Shine, page 6
So he hired a boat and we rowed out, out, out into that wide sea to tip Mother into the waves.
It was one of those days when the ocean frothed like a cauldron. Father’s boat bobbed high and low. The waves raced away from the beach, away towards a horizon that stretched to everywhere. Everywhere but here.
And I hated it. I hated the thought of Mother in that sea.
How could it be? How could Mother, laughing-and-twirling-in-the-sand Mother, disappear just like that? How could Mother be replaced by a box of soot?
Father bowed his head for a long time, staring at the water. When he looked at me, there was a thin smile on his face and his eyes were red. ‘She’s in Heaven now,’ he said.
I nodded. But inside my emotions were up in arms. Heaven? What was Heaven? Which way to Heaven? Was there a door? Where was the key? And how did anyone know it was there?
Besides, I saw her ghost, didn’t I? Saw her in the doorway of the stall at the very time that Father said she’d already been lying in a hospital emergency room for an hour, stone-cold dead.
Father was so wrong. Mother was anywhere but in Heaven.
Father persuaded Yaya to leave her job in the market and to come live with us as our housekeeper and my nanny.
‘I have no family,’ she told me on her first day. ‘No mother, no father. You are my family now, little Rosa.’
In a funny way Yaya knew what it was like. She too was a sort of monster in Mirasol. She was used to people pointing and laughing at her hairlip. Or shuddering and turning away, repulsed.
In fact, Father arranged to have Yaya’s cleft palate operated on. When the bandage came off, she looked like someone else, someone with a permanent twisty smile, a crooked scar above her top lip. She looked so odd it was a long time before I could bear to meet her eyes.
So it was Yaya who made sure all the doors were double-locked, who was there when Father worked late into the night at the hospital, who sat me down for home school every day – taught me how to write my name, how to read, how to do sums – who made sure I never missed a dose and who recorded every milligram of medicine I’d taken.
Father was there, of course, and he took charge of all the school maths and sciences when he had the time. But he was a busy doctor – Mother was right about one thing: Father was in huge demand.
Does that mean there are hundreds of other people like me on the island? I asked him once.
He answered softly. ‘The Calm is rare. It’s not that there are many people here with the disease, it’s just that I’m the only specialist on the island!’ Which didn’t answer my question.
Yaya always said it might have been better if Father had not found her. Because if she hadn’t come to look after me, he might have moved back to London long ago. ‘Mirasol is no place to bring up a child with the Calm,’ she said to him. ‘Pah! It’s not like you don’t have a choice. You can move to London anytime and give Rosa a normal life.’
‘Choice!’ Father always replied. ‘That’s the key word, Yaya. We choose to live here. What would happen to all my patients?’
To which Yaya always replied, folding her arms across her thin chest and staring at him like he had grown horns on his head: ‘Yes, but what about Rosa? Who is going to save her?’
I’m afraid Father’s patients were the least of my concerns. And a normal life? This was the only life I’d known.
What concerned me was that Mirasol was where Mother was. If we left Mirasol it would mean leaving Mother behind. And I desperately didn’t want that.
13
LISTEN, KAT, I always knew it wasn’t fair.
Mama and Papa, they loved you just as much as they loved me. We were equally loved, yes, we both knew that.
But you didn’t NEED them as much as I did. In their eyes, you had the whole world. You had school and friends, and then after high school you had nursing college. And boys ringing you up and all those countries you could apply to after graduation. You had a FUTURE, Kat.
So, Mama and Papa, they felt they had to give me a little bit more, you know?
They thought they had to spend more time with me, bring me little gifts to make up for my lousy hidden-away life . . . all those little private parties we had when Mama wore her best dress and Papa served pineapple juice in wine goblets, just for fun – just for me!
And all those movie nights when we turned off all the lights and watched my favourite videos and ate buckets of popcorn. And didn’t we dance until late to the stereo? Papa and Mama in each other’s arms, and you and me trying out all the latest moves!
You smiled and laughed and joined in. But I could see, Kat. I could feel the sharp little teeth, the nibble of jealousy under everything. I sensed all your sideways glances.
And I was glad.
I mean, if you were me, wouldn’t you want a little something extra, a little something over your perfectly-formed twin sister who was on her way to a perfectly-formed life while you were destined for . . . well, more of the same. ALWAYS more of the same the same the same.
Though, of course, for as long as Mama and Papa were there, I didn’t mind. More of the same was all right.
Until the typhoon.
We were twenty-one that year. Officially adults. You were having your nice life in nursing college. And I was at home, still Mama and Papa’s darling girl.
The storm hit Mirasol in the late afternoon. And it didn’t sweep in and out in a few hours like the other storms. It made landfall and stayed and stayed and stayed, cutting up the island like a whirling blade, churning up the ocean, spraying dirty rain over everything, and turning the roads into torrents.
Afterwards, you asked me, ‘But what were they doing out in that weather? Both of them in that stupid car?’
The way you looked at me I knew what was on your mind.
Why else would Mama and Papa rush out in bad weather than to fetch something for their favourite daughter?
