Letters From My Sister (9 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

‘He didn’t even call me later to see if I had found her,’ I say quietly down the phone to Emma. I am in the shop the following morning. Eve and Bells have popped out to buy some croissants and cappuccinos.

‘NO! That’s dreadful!’ Emma says. ‘What did you say to him?’

*

‘Sam, a fat lot of use you were.’

‘What are you on about?’ He was shaving and I was talking to his reflection in the mirror.

‘Yesterday!’ I shout in exasperation as I pull on my work jeans, catching my finger on the zip. ‘Fuck!’ I suck in my breath. ‘Bells went missing and you didn’t even call.’

‘Had she run off then?’ he remarks, without a flicker of concern. He might as well have been commenting on the weather. I hurl a trainer at him. It hits him on the back and thuds to the floor.

‘Jesus Katie, what the …’

‘You could at least pretend you’re interested. Show a bit of concern.’

‘Well, you found her, didn’t you?’ He turns to me impatiently. ‘You know what? I haven’t got time for this, I’m seeing my personal trainer in half an hour.’

I throw the other trainer at him. This one hits him bang in the face. Bull’s-eye.

*

‘NO! You didn’t?’ Emma gasps, and then laughs.

‘I did.’

‘Good for you! I hope it hurt. Then what did he say?’

*

‘What has got into you?’ he yells, touching one side of his face. ‘Great, I’m going to have a socking big bruise on my cheek. Thanks, Katie.’

‘Yesterday was awful,’ I say, lowering my voice but making sure it doesn’t lose its angry edge. ‘If it hadn’t been for Mark …’

‘Who?’ There is a slight twitch of interest, at last.

‘Mark.’

‘Who’s Mark?’

‘He’s a very nice man,’ I point out emphatically. ‘He found Bells yesterday. He came home for pizza too.’ This piece of information has done the trick. At last Sam pays attention.

‘For pizza? Why did you have to invite the guy back for pizza?’

‘To say thank you. If he hadn’t found her, I don’t know what would have happened. She had an asthma attack.’

‘Why did Bells run away in the first place?’ Sam asks, sitting down on the bed and putting his trainers on.

‘Because that’s what she does when she gets upset,’ I explain to him, as if he really ought to know. ‘It used to happen a lot at home.’ I tell him about the labels, wanting to find that Sam might in fact care a little. That he is human, after all.

‘Well, if you hadn’t shouted at her in the first place,’ he says smugly, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, ‘then none of this would have happened, would it?’

*

There is an uneasy pause. I want Emma to say, I can’t believe he said that. How dare he swing that one back at you? Anything to make me feel less guilty. ‘What did you say?’ she finally asks.

*

I pick up his cup of coffee which sits on the bedside table. ‘Uh-oh, nervous twitch, might spill this all over the white sheepskin rug.’

‘Katie, don’t,’ he says imploringly, ‘put it down.’

I do put the mug down as I bought that rug and I love it. Instead, I grab his watch. ‘I would say this is an emergency situation, wouldn’t you, Sammy? Perhaps if I pull the emergency cord?’

Sam can’t watch. Instead he stands up in his jogging trousers, tight T-shirt and trainers. ‘Go on, pull it, and you can pay the fucking fine. I’m late for my PT.’ He storms out of the room.

I put the watch down. I feel so deflated. A week ago I was happy, things were going fine. My fashion show was a success. I hear Sam coming back and my heart lifts. He’ll tell me he’s been an idiot and not at all supportive.

He stands at the door and puts one hand against the wall. ‘You’ve had your say, now it’s my turn.’

‘What?’ I say, uneasily.

‘You never told me about Isabel and now, all of a sudden,’ he raises his eyebrows, ‘I am supposed to be deeply concerned about her welfare? Katie, I didn’t know that she runs off when she’s upset. I still don’t know a thing about her. I don’t feel comfortable around her because
you
haven’t made me feel comfortable.’

I sit in silence.

‘Did you think I would go off you because of her … you know, the way she is?’ he finishes. ‘It’s your own hang-up, Katie. If you hadn’t been so ashamed to tell me about her …’

I see Bells standing behind him now in her pyjamas and football slippers and I am frowning madly and buttoning my lips together but …

‘If you hadn’t been so ashamed of your own sister,’ he continues, oblivious, ‘things might have got off to a better start. OK, she’s different, but so what? I was on the tube the other day and there was this woman sitting opposite me barking like a dog. There are lots of Isabels around, she’s not unique.’

