Love Me Not, page 22
‘This is so unfair!’ Hope slams a plate down. ‘Max! Leave me in!’
‘TAKE HER OUT.’
‘Leave me in!’
‘You will take me out immediately,’ Faith screams over the hubbub. None of us have ever heard her raise her voice like that before. ‘Or I will use every penny I’ve saved to sue the living daylights out of you, Max!’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Mum whispers at her plate. ‘I didn’t realise what was going on. I’ll try harder. I’ll—’
‘Do not apologise for this, Juliet!’ Grandma bangs her walking stick on the floor. ‘This is not your fault!’
‘… DISINHERITED …’ Dad is still shouting. ‘… IN ALL MY DAYS …’
‘Leave me in!’
‘TAKE ME OUT.’
‘I’m so very—’
‘Everyone, if we could just—’
‘… tacky, destroy everything we have built over a century, cannot believe that …’
‘… really uncomfortable with—’
‘IN!’
‘OUT!’
‘IN IN IN!’
Everyone is standing up and screaming over the top of each other across the dining table.
‘Guys!’ Max is beseeching desperately, cheeks flushed. ‘Listen, let’s just sit down and talk about this rationally and—’
Quietly, I start edging out of the room.
All I wanted was to hurt my brother – just an outlet to vent my rage on … Except I can’t control the damage, can I? That’s the point. I never can.
Eyes filling, I find the door handle and watch the screaming escalate, my healing family breaking apart again.
Blindly, I slip into the dark hallway.
‘Mercy.’
I need to go.
‘Mercy.’
I need to get as far away from here as possible.
‘Mercy, stop.’
Quickly wiping my eyes, I turn round to face Faith. She closes the dining-room door quietly behind her and takes a few steps towards me.
‘Don’t say it,’ I snap hoarsely. ‘You hate me, I know.’
‘It’s not going to work,’ my sister says gently.
I hesitate. ‘What?’
‘However hard you push us away, we will keep coming back. Whatever you do, we will still love you. That’s what families do.’
My throat tightens, closes.
‘Will you?’ I whisper, because maybe they wouldn’t.
Not if they knew.
Two years ago
‘Charity? Has anybody seen Charity Valentine?’
For the third time this week, there’s an urgent rap on the dressing-room door and a harassed-looking production assistant pokes his head in.
‘Charity?’ he asks hopefully.
‘Mercy.’
‘Oh man.’ He grimaces. ‘Your sister was supposed to be on set half an hour ago. Everybody’s waiting. Again.’
‘She’s on the toilet.’ I smile apologetically. ‘Bad tummy. Oysters. She’ll be out in a tick.’
‘Right.’ He doesn’t believe me. ‘Well, tell your sister to get on set as soon as she can.’
‘Absolutely,’ I nod sweetly.
As soon as the door shuts, I grab my phone yet again and type:
TEE WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? GET A MOVE ON
I freaking told her this would happen.
After a solid year of fancying him, Charity finally scored a first date with Blake. They’ve gone out for a walk, an ice cream, to feed the ducks, whatever. My twin kept prodding me awake at intervals all night to update me on her ‘romantic’ plans, until I eventually threatened to smother her with a pillow.
It might be cute if it wasn’t about to destroy her career.
Our career.
Beep.
OMG Cee we are having the BEST time! I am so in love! Not as in love as Blake is obvs hahahaha xxx
Smiling in spite of myself, I type:
Cool but you were supposed to be back and it’s your turn on set – I can’t keep covering for you. They’re going to notice.
Beep.
I knowwwww but Blake never gets days off and we just want to get to know each other better – you only get a first EVER date once, right? Xxxx
Beep.
PS have I ever told you how pretty and lovely and awesome you are? X
Beep.
PPS Seriously, like, sooooooooo pretty. Xxx
I roll my eyes.
FINE Tee, I’ll cover for you again. Just get back in time for us to go home together so nobody suspects.
Beep.
I WILL. I LOVE YOU. Xx
Now I smile.