We had been running low on my medication. Papa said he would do it and Mama said, like she always did, You shouldn’t be out there all by yourself, I’ll go with you. The girls will be fine.
It wasn’t me who sent them out there, Kat, understand? I didn’t ask them to go. I didn’t make them get into the car.
The car was ancient, held together by Father’s ingenuity and bits and pieces from the scrapyard. It didn’t stand a chance against the gale on the winding mountain road. The police told you they managed to drive for a few miles, the typhoon pushing the car around. But then, as if bored with that entertainment, the winds flicked it off the road with monster fingers. Into a deep ravine.
There they were. And then they weren’t.
You had to do everything, of course. The police. The morgue. The funeral. The paperwork. While you sorted it all out, I sat in the house behind a curtained window, my head in my hands.
Mama and Papa looked after me well in their will. Left me a modest trust fund. How they must have saved and scraped and planned just in case something was to happen to them. To make sure that even without them I would still have a good life.
They left you enough to complete your training. But that was it. Even then they were sure you could stand on your own two feet. That you didn’t need them as much as I did.
But that didn’t mean they loved you less, Kat, you know that, don’t you?
We were both so bereft after that. So lost. And maybe I clung to you too hard, Kat. Maybe I was too needy. Maybe I held onto you too tightly. You must understand, you were my best friend . . . my ONLY friend. You were all I had.
You must understand.
I was lonely, without Mama and Papa. I had no one at home with me. And there you were, with all your friends. All those nights out.
So maybe I was demanding. Maybe it was unreasonable for me to think you should come home early, night after night. Maybe it was unfair for me to press you, every morning, to get home in time for dinner.
I couldn’t help it, Kat. Mama and Papa had been the centre of my life and suddenly I had nothing but you.
But the more I clung to you, the more you moved away. You stayed out later and later, you became distant, preoccupied.
How was it possible for two people to be so close, to live under the same roof, and yet be so lonely?
It was desperate.
And you didn’t tell me, all that time, what you were planning. You didn’t tell me that you were sending out all those applications. That you were going to make that long-ago dream, to work in another country, come true. Except, now, your dream didn’t include me. Now, you wanted to get away from your needy, clinging, annoying sister.
And when you got an offer from a famous hospital in London, you didn’t hesitate. You leaped at it.
‘What would YOU do, Kara?’ you asked me that night in the kitchen, unable to stop your toe tapping impatiently on the floor as I sat sobbing. ‘It’s my dream job. I can’t give up this chance.’
But we’re twins! I signed. You can’t leave me!
And you smirked. ‘This once I’ve got to think of me. I have to do this for me.’
And before you got into the taxi for the airport, you made a little speech. You said all the right things about following your dream and making the best of an opportunity and how you would write me every week and phone me as much as you could. And I nodded and said I wanted the best for you too and good luck and have fun.
But I knew why you really left.
You were fed up with being half of a whole. You wanted to become your own person. You wanted to be free. Of me.
14
ANSEL95 DIDN’T MENTION mothers again which was a relief in a way. We could get on furiously discussing random, inconsequential things. Or poring over Ansel Adams like photo-obsessives. Well, Ansel95 was a photo-obsessive. I just followed his example like an imagination-free acolyte.
And we could have gone on this way for ever.
So maybe I got bored with the way things were. Because what happened next was all my doing.
I’d said it before but Ansel95 didn’t seem to mind. His response was patient and predictable.
See that? See?
It wasn’t him that asked. It was me. I started it. It was me that wanted to know. I didn’t have to, but I did. Knowing full well what it would lead to.
Why did I do that? Whatever happened to: be careful, stay safe, don’t get involved?
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Just say, forget it. Just say, I didn’t mean to ask. Yaya’s voice joined in like an echo. STRANGER DANGER!
The laptop beeped.
Friends! See, you are friends, Rosa! If you can’t tell the difference between this and your 388 meaningless friends online, then you might as well turn off the broadband just like Yaya always nags you to.
I sighed. I had to buy time.
I laughed. Hah! He was just like me, collecting the clues to my identity. He was probably hoping my chest was as gravity-defying as my avatar’s!
I suppose I could have turned the computer off, pulled the plug. But even as I protested, I held my breath, leaned forward in anticipation, staring hungrily at the screen, my heart suddenly thundering in my chest . . .
I fell back in my chair.
Danny.
His name was Danny.
My friend.
Danny.
And then I watched helplessly as my fingers flew over the keyboard.
15
WHAT’S IN A name?
A name is honesty. It’s trust. It’s knowing each other properly. It’s knowing each other for ever.
Danny. Danny. Danny.
After we signed off, I hurried downstairs.
I suddenly needed to be with real flesh and blood people. I suddenly wanted to stand shoulder to shoulder with Yaya as we peeled potatoes by the sink, feel the warmth of her arm against mine, see the way her eyes lit up every time she glanced sideways at me.
I wanted to cuddle up against Father on the sofa, have him throw his arm absently over my shoulder as he clicked the remote, searching for something we could watch together on TV.
The world was smiling and I wanted more of it.