Bells looks at me and I put my head in my hands. She walks away and Sam glances round, finally realizing he wasn’t talking just to me. ‘I couldn’t do anything when you called because I was about to go into a meeting. I
am
to blame for not calling you back, and I’m sorry. But don’t blame it all on me. Perhaps you should take a good hard look at yourself too, Katie,’ he says before slamming the door behind him.

I lie down on the bed and stare up into the ceiling. Bells is now playing Stevie Wonder. Stevie Wonder is probably the only constant thing she has in her world at the moment.

The closeness we shared yesterday, the affection – well, it has all been undone in one swift blow and I’m taken aback by how much I care. I can’t let Bells think she isn’t important to me. Lord, oh, Lord, I feel dreadful.

*

Emma is now painfully quiet. Please tell me that Sam is in the wrong, I think. Yet deep down I know that there is a lot of truth in what he said. I should have told him about Bells. What was I thinking? Thankfully she does not say I told you so.

‘Is Bells all right?’ she asks. ‘Do you want me to talk to her? Her asthma hasn’t flared up again?’

‘Thanks, Emma. I think she’s OK but she has been quiet,’ I admit. ‘Oh God, I’ve really mucked up. When Mum and Dad come home I can hardly say Bells has had a great time.’

‘It’s not too late,’ she says.

‘You should be telling me, “I told you so”,’ I laugh hopelessly.

‘Yeah, yeah. I should but I won’t. I’m not doing much today,’ she says, as if she is brewing an idea, ‘so why don’t I fill in for you at the shop and you can take Bells out? Have some fun together.’

‘Are you sure? You really wouldn’t mind?’

‘No, Jonnie is being boring and spinning records at home so I’m free. Take her shopping. Spend some proper time together.’

‘Oh I’d love to. I could get her something for your wedding.’

‘Great idea. I haven’t even got my dress yet,’ she adds.

‘Thanks so much Ems,’ I say, thinking about the day ahead and how I can make it up to my sister.

*

‘How about this?’ I suggest to Bells, holding up a pale green skirt and an embroidered silk jacket. I peer at the label on the skirt. Size 12. I will have to take it up a good five inches.

‘I like it.’ She takes the jacket and skirt from me without really looking at them and shuffles off to the changing room. ‘No come in,’ she insists, pulling the curtain shut.

Next I can hear her stamping her feet in her big black DM boots. She is giving the purple pixie boots a rest today. I turn to apologize to the shop assistant, who says nothing. Instead she looks away. Why did I bother to say sorry? What am I actually saying sorry for? I open the curtain slightly. ‘Please let me come in,’ I ask. ‘Please.’

‘All right, Katie.’

I sit down on a stool in the corner of the cubicle. ‘Do you need a hand?’

‘No, can do it on own. Can dress myself.’

‘I know, sorry. What’s that funny thing you have in your hand?’ I ask, trying to break the ice between us.

She shrugs.

‘Come on! Show me.’

She holds out her hand. ‘You shake hand,’ she says. I place my hand in hers and something vibrates against my palm, making a loud buzzing sound. ‘What’s that?’ I shriek, shaking my hand free. ‘Do it again!’ I giggle. Bells laughs with me for the first time this morning. She said nothing on the bus; she didn’t even say hello to the other passengers. I found myself longing for her to ask the man wearing a turban his age. ‘Whose hand would you really like to shake? Apart from Beckham’s and Stevie Wonder’s,’ I add.

‘Tony Blair’s,’ she says, rocking forward again. ‘Vote Tory.’

‘You couldn’t say that in front of Mr Blair,’ I laugh.

‘Vote Labour,’ she says, sticking both thumbs up.

‘I’d like to shake Prince William’s,’ I tell her, and watch with fascination as Bells starts to take off her clothes. My sister’s style is what you’d call the ‘bag lady’ look. She takes off her denim jacket, covered in yet more football badges and stickers. Under this is her bright red Oxford University T-shirt.

‘On the catwalk, Isabel Fletcher now models a football shirt covered in Manchester United badges.’ I lean back against the wall. ‘Aren’t you boiling?’ I ask as yet another layer comes off. She’s like a Russian doll. I’m surprised she can even walk. ‘Bells, it’s the summer. You’re dressed for a day in Siberia.’

‘Feel cold,’ she mutters, extracting the next top, a holey and faintly smelly tank vest. I must get rid of it, I think to myself as I do a bit of fake snoring.

‘Ha, ha, very funny, Katie,’ she says, rocking forward with a smile.

I can see the shop girl’s pointed toes. She peers around the curtain and immediately shuts it again when she sees me attempting to get the jacket on to Bells. It’s too tight over her bosom. Bells has a heavy chest considering she’s only four foot ten. Nature overcompensated. If only we could do a swap. I could give her some of my height – I’m five foot nine and a half; and she could give me some of her bosom – I’m a mean 34 B.

