Shine, page 10
Father knew Danny. Danny knew Father.
The joke was on me.
When we returned from the bathroom, Father had taken Danny’s shoes off and was in the process of pulling his T-shirt off.
I gasped. A tattoo of a massive snake wriggled across one shoulder blade and down one arm. I’d glimpsed a tattoo or two in his photographs but the real thing still came as a shock. For a moment, I thought Father was going to take Danny’s trousers off too, but to my relief he didn’t. The boy’s torso was a paler shade of brown than his face and he had more tattoos on his chest and back, lizards and spiders and things with staring eyes. Purple bruises blossomed underneath all the tattoos like someone really clumsy had attempted to colour them in.
What happened to him? I asked Father.
‘Looks like he was beaten up.’ Father shook his head. ‘Danny’s been in trouble before. Refuses to be more careful. Keeps taking risks. Look at those tattoos. It’s a wonder he managed to have them done and not be discovered. His parents have been beside themselves.’
‘That boy is bad news,’ Yaya clucked. She fetched some towels from the bathroom, tucking them under Danny to protect the sofa from his filth.
‘Maybe you could put a towel over him as well?’ Father suggested mildly.
Yaya threw a large towel over the boy, with a pained expression on her face. ‘The sofa covers will need washing tomorrow.’
‘Yaya.’ Father scowled. ‘Forget the hygiene for a moment. Give him a break, he’s just a kid.’
We all stared at the unconscious boy.
Father turned to look at me. He had his soulful, doggy eyes on, begging me to understand.
Danny’s appearance had interrupted our big confrontation. There was so much he needed to explain, so many lies he needed to right. But he didn’t say anything. Now wasn’t the time. Not in front of Danny and Yaya. Especially Yaya. She would go crazy on us – she was already freaked out enough about ghosts and Danny’s dramatic entrance. And Father’s betrayals would certainly lose him all her respect. Like he’d lost mine.
I dropped my eyes, avoiding his gaze.
He fetched the first-aid kit from the bathroom and began to clean the cut on Danny’s forehead with antiseptic. As he worked, he talked softly about Danny, his story punctuated by impatient sighs and huffing from Yaya.
‘He was so small when he came to the clinic for the first time. One of those skinny little things, big blinking eyes with a fringe of black hair hanging over them, and a huge smiling mouth.’
I stared at Father as he talked. There was a small smile twitching on his lips as he remembered meeting Danny for the first time, a little boy with the personality of a planet. ‘Couldn’t sit still, couldn’t stop signing, his hands waving like windmills.’ Father actually chuckled at the memory, and then his eyes flicked sideways at me.
He looked . . . he looked guilty. For the first time he was telling me about the life he led outside our world. I had always thought Father’s work was . . . well, work. Not people. Not charming children that he looked forward to seeing every check-up. For the first time, I realized I was not the only person Father cared about.
‘I’d never met a child like him,’ Father was saying. ‘He wouldn’t stop asking questions. And I couldn’t help myself. I made extra time with him so that I could answer everything he asked. When he asked why the chair squeaked, I told him about the mechanics of springs and friction and sound. When he asked what I was writing on my pad, I read it out loud to him. When he asked where I was born, I brought a little globe to the clinic so that at his next check-up I could show him that England was on the other side of the world.’
I remembered that. Because it was my globe. When it had vanished from my room, I had been inconsolable. It had reappeared again the next day and Yaya had acted like it had returned by magic.
I felt a tiny stab of pain in my chest, so sudden that I almost cried out. I looked away from Danny, looked at the wall, at the sofa, at the picture of Mother on the side table. Suddenly I couldn’t bear the sight of Danny. Suddenly Father seemed a stranger who had another life that didn’t include me. I was jealous.
Father finished dressing the cut on Danny’s forehead and began to clean the mess off the rest of him with the bowl of water, soap and face towel that Yaya had fetched from the bathroom. He cast a glance at the clock softly glowing on the wall.
It was three a.m.
