The Minute I Saw You

by Paige Toon

‘Okay, then. Well, see you soon.’ She backs up the drive.

  ‘Bye.’

  Sonny raises his eyebrows at me over the car roof and climbs in the car.

  *

  He’s introspective as we tuck into our Chinese takeaway at the kitchen table.

  ‘I’m dying to know what you’re thinking, but I’ve been too scared to ask,’ I say at last.

  He places his chopsticks together on his plate and looks at me. He hasn’t finished his stir fry.

  ‘Do you want to talk?’ I ask.

  ‘Is that okay?’

  ‘Let’s go through to the living room.’

  I sound calmer than I feel.

  Chapter 34

  I sit down on the sofa and Sonny eyes the space next to me, followed by the single armchair. He’s pondering his options and I’m secretly pleased when he chooses to settle at the other end of the sofa. I turn to face him, bringing my bare feet up and resting against the arm. Over his head, the cuckoo clock begins to go off.

  He looks up, watching the little wooden bird pop back in behind its shutters and then checks his watch. ‘It’s ten minutes early,’ he says.

  ‘It always ran early, no matter how often Charles changed the time. I’ve given up on it, but I still like hearing it go off.’

  ‘Why did you come to live here?’ he asks, and . . .

  We’re off . . .

  That’s the first of his questions, but it won’t be the last.

  ‘You know I was homeschooled.’ I’m steeling myself, wanting to get through this as painlessly as possible. ‘Mum and Dad lived way off the grid. You’ve seen our house now, I’m sure you can imagine how far removed from society we were. That was the way my parents liked it. They didn’t know we were conjoined until we were born. They avoided traditional medicine, rarely went to the doctors – Mum didn’t even have a scan when she was pregnant and probably would have had Dad deliver us at home if she hadn’t suspected something was off. It was her first pregnancy and she was in her forties – she ended up in an ambulance and having a C-section. Can you imagine how shocked the doctors who delivered us must’ve been? How staggering it was for my parents? It was in the news – Charles will still have clippings somewhere.’ I look around the living room, as if pondering where he keeps them, before returning to what I was saying. I’m finding it easier not to look at Sonny too much – his attention is fixed on my face, but I’m staring at the flowers on my skirt, tracing my fingers down the stems. ‘Surgeons wanted to separate us,’ I continue. ‘But Mum and Dad were having none of it. It’s not that they were particularly religious, but they still had this sense that nature had created us that way and it wasn’t up to people to tear us apart. In their eyes we were a miracle.’

  Approximately half of conjoined twins are stillborn, and an additional third die within twenty-four hours, so the fact that we’d survived and were doing well made us even more special.

  ‘So we went home and Mum and Dad were determined to protect us from the outside world, hence the homeschooling. They kept us pretty much hidden – they were very worried about our privacy after the initial interest from the press, so for years it was just Anna and me.’ My eyes prick with tears. ‘I was the talker, she was the quiet one.’ My throat has begun to swell. ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t even answered your question yet,’ I mumble, meeting Sonny’s eyes.

  He looks upset – not tearful, but sad. He reaches across with one hand and laces our fingers together.

  ‘You can tell me whatever you want, whenever you want,’ he reassures me.

  I take a deep breath. ‘I think we were happy.’

  My eyes well up. I take another deep breath, my bottom lip wobbling uncontrollably. Sonny squeezes my hand and waits patiently.

  ‘We were very close.’ He knows I’m not talking about our obvious physical closeness – Anna and I were close on a transcendent level. We finished each other’s sentences, even read each other’s minds sometimes. We would lie in bed, talking and whispering until our parents rustled up threats big enough to convince us to shut up – usually it involved banning us from playing with some kind of farm animal, whether that was a litter of kittens or day-old chicks.