Yeah, you better. X
As fast as I can, I tug on the grey flapper dress. Rushing to the makeup artist, I get the full treatment: dark eyes, dead skin, short ashy bob wig. Then I hurry towards the film set, consciously lightening my step, relaxing my face and unfurling my shoulders.
‘Hey, Tee!’ A cute extra grins at me and I grin back. ‘Looking especially cute today.’
‘Ta very much, handsome.’
With a perky skip, I hop over a camera wire and enter the set.
‘Charity!’ The director looks up. ‘Finally! How are you feeling, sweetheart?’
‘Better.’ I pat my tummy with a grimace. ‘But you might wanna cordon off the entire backstage area, if you know what I mean?’
He laughs, distracted by checking the lighting.
‘Which reminds me,’ I add in a husky voice, ‘why can’t you hear a pterodactyl using the bathroom? The P is silent.’
I hear a low rumble as the crew chuckles.
‘Why do ducks have feathers?’ I’m starting to feel slightly giddy, light-headed. ‘To cover their butt quacks.’
They laugh again – a warm, enveloping sound, like a hug that doesn’t touch you – and I realise with a pang that of all the roles I’ve ever played, being my sister is my favourite.
‘Finally, what did one toilet say to the other? You look flushed.’ I give a charming bow to my audience. ‘So, where would you like the genius to stand?’
‘Over here.’ The director shakes his head. ‘What are we going to do with you, Charity? You’re so unreliable. Nothing at all like your twin.’
My stomach twists sharply and I can’t stop myself.
‘Yet I’m just more lovable, right?’ I grin conspiratorially and lean forward. ‘Go on, confess. I won’t tell anyone.’
‘Not true,’ the director whispers with a small wink. ‘Ssshhh.’
Something inside me falls and smashes.
‘O-kay,’ I say, quickly attempting to right myself before anyone notices. ‘Let’s get started.’
The cameras whirr and I try to focus on screwing up the scene so that nobody guesses I’m me.
‘CUT!’ The director beams. ‘Your best yet, Tee.’
Small consolation, I guess.
‘What can I say?’ I grin, blowing a kiss at the team. I can feel myself running out of gas, shutting down, darkening, my mask dropping. ‘Food poisoning works wonders. Laters!’
As fast as I can, I saunter back to the dressing room just in time for my smile to fizzle out like a firework in the rain.
Breathing out, I close the door behind me and lean against it.
‘How did it go?’
Charity is sprawled across our cosy Papasan chair with her muddy feet propped up casually on the vanity. I never sit like that; I hold myself rigidly like an unwanted ornament.
‘Good,’ I say in a small voice, starting to unbutton.
‘My first date went swimmingly, thank you very much.’ She chuckles throatily. ‘By which I mean I pushed him in a pond. Blake looks so adorable wet, and he has such a great sense of humour. Barely any yelling at all.’
‘Cool.’ I grab a wet wipe and rub it harshly across my face.
‘He’s brilliant.’ Charity leans her cheek on the side of the chair and closes her eyes. ‘I know I joke about it, but I really, really like him, Cee. Like, really.’
‘Great.’ I pull my jeans on and reach for my red jumper. ‘I’m very happy for you.’
There’s a pause. ‘Mercy, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Nothing.’
‘Just say it.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Bull-shirt.’
Impulsively, I spin to face my sister.
‘Look, Tee, I know this sounds weird, but do you think I could maybe … wear your clothes home? Just for a bit? We could … maybe prank everyone again? Would you mind?’
Charity frowns at me, studying my face carefully, then bursts into loud laughter. ‘You like it too, huh.’
I blink. ‘What?’
‘It’s okay, Mer,’ she smiles, ripping off her purple hoody and chucking it at me. ‘I like being you sometimes too.’
‘Really?’ A wave of disbelief. ‘You do?’
‘Yeah, of course.’ My sister pulls her hair back tightly, smooths out the tiny laughter line in the corner of her mouth. ‘It’s like the whole world feels this need to push us in opposite directions just so they can make a distinction. But it’s for them, not for us. Sometimes I don’t want to make jokes and pull pranks. Sometimes I want people to listen to me and take me seriously. I want to be sharp and fierce and strong and talented. I want to say what I’m really thinking, just like you do.’