‘I think you guys had better go to bed,’ he said. ‘I’ll look after Danny.’
Yaya hid a yawn behind her hand. ‘Go on, then, Rosa. Bedtime.’
I looked at Father. He still sat on the edge of the sofa next to Danny, his eyes pleading. Mother was outside on the beach, I wanted to tell him. She’s out there, somewhere. Why won’t you let her come home, Father? What happened between the two of you?
He held open his arms.
So he wanted to act like nothing had happened between us. Like this humongous betrayal of not telling me Mother was alive was not going to change anything.
I could play Father’s game. I didn’t want Yaya to notice that anything was askew, either.
I went and gave him a hug, pulling away quickly. But Father held on, whispering in my ear.
‘We will talk later, Rosa, OK?’ I turned my head to look into his face. He smiled and it made him look so loving, so honest, so innocent. I glared at him.
Father let me go.
‘Ungh ungh ungh!’
It was a deep grating noise. Yaya and I whirled round.
Danny was awake.
He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something. But he couldn’t, of course. His hands flapped up to sign something.
The hands suddenly curled up in claws on his chest. His legs kicked and the lamp on the side table toppled off with a crash.
‘Oh my God,’ Father cried.
Danny’s body was ramrod straight. His eyes rolled up in their sockets and he began to shake uncontrollably.
All those years of practising for the Calm and wondering if an emergency would ever happen – and here it was. I gaped. I’d never seen anything like it.
Father scrabbled in the first-aid kit and pulled out an injector.
‘Hold still, Danny,’ Father said, clamping a hand on Danny’s chest even as he tried to adjust the injector.
But Danny wouldn’t hold still. He began to thrash, arms and legs stiff and stabbing, uncontrollable.
Yaya leaped onto Danny and tried to pin his shoulders down so that Father could give him the injection. But Danny was strong. One unruly swipe of his arm and Yaya tumbled backwards.
‘Dammit, Danny.’ Father was really struggling. I threw myself across Danny’s chest and held him down with my body weight. Yaya sat down on his legs. ‘Hang on,’ Father muttered, pressing the injector into Danny’s thigh, right through the denim of his trousers.
Danny’s body jerked as if Father had thrust a knife into him.
‘One elephant . . . two elephant . . . three elephant . . .’ We all counted. This was it. How many times had we practised in case of emergencies?
The boy gasped as the medicine took effect, his body arching and then falling limp.
I levered myself off his chest.
‘I’ve got to take him to the hospital. Right now!’ Father cried.
There was a steely set to his jaw as he slipped an arm under Danny’s shoulders and lifted him up. He half dragged, half carried Danny’s limp body (still clad only in jeans) to the door, all the while shouting, ‘Open the front door, Rosa. Yaya, where are the car keys?’
Before he manhandled Danny out into the rain, he turned to Yaya. ‘I will get back as quickly as I can. Lock the door, Yaya. Don’t let anyone in. LOCK THE DOOR!’
And then they were gone.
24
IT WAS SUNNY in London. That surprised me.
You read all the things people say about English weather, brollies, stiff upper lips, and you hear that song about a foggy day in London – then what do you find? Blue skies, bright yellow daffodils, glinting spires. I had imagined all the olde worldy stuff, the cobbles and grand buildings and mossy statuary, fountains, pillars. But in my imagination, it was all lit low, like a black and white film, with long shadows and a veil of rain over everything, lacy and grey.
Sunshine was the last thing on my mind.
There you were at the airport, waiting right at the gates. And seeing you there – familiar, beloved, your face open, tears of joy streaking your cheeks, your smile like the sun, brilliant, blazing – it shook me to the core, Kat.
I’d been pretending for months that I was OK without you, that I didn’t miss us being together. But it was a lie.
Your leaving had gouged a hole in me, wide open, weeping like an infected wound, desperate to be filled.
We embraced tightly, like we were trying to fuse into one another, two sisters becoming one. Hugging and hugging. In my mind vines grew and twined around us, binding us closer and closer. We had to make up for putting that ocean between us. Never again, never again.