  ‘But Anna was very shy, even around Mum and Dad,’ I say. ‘Only in my company, when we were alone, would she come out of her shell. There was still a lot of interest in us from the medical world. Mum and Dad refused to take us to London to see specialists, so the specialists would come to us – that was the one thing our parents consented to, but I know they hated the intrusion. Anna didn’t like it either. I felt very protective of her, partly because she was a little smaller than me – that’s why I have a limp,’ I explain. ‘But mainly because she was so shy. She would whisper in my ear and I’d speak for her. I didn’t mind doctors visiting. In fact, I liked it. New people were exciting to me and I was a bit of a show-off.’

  Sonny’s mouth curves into a smile. Compassion radiates from him, but I feel something deeper than that too. He cares.

  ‘I remember several different doctors and psychiatrists, but there was one in particular that Anna and I both liked. She was beautiful with this gorgeous, glossy mane of red hair and a big smile. She totally charmed our parents too. With the other doctors, I did most of the talking, but with Colleen – that was her name – Anna would also talk. I think Colleen started coming to see us when we were four or five, but it was general stuff: what games we liked to play, what were our favourite stories, how did we help out on the farm. Later she moved on to talking about our futures and what we wanted to be when we grew up. We hadn’t really thought about it, so she told us about a bunch of different jobs we could do. Anna became very invested in the idea of working in a library, surrounded by books and peace and quiet, whereas I liked the idea of being a schoolteacher, because that was one of my favourite games, to line up our teddies and teach them. Then Colleen said . . .’ My voice wavers and I have to take a moment to compose myself. ‘She said that we would have to choose one job. That, effectively, only one of us could be happy. The other would have to forfeit because we were joined together. It was the first time she’d come close to bringing up separation and I still remember the sick feeling in my gut that it brought on. And she didn’t stop there. Over time, she mentioned marriage and children and explained how complicated our lives would be. But if we chose to have an operation, we could have it all. She soon sensed we weren’t ready to hear any of this and backed off, but Anna and I had already begun to dread her visits. At night we would whisper to each other that we would never be separated, that we didn’t want boyfriends or husbands or children, and we swore to depend only on each other for the rest of our lives.’ I’m choking on the last six words. The lump in my throat is now so large that only crying will ease it and I have no more restraint. I let out a gasp and press my face against the fabric of my skirt.

  The seat cushions move as Sonny shifts beside me and then his arms close around me, knees and all. He rests his forehead on my shoulder and after a while I unfold myself from my foetal position and let him gather me to his chest.

  By the time my tears are dry, his T-shirt is sodden. I’m half across his lap, my arms looped around his neck and my face pressed against his collarbone. I’m still breathing raggedly and I am so tired I could fall asleep right here, right now. I let rip with the biggest yawn.

  ‘You okay?’ he whispers, pulling away to look at me.

  I nod, trying and failing to stifle another yawn. At least I have the good grace to cover my mouth with my hand this time.

  He brings the tip of his nose down across mine, then rests our foreheads together before pulling back and tucking my head under his chin.

  ‘I think you’ve talked enough for one night,’ he murmurs, and I’m glad he’s the one pressing pause because I probably would have carried on, but I have work tomorrow. I feel a pang at the realisation that this means he’s leaving.

  ‘I don’t want you to go,’ I whisper, the words coming out of my mouth of their own v
olition. He tenses and I wish I could retract them, but then he relaxes slightly.

  ‘You’d like me to stay?’

  There’s honestly nothing I’d like more right now.

  I nod, hoping it’s clear which way my head is moving – I’m still tucked under his chin.

  ‘Okay,’ he whispers.

  Chapter 35

  Dawn has barely broken when I wake, but I can make out Sonny in the shadows. He’s lying on his back, his face turned towards me.

  I inch closer to him, craving his heat, but feeling deceptive, like a thief. I have always longed to feel the warm solidness of another body beside mine, someone to fill the gap that Anna left. It used to freak Danielle out. Not at first – it took her a while to realise that me squeezing next to her on the sofa was an attempt to claw back some of the comfort I was missing from my twin. This understanding came at around the same time Nina was diagnosed with a brain tumour. Soon afterwards, Danielle started dating Brett. Going out with Josh helped take away the sting of Danielle’s sudden aloofness, but I didn’t dare trust my new boyfriend with the truth of my past. I had told him the car crash lie, but I didn’t feel confident it would hold up under scrutiny so I couldn’t let him get too close to me or my scars. I have only ever had sex with most of my clothes on.