My throat is suddenly tight. ‘You want to be … me?’
‘Of course I do.’ Charity leans over and kisses my forehead. ‘You’re my favourite person in the whole world, Mercy.’
And all the darkness inside me suddenly explodes with a flash of bright light, like a dying star.
Chin wobbling, I throw my arms round her neck.
‘Okay,’ my identical twin sister laughs as I kiss her cheek. ‘What’s with the out-of-character PDA? You’re going to freak me out. Stop it.’
Wiping my eyes with an embarrassed grin, I pull away.
‘So … swaps?’ I check hesitantly.
‘Yeah.’ Charity grins. ‘Swaps.’
The house empties out.
The dust settles, and one by one my family leaves. Dad and Roz back to their hotel, Grandma to her swanky Kensington flat, Mum to her bedroom, Faith to the Brixton studio, Hope somewhere with Ben, Maggie to her flat in Putney.
And I’m left alone in the silence. Stranded in a huge home that feels unfamiliar and hostile, like a person I don’t know how to be around.
Numb, I wander aimlessly through the hallways.
In and out of enormous deserted rooms, trying to find something to distract me from their emptiness. I amble into the cold, dark kitchen, raid the fridge, pick at leftovers from the uneaten banquet: discover I can’t really swallow, my appetite is gone. I try the cinema room again, attempt to watch a film, any film, but realise I can’t focus.
Feeling anaesthetised, I go into Charity’s bright yellow bedroom, remove the joke Post-Its that Faith stuck all over the room, throw them in the bin.
Then I hole up in my navy bedroom.
Lying on my bed in the dark, spending hours scouring the internet for a fight, an argument, a humiliation – just something that will make me feel an emotion again, anything.
On day two, there’s an official public statement.
Due to unforeseen personal circumstances, we are sad to announce that Mercy Valentine will no longer be taking part in the upcoming performance of Much Ado About Nothing at the Globe Theatre. However, we are proud to welcome a promising newcomer to the role. Understudy, Daisy Morgan, a recent RADA graduate, will be stepping into the iconic role of Beatrice. Last few tickets still available.
Nothing.
Even discovering that Daisy went to my dream drama school and so is technically more qualified than me has zero impact, so I take to Twitter.
Just to clarify, I QUIT. @The_Globe_Theatre
Don’t bother going to see the play. It’s LAME. @The_Globe_Theatre
Also, Shakespeare is IRRELEVANT. @The_Globe_Theatre
As expected, the slap-backs come thick and fast:
Everyone knows @MercyValentine was fired for being a diva. LOL
What’s in a name @MercyValentine? Clearly nothing when you CAN’T HOLD ON TO YOUR JOB.
Still nothing.
So I head to Instagram to try again. It appears the Birdbrains have deleted and re-uploaded the photo of us at the sleepover, except this time they’ve cropped me out. The pillow fight has been similarly edited: there’s a bunch of hearts stuck over where my face used to be.
A quick scan through their accounts confirms I’ve been completely eradicated.
Nope: I feel nada, not even a flicker.
I make an anonymous account on YouTube and start trolling any celebrity I can find:
That haircut is ugly.
Why do you keep plaguing the world with your music?
YOU HAVE ZERO QUALIFICATIONS IN MAKEUP APPLICATION WHY IS ANYONE WATCHING THIS
I still feel dead inside.
By the third day, I’m so desperate for pain I email Finn:
From: Mercy Valentine
To: Finneas O’Connor
Hi
I wait a few minutes, then try again:
From: Mercy Valentine
So I guess you’re not talking to me any more
A ping.
From: Finneas O’Connor
Mercy, what do you want?
Finally, the tiniest twinge: I cling on to it like a life-raft.
From: Mercy Valentine
Ooooooh snippy ;)
Ping
From: Finneas O’Connor
Mercy, I will ask you again – what do you want?