But as I got to the bottom of the stairs, I heard voices from behind the study’s closed door. Sharp, quarrelsome. My high spirits sank like a stone. Father and Yaya were arguing again.
Father’s voice rose above Yaya’s. Interrupting. Belligerent. ‘. . . Look, it’s all she’s got, how can I make her turn it off?’
They were arguing about their favourite topic. Me. It wasn’t just me who needed to get a life.
Yaya’s voice shrilled like a bird’s unpleasant squawk. ‘It’s unhealthy. All she does is sit in front of that laptop! If you let it go on, her brain will shrink to the size of a peanut!’
‘Dammit, Yaya! I—’
I couldn’t bear it. I threw open the study door.
Father looked up, shamefaced. But Yaya’s expression was defiant. She didn’t care that I’d heard, she’d nagged me often enough.
‘Rosa!’ He turned on his most soothing voice. ‘We . . . we were just talking. Yaya’s a bit concerned about the amount of time you spend on your laptop.’
Yaya raised an eyebrow. ‘Concerned? Look at her! Her eyes are square-shaped!’
Father waved a hand at Yaya as if she was a pesky fly. ‘Rosa. Darling. It’s all about striking a balance, isn’t it? Maybe you ought to spend some time doing other things? Reading? Listening to music? You haven’t even been on the stationary bike for ages, and you need to take some exercise.’
I stared as he blathered on about all the other things I could do instead of having a social life. How was it better to cycle to nowhere instead of making friends? Father couldn’t care less. He was just saying all these things to get Yaya off his back. Let them figure it out.
I turned away, shrugging.
‘Rosa!’ Father cried.
Yaya made a squeaky little sound in her throat like a rubber toy that had been stepped on.
I shut the door and immediately Father and Yaya began talking at the same time. I leaned against the wall and sighed. I should have stayed upstairs. If I had, I would still be enjoying my good mood.
There was a transom made of frosted glass above the front door. It cast a little rectangle of light, soft and pale like a smear of paint, on the clay-tiled floor in front of me. An invitation. Step forward, Rosa. Go on. Open it.
I stared glumly at the door. Nobody ever rang that doorbell. Father routed the outside world through his clinic at the hospital. So our front door saw no traffic. No mail. No visitors. And Yaya didn’t really do friends. She went to church on Sundays and that was it. So all this talk about imaginary friends was rich coming from her.
Come to think of it, I didn’t even know if we had a doorbell. How insane was that?
Hey, Danny, why don’t you come on over? Maybe we could go down to the beach.
Danny would ring the doorbell (or knock if it turns out we never had one). And I would blithely open the door, maybe throw a mock curtsey, and Danny would stare at me in pretend disappointment. ‘Hey, I thought you had wings!’ And we would laugh our heads off.
But there would be loads of explaining to do, wouldn’t there? How was I going to tell him that I had the Calm? There was no hiding that. And what if Danny wasn’t as cool as he sounded? What if it was freak-at-first-sight?
But we’d spent enough time talking – I knew that I liked him. A lot. Even if he turned out to have four eyes and a horn on his forehead, I liked him. We would still be friends, wouldn’t we?
The square of light on the tiles edged slightly closer, dimming a little. Night was closing. For the first time, I became aware of the insistent spatter of rain on the pavement outside.
And in the midst of the spattering: a scraping, shuffling noise.
I stiffened.
Scrape. Scrape.
Feet. On our front step. There was someone outside.
I took a step forward, staring at the door’s latch.
Then suddenly, loudly: DING DONG.
Oh my God, we did have a doorbell.
Yaya burst out of the study even as I lunged towards the door.
‘Rosa! Don’t!’
But I was already struggling with the latch. In a minute, I’d unbolted the door, yanked it open.
A gust of rain blew into the hall, the cloud of wet needles stinging my eyes. The streetlight outside turned the rain into long white gashes.
The street was empty. There was nobody there.
‘Jesus Mary Joseph!’ Yaya grabbed me by the arm and yanked me away from the doorway. ‘See, Doc? See what I say? She doesn’t think!’
But Father wasn’t listening. He was standing stock-still behind us, his face so white he glowed.
‘Doc?’ Yaya stared at him.
Suddenly Father was outside the door. He was instantly drenched by the rain, his hair plastered flat and shining on his head and his clothes slopping about him. But he didn’t seem to notice, his head whipping right and left as he searched the street.
‘Is it you?’ he cried in a strange, choked voice. He bolted down the road towards the three houses huddled near the corner, as if he’d seen something. ‘Is it you?’ he cried again.
Is it who?
Yaya hurried to the doorway. I followed close behind, but she was so concerned with Father she didn’t swat me away. ‘Doc?’ she called in a scared voice.
Father was circling the street like a mad man, crossing from one pavement to the other, looking over the garden walls of the other three houses.
‘Doc!’ Yaya’s voice was swallowed by the rushing of the rain.
Father stopped halfway down. Stood still, shoulders hunched, staring down the deserted road, yellow circles of lamp light pooling on the black asphalt.
He whirled round. It was too dark to see his face, but as he approached I could see the outline of his head and shoulders changing shape. I knew Father. He would be mortified by that show of scarediness.
