that’s what Mother says, so maybe it was never even hers. Or maybe she puts it on sometimes, when it’s just her and Roderick. I know he likes things like that, even though he’d never admit it. I’ve seen his secret pictures. Samara comes to find me in the loo. She lends me some perfume and gives me a hug. Daisy told her what had happened.
‘Poor you. I’m always sick.’ She laughs. ‘Part of the fun. At least you got it over with early.’
She tells me her parents don’t know she drinks at all and that’s how she’s got to keep it or she’ll be grounded forever, and I nod, deciding I have a lot more in common with Samara than with the others. Her mum and dad sound pretty strict, not in my parents’ league but bad enough.
We buy Cokes and find somewhere to sit. Daisy’s talking to Craig but I don’t go over. Instead Samara and I perch on stools in a corner and gossip and she whispers to me that Daisy’s fancied Craig since Year Ten. My heart sinks at the news. Daisy’s easily the prettiest girl in the pub, her lovely long blonde hair falls round her shoulders and she flicks it back as she laughs and flirts. We watch her for a bit in silence and I sigh and stare at my Coke. I’ll have to make it last. After the bus fare and the drink there’s only sixty pence left in my purse. I’ve been scraping this money together over the past week, taking a bit here, a bit there, and on Thursday I found a pound coin on the common-room floor. I hope no one saw me pick it up. People are dancing and it’s quite dark in the pub and Samara nudges me to get me to look up. Daisy and Craig are on the dance floor. She’s giving it her all and it looks like he’s enjoying the bump and grind.
‘Daisy’s a total slag,’ Samara confides and I nod. I’m on what my Maths teacher calls a steep learning curve here.
A couple of other kids from the college sit down with us and we laugh and chat for a while but my heart is so not in it. At ten o’clock I say I have to go and wander off to the bus stop. Daisy’s disappeared, so has Craig, and Samara only waves bye and then turns back to her other mates, way too busy and having far too much fun to be bothered if I stay or go.
It’s cold on the street in the dark and I’m scared. I cry a bit and wait for the bus. When it comes I can’t find my ticket and the driver looks as if he’s going to chuck me off until his face softens and he lets me on for nothing. Sitting near the front I lean my head against the cold window and feel the hot air blowing on my ankles. Now I have to get home.
Rebecca
After
I decided to fill in the application form for the summer school. At first it was just to see how it looked. I’d been unable to stop wondering what it would be like – after all, when I was lying upstairs on my bed w
ithout Hephzi to talk to or a book to read I had to find something to do. Except in my imaginings it wasn’t me sitting there on that lawn in the photo, it was Hephzi. I could never be in a picture like that. Granny said it didn’t matter but I know it does; no one wants to look at a girl like me unless it’s to stare or laugh. My eyes slope. When I eat and sleep it’s hard to breathe. I was born without ears and a face that’s too long. Granny told me ages ago that it’s because of a syndrome called Treacher Collins. I don’t think The Parents even bothered to find out what that meant; to them it was just a reason to hate me. I know it means I’ll never be lovely like Hephz.
She would have fitted in so well, perfect for the leaflet, her long shiny golden brown hair, her perfect smile and laughing wide eyes. They’d have wanted her in the photograph for sure. I imagine her getting up after the picture has been taken, swinging her bag of books over her shoulder and sailing off into the sunshine for a punt on the river and a picnic in the grass, maybe followed by a trip to the theatre and then coffee and ice cream in a smart cafe where she’d discuss the play’s dramatic intensity or superb characterization, or something like that. Except that wasn’t Hephzi at all. She’d have been looking for the nearest party, giggling about the boy who liked her, and forgetting to do her homework. I lost count of the number of times she copied her answers from me, but I never really minded. I’d do anything for Hephzi. It was hard to understand that she was gone. One minute alive, the next dead. Sometimes before I go to sleep I put on her pyjamas and lie on top of her mattress with its rust-coloured stains to see if her skin might fit. But it never feels right.