He clearly hates me and it hurts – just a tiny little hole in the numbness that I can breathe through – so I push it further:
From: Mercy Valentine
OMG KISSING ELI WAS A JOKE LIGHTEN UP
Ping.
From: Finneas O’Connor
It wasn’t, Mercy. I think we both know what you were doing. I like you but I really don’t think it’s supposed to be this hard, this soon.
It’s clearly not a healthy dynamic for either of us.
So let’s just leave it, okay?
Finn
I hold my breath and close my eyes.
The hole in me opens up a little more, like a crack in the ground.
Aching, I drag myself to my feet and sling a black coat on over my penguin pyjamas. I’ve been wearing them now for three days straight and they stink, but it’s not like there’s anybody here to notice. I walk up and down the corridors, knocking on doors, but nobody answers. Tying the coat belt up tightly, I text John and sit on the front doorstep for the limo to pull smoothly up the driveway.
‘Hi,’ I say flatly as he steps out and opens the door.
‘Hello, Mercy,’ my driver says carefully. ‘It’s nice to see you. Where are we going today?’
Sliding into the backseat, I sit for a few seconds, staring woodenly at the headrest in front of me.
‘I don’t know,’ I admit finally. ‘Nowhere. Anywhere.’
John nods and starts the car.
We drive slowly through the quiet roads of Richmond and I see barely anything, but I’m comforted, somehow, by the movement of the limo and the steady purr of the motor, like a baby that can’t sleep.
After half an hour I feel myself beginning to drift. I stare at the back of John’s balding head, so familiar – such an everyday part of my life, yet so unacknowledged – and there’s suddenly something I have to say.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper as he indicates right.
‘What for?’ John asks calmly.
‘For being such a cow to you.’ I close my eyes and feel the sway of the car as we take a slow, steady corner. ‘For being so demanding. For making you pick me up at random times of night and drive me to get kebabs. For forcing you to wait for me for hours and expecting you to drop everything for me at a moment’s notice. For being so entitled and rude, and never asking how you are.’
There’s a silence as the car thrums along a narrow road.
I’m so drowsy now I’m nearly asleep.
‘I’ve got a kid, you know,’ John says finally into the quiet. ‘A daughter. A year younger than you.’
My eyes open guiltily. ‘I … didn’t know.’
‘She lives with her mum.’ He rubs his nose with his finger. ‘I don’t see her as much as I’d like to.’
Another flash of guilt. ‘No thanks to me, huh.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ he corrects gently. ‘What I’m saying, Mercy, is that I would hate to think that she was out there, at night, with no way to get home again. With nobody looking out for her, or knowing where she was.’
A lump suddenly rises to my throat. ‘Oh.’
‘It’s okay to need people, Mercy,’ John says, looking at me through the rear-view mirror. ‘We all do.’
The ground inside me opens up a little more and I feel one emotion rise up through it.
Eyes filling, I lean forward.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper. ‘That’s what I meant to say.’
He smiles back at me. ‘You’re welcome.’
It’s dark by the time we return.
John waits patiently in the driveway – presumably in case I need to leave again – and I slip back into the empty house, feeling fragile and delicate, like something I could easily smash.
With the lights off, I head silently into the dining room. There’s just enough moonlight to see what I’m doing, so I turn off the still whirring overhead projector, pack it away neatly in the huge bureau; remove the remaining non-broken glasses and put them back in a box. Maggie’s done a good job of cleaning up, but there’s still a little crunching under-foot so I sweep again. I carry the few remaining side plates to the kitchen and grab a cloth to wipe down the table a second time.
I’m just picking up a silver napkin ring that’s rolled into the corner when I see a dark figure in the open doorway.
With a lurch, I jump halfway out of my skin.
‘Mum?’ I narrow my eyes at it. ‘How long have you been standing there?’
She takes a step forward and the moon catches on her silver sequins; she flashes like a lightning bolt.
‘A while,’ she says softly.
Clearing her throat, my mother takes another step towards me and I realise with a heart-spin that she’s in full Hollywood glamour mode. She’s wearing her favourite shimmering full-length gown, waved blonde hair, red lipstick.