‘Do you remember when Mum used to tickle us under the arms after we’d had a bath?’ I say, instinctively unbuttoning her jacket. It reminds me of dressing and undressing Bells when she was little. ‘Oh, Bells, sorry,’ I say, pulling away. ‘Sorry.’

‘All right, Katie. You help me,’ she says, nodding her head. ‘You are Fashion Queen.’

I break into a big smile. ‘Well, I think that jacket is too small. Do you want me to see if they have the next size up and shall we try another colour for fun?’

‘No, we don’t, I’m afraid,’ the shop girl says loudly through the curtain. I step out and she is hovering over our changing room like a prison guard.

‘Sorry? You don’t what?’ I ask.

‘It only comes in that colour, the colour she’s in.’ She bites her lip and looks away. If this shop had a box room that is where we would have ended up, and I realize I am no better than this girl. She wants to boot us out of here as soon as possible so we do not put off potential customers. How sad. How truly pathetic I am.

‘Really? But I’m sure I saw it in another colour.’ I walk over to the rails and, sure enough, the jacket does come in a different colour. In fact it comes in about four different shades and patterns. I take another one off the hanger and walk past the girl purposefully, back into the changing room. ‘Here we go Bells.’

I hear more customers coming in. ‘Can I help you or are you browsing?’ a sugar-sweet voice asks them.

This jacket buttons up smoothly. I stand back and tell Bells to come out. ‘You look lovely,’ I encourage her. We stand outside, behind a girl with honey-blonde hair. She poses in front of the mirror in pale blue jeans, holding up a black dress. Her boyfriend sits in the corner of the shop reading
FHM
. Bells shuffles forward, trying to catch a glimpse of herself. The girl moves out of the way and I thank her. Bells’s skirt trails on the ground like a train. It’s the right colour though because it brings out the green of her eyes. Every time I look into them I see Mum. Bells takes another step and then I hear a rip. Immediately I push her back into the changing room and examine the dress closely. There’s a large rip above the hem. ‘Bugger,’ I mutter. ‘Bugger.’

‘That black dress is fabulous,’ the shop girl is saying at the far side of the room. ‘It’s such a staple for your wardrobe, you can’t go wrong.’

‘Bugger,’ Bells repeats loudly.

‘Shh!’ I say, hearing footsteps coming towards our cubicle. ‘Get dressed quickly.’ I look at the pile of clothes. Once Bells is ready we walk out to the shop desk. I am ready to tell the girl what happened and buy the skirt. I can mend it at home.

‘Are you going to take that?’ she enquires, her voice straining to be polite.

‘You married?’ Bells asks her. ‘You have children?’ She steps forward to shake the girl’s hand. I can see she has her little electrical device ready. I am about to stop her but when I see the expression on the girl’s face I change my mind.

‘Oh my God!’ she yells and recoils as the device goes off, withdrawing her manicured hand in horror. Bells rocks forward in delight and I smile. The girl glares at us both with nothing but disdain now. ‘What happened to her?’ she spits, now looking directly at me. ‘Is she mad or something?’

‘“She”,’ I emphasize, ‘is called Bells. If you have a question, why don’t you ask her?’

‘Born with poorly brain and a cleft lip and palate,’ Bells says, just as Mum used to tell her.

‘If someone asks, you tell them straight. You have nothing to be ashamed of,’ I can hear her saying.

‘Will you be taking the skirt?’ the assistant demands, clearly not interested and still unable to look at Bells.

‘I’m afraid it has a rip in it so, no, thank you,’ I say, hardly believing that these words are coming out of my mouth. ‘We’re not interested in damaged goods,’ I carry on, relishing every word now. The shop girl claws the outfit away. ‘I’m sure there was nothing wrong with it earlier …’

‘You could always put it in the sale,’ I suggest helpfully.

‘You not very nice lady,’ Bells says to the girl. I walk out, holding on to my sister’s arm. ‘Not very nice lady,’ she repeats, shaking her head. ‘Katie, not very nice lady.’

‘No, not nice at all.’

*

I take Bells out for lunch. ‘No more shops, Katie,’ she’d said. I order a glass of wine and a Coca-Cola.

We still haven’t found her an outfit but I’m determined not to give up. The main thing was that we’ve bonded over the nasty girl in the shop. It felt surprisingly good, taking on that girl. The look on her face! I watch Bells as she looks at the menu. She still hasn’t mentioned anything to me about that conversation with Sam. I wonder how she feels now. She looked so hurt earlier this morning, so vulnerable.