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Sisters(6)
Author: Michelle Frances

She was rewarded by seeing Abby punch the ringleader on the nose. All hell had broken loose: blood and screams and a rapidly ballooning crowd.

Three big things changed after that: the nose was broken and would forever have a kink, Abby was suspended for a week, and the bullies never touched Ellie again. But the one thing she really wanted to change still didn’t happen. Abby was just as aloof and it had hurt even more because deep down Ellie now knew that, on some level, her big sister cared for her.

She suspected she knew why there had always been a distance between them: Ellie was their mother’s favourite, something that was never said aloud but was blatantly clear. In fact, Susanna had paid little attention to Abby’s successes, as she’d been so preoccupied with Ellie’s childhood illness, the doctors and hospital appointments, the constant care. If Abby did well in her exams at school, she was told not to speak of it, for fear that it would make Ellie feel inferior. The same if Abby achieved something sporty – Ellie had suffered from so much sickness, it was ‘unfair’ to ‘flaunt’ it in Ellie’s face.

Ellie had felt guilty for being so sick and blamed herself for Abby’s upset, but was often too ill to have the energy to try and make it any different. As they grew older, Ellie watched the gap between them widen, and even when the illness seemed to abate, years had gone by and she never caught up. Abby did so much more, achieved so much more, and Ellie’s confidence slowly disintegrated.

She looked again at the paintings. These, at least, were no masterpieces, and she was just turning to leave the room when her eye caught something.

She stopped. Frowned at the small bookcase in the corner of