It felt so good, Kat. And I wondered then if all twins were like this, if all twins needed this physical closeness. Our coming together revealed to me what a terrible time our separation had been.
My vines wound round and round, and when we broke apart, smiling and wet-eyed and a bit embarrassed what with everyone at the airport staring and grinning, I was surprised.
I thought that would do it. We were together again. That would fill the hole.
But it didn’t.
Once we were in the quiet of your flat, Papa and Mama smiling in your gilt frame, a map of Mirasol on the wall, our photos as baby twins in pride of place on the mantelpiece; once we’d put away my things, turned up the heating for my sake, thrown a blanket over my knee; once you’d shown me how everything worked and made me a cup of tea just because that was the British thing to do, even though I didn’t want one . . . only once we’d done all that did I notice.
You’d changed, Kat.
One year apart had its effect on me, but I couldn’t say that it had altered me much. But you. The year had definitely changed you.
Growing up together, sleeping under the same sheet, wearing matching pyjamas, matching T-shirts, blowing birthday candles out at the very same moment, all those years of being you and me, inseparable and the same.
OK, I admit that when we were growing up I was the bossy one. When Mama asked, ‘What happened here? Who did this?’ I could see you looking sideways at me, waiting, letting me decide how we would respond. I led and you followed. You didn’t mind, did you, Kat? That was just the way of things.
Now, when I looked at the lift of your chin, the square of your shoulders – you seemed so . . . free. The way you walked, the swing of your hips, the sureness of you. All those years when it was Kara and Kat, Kat and Kara . . . they just tumbled away. You were a woman with your own life now, your own thoughts, your own future.
And you looked at me as if you knew something I didn’t.
You took the week off from work so that we could do some tourism, so that you could settle me in. We did London in overdrive. The Tower of London. The Houses of Parliament. Westminster Cathedral. All the galleries. All the museums. We saw everything.
And I watched you. Observed the little changes that added up to . . . well, someone else.
But you have to understand, little sister, I didn’t resent it.
No, no, of course not.
I liked the new you. The new you was fabulous, confident, more sophisticated. Cool.
What I missed was who we used to be together.
Then you went back to work.
It takes time, I suppose, to get used to normal. Normal in London was nothing like normal in Mirasol, of course. No more hiding, much more doing. Get on with it. Get going.
Meanwhile you were out all day, except some Fridays and Mondays when you got home early enough for a whirl around the shops or the cinema. But mostly you were home late, tired. But I didn’t mind, honest, Kat, I was just happy to be in London with you.
And then one day you came home early and before you’d even opened your mouth, I knew something was up. It was in the way you looked at me, slantways, in the blush that slowly tinted your cheeks.
What? I signed. What’s the matter?
‘I . . . I’m going out tonight. I hope you don’t mind.’ That blush was still spreading! Oh, look at it blooming on your neck.
Where to? I signed. And I was not being nosy, honest. I just wanted to know.
And then you burst into tears and I was even more baffled than before.
Why are you crying?
‘Oh, Kara, someone’s asked me out. He’s one of the doctors at the hospital. I didn’t have the courage to tell you about him. Do you mind?’
You looked so embarrassed, Kat. How silly of you to even think twice.
Of course I don’t mind! Why should I mind?
Oh, but we had a lovely evening, getting you ready. This was how I’d always imagined sisters would be. Normal sisters. Doing each other’s hair and nails. Picking out clothes.
I was so excited for you. How I teased you as I blow-dried your beautiful black hair, combed it until it was a slippery shiny thing, picked out a shade of pink lipstick that brought out the lustre of your complexion. And then you insisted on doing the same to me, and we primped and combed and laughed and it was the best time. The best.
We sat, side by side in front of the dresser mirror, smiling and marvelling at ourselves. And then a shadow passed over your face and you turned to me.
‘I . . I didn’t tell you everything, Kara.’
I raised an eyebrow. I’d thought you more confident, more sophisticated. But tonight you were your old self, my anxious little sister, desperate for my approval in everything she did.