  Years earlier, Charles had persuaded me to open up to Danielle and Nina about Anna, knowing how isolated I would feel if I had to go through my teenage years carrying such a hefty secret. But I was terrified that others would find out and treat me differently. Perhaps I should have had more faith in my classmates, but my only other foray into traditional schooling – primary school the year after Anna had passed away – didn’t go well. I was surrounded by children for the first time in my life and I’d never felt more alone.

  To be fair, I was different. Even without Anna, my hippie parents and homeschooled start to life set me apart. I was also used to making what I later discovered to be an uncomfortable amount of eye contact. I had spent incalculable hours staring unguardedly into Anna’s eyes, and it was only later, when I went to live with Charles and June, that they gently explained to me that this level of eye contact wasn’t normal. It was no surprise that they went on to actively encourage a career in optometry, hoping to find a positive outcome from what I had learned to consider a flaw.

  But what distinguished me most from the other kids at primary school was the fact that I didn’t try to hide losing Anna. I was suffering so acutely with the pain of her loss that I retreated from everyone and everything.

  Really, it had been far too soon to send me to school at all, but the psychiatrists had thought it might help. They wanted me to have hope, to make friends, to find comfort in other children and to look towards the future, but I was too broken to see the light at the end of the tunnel. My parents pulled me out within a year, desperately worried about my mental health.

  Sonny turns on his side towards me, but I don’t move away in time to make room for him so his legs knock against mine. He jerks back and his eyes flutter open.

  We stare at each other in the grey light.

  ‘Hi,’ he whispers.

  ‘Hi.’ I pause. ‘Are you freaked out?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Me. Everything.’

  He pulls a face. ‘I thought you’d have more faith in me than that. How would you feel if I asked you that question?’

  ‘I’d be deeply insulted.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  He smiles and makes to slide his arm around my shoulders so I lift my head and shuffle towards him, letting him pull me into his embrace.

  Something that feels a lot like a balloon expands within my chest as the seconds tick by.

  ‘What happened when you were at university?’ he asks.

  ‘I trusted a couple of people I shouldn’t have: my flatmates, a guy and a girl. I’d only ever lived with family, so I was apprehensive about sharing my space with strangers, but we all got along brilliantly at first. I actually felt relatively normal those first few months, even though I was a few years older than them – I was a year behind at school and I’d also had some time off before uni. We hosted house parties and got drunk a lot and generally acted like the students we were. Then I ended up confiding in them. We were all tipsy and they made a big show of being understanding and supportive and accepting. I was so relieved, but it was a farce. They were both much more freaked out than they’d let on. I’d walk into a room and catch them whispering, and then they told a few other people too. It all came to a head when a guy I had the hots for tried to chat me up. Luckily I sensed something was off so it didn’t go anywhere, but it later got back to me that he’d wanted to see me naked so he could tell his mates about it.’ I shudder, feeling sick at the memory.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Sonny mutters menacingly.

  ‘Yeah, he was a dick. They were young and stupid. But I was very upset at the time. I wanted to run away, drop out, leave that place and never go back. Charles persuaded me not to quit my course, but I did move out. Rented a room in an old lady’s house for the rest of my time at uni, but I never trusted anyone enough to make friends. When one of my course tutors helped me to secure a twelve-month work placement at an optician in Bradford city centre, I felt obliged to take it, but I didn’t enjoy it much. My boss, Karl, was the complete opposite of Umeko: domineering, unsupportive and short-tempered, and my only other colleagues were a lot older and on different wavelengths. Charles would have liked me to move back to Cambridge, but I’d saved up some money and I used it to go travelling. I felt like I needed a bit of time and distance to decide what I wanted to do with my life.’ I roll over onto my stomach so I can look at him. ‘Charles and June were the ones who encouraged me to seek a career in optics. I wasn’t at all convinced it was for me.’

  ‘I think it suits you,’ Sonny murmurs. Then he smirks. ‘You rock that uniform.’

  I giggle.

  ‘No, seriously, I do think it suits you. You’re good at your job and you’re great with people.’ He says this earnestly, but now his lips twitch. ‘And also, you’re lovely to get up close and personal with.’

  I slap his chest and he laughs.

  ‘I’ve enjoyed these last few months more than I thought I would,’ I admit. ‘I was sure I’d miss the grittier work that I did in India. That was hard, but so varied and interesting. I’d like to line up some charity work here too at some point.’

  ‘That’d be good.’

  ‘But I do like my job. How could I not when it led me to you?’

  He smiles warmly and kisses my forehead.

  ‘And Archie and Matilda,’ I add, snuggling back into the crook of his arm.

  ‘You could trust them too, you know,’ he says quietly.

  I sigh. ‘The truth complicates things. I don’t want them to look at me differently. Surely you, of all people, understand that.’

  His grip on me tightens. I think it’s an involuntary reflex because it only lasts a second.

  ‘Have you told anyone other than Harriet about what happened?’ I ask him tentatively.

  ‘No.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Really struggling with it. Evelyn wants to see us both together on Friday.’

  ‘How do you feel about that?’ I move to rest my chin on his chest again so I can look at him.

  ‘Not great. She’s traumatised. She was sobbing down the phone to me on Saturday. It’s hard enough dealing with my own shit; I don’t know how to handle hers as well.’

  ‘Would it not be better for her to see Evelyn on her own?’

  ‘I think she’ll do that after this session, but Evelyn asked for us to both come together for the first one.’

  ‘Will you call in afterwards and let me know how it goes?’

  He hesitates a moment before nodding. ‘I’ll try.’

  My brow furrows. ‘Sonny, what you said . . . About using sex to dull the shame . . . What did you mean? Why do you feel shame for what he did to you?’

  H
e exhales heavily and reaches for my unused pillow, using it to prop himself up in bed. I sit up to give him some space. ‘Do we have time for this?’ he asks miserably, grabbing his phone from the bedside table and checking the display. ‘Six thirty-five,’ he reads aloud.

  ‘Yes.’ I place my hand on his chest, hoping it grounds him in the same way that his contact grounds me.

  His hand closes over mine and he takes another deep breath.

  ‘Glen . . .’ He shudders, looking nauseated. ‘He was grooming me from the start. I’ve already told you he made me feel special to him, that he said he liked me more than Harriet.’

  I nod, rhythmically stroking his stomach with my thumb.

  ‘He built on that. Mum had gone back to work and Jackie was having a gap year before university. Jackie was supposed to pick me up from school every day, but she had a boyfriend and a life to lead and really couldn’t be arsed with the responsibility. Harriet was employed at a hairdresser’s in town, but Glen worked flexible hours at a supermarket, so he offered to help us out. I loved it,’ he confesses grimly. ‘We’d play computer games, chase each other around the house with toy guns, watch telly together. He’d ruffle my hair and hug me and tell me that he loved me so much. And he’d ask me if I loved him. I did.’ He takes a quivering breath. ‘Then he decided to show me what people who loved each other did to each other.’

  I feel so sick I could throw up. And he’s nowhere near finished.

  ‘It had to be our “special secret”, he said. I couldn’t tell anyone else because Harriet would be “so sad” if she knew he loved me more than her and my parents would be “ furious” at us for hurting her. I felt guilty, but I enjoyed being the centre of his attention too much to do anything other than go along with it. And that’s the thing that I find the hardest to deal with.’ His jaw clenches, his teeth gritted, disgust and revulsion riddled across his face as he continues. ‘I went along with it. I wanted it. I liked it.’

  His grip on my hand is so crushing that I feel as though he’s bending my bones.