‘He’s a specialist.’
I rolled my eyes. Did you really think this was an earth-shaking revelation?
‘A specialist of the Calm.’
I frowned. Why would you keep that from me? I looked away, trying to compose my face. No wonder you were consumed with such guilt. Did it matter, though? It didn’t matter, did it?
‘I attended a talk about the Calm at the hospital. I wanted to know if there was anything else we could do, you know? For you. And he was very good. So eloquent and caring. Such a good speaker. And afterwards I went up to talk to him.’
You told him about me? What did he say?
And you blushed again, Kat. Right to the roots of your hair. I could see it.
‘I didn’t.’
I stared at you.
‘I didn’t tell him about you.’
I sat very still, just looking. Then I pushed my hands between my knees, afraid they might fly up and say something to ruin our lovely afternoon together. Wouldn’t you think that odd, Kat? Not mentioning that your sister had the Calm to a specialist?
That lonely wound ached inside me.
‘I . . . Well, I was going to but . . . the way he looked at me, you know, we kind of . . . fell into talking about other things.’
And then it wasn’t loneliness I felt any more, Kat. Suddenly there was a sour taste in the back of my throat. I looked at your smooth hair, your velvety cheek.
All right, I admit it. I was jealous.
‘I . . . I feel embarrassed about it now,’ you laughed. And you threw your arms around me, kissed me on both cheeks, held me close. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I was just . . . it was just . . . well, he was very nice, you know? Will you ever forgive me, Kara?’
Of course, I signed. No problem.
We picked a blue dress. Royal blue. It made your caramel skin glow, and showed off the darkness of your hair. It clung lovingly to your slim figure. Too lovingly. When the doorbell rang we were still struggling to get you into it.
On the third ring, you waved me away, ‘Go get the door, Kara, say hello. Just one more second and I’ll be done.’
I raced to the door and threw it open, panting a little from our exertions.
I only had the briefest impression of someone tall with broad shoulders and an untidy thatch of sandy hair before I was swept up in a bold embrace.
He pressed against me, his lips moving against mine, and I pushed away, clapped my hand over my mouth, eyes like platters.
‘Ungh ungh ungh!’
He stared at me, confused. ‘Kat?’
‘Jon?’ You were right behind us.
And Jon, mouth open, stared at you, so gorgeous in your blue dress . . . and at me, dishevelled in jeans. His eyes darted between you and me before settling on the scarf wound round my neck. And he knew instantly, of course, that I had the Calm. He saw patients every day in his clinic. He knew.
He sputtered, ‘I thought . . . I thought . . .’
I couldn’t help it, Kat, I began to laugh. That will teach you not to warn people that you had a twin sister! You should have known! You can’t erase me at the first sign of a nice-looking young man!
He grinned bashfully at me.
But you didn’t smile, Kat. Oh, no. Your mouth straightened out into a pink line and you tossed your hair over one shoulder. ‘I’ll explain later, Jon,’ you said tightly. ‘We’d better go, it’s getting late.’
And as you both went out the door, you flashed me a backwards look. Oh, I will always remember that look. Because wasn’t that where it all began? Wasn’t that the moment when everything changed?
I shrugged and turned away, still giggling. Looking back now, I had no idea. No idea that something had broken that night. Something we would never be able to fix.
25
SOMETHING CLATTERED TO the floor when the door shut behind Father and Danny. Plaster again. I looked up. Cracks spidered all over the ceiling. It was slowly falling apart and it was the first time I’d realized how bad it was.
‘Come on, Rosa. To bed.’ Yaya drew her pink bathrobe close around her and with one hand on my shoulder began to steer me up the stairs, talking all the while.
‘That boy, Rosa! Ridiculous-looking! Safety pins in his ears! He could have died you know! Made a mess of the sofa. I’ll have to wash all the covers now. They’re going to shrink to nothing! And your Father. It’s morning already! How is he going to run his clinic later? He hasn’t had any sleep!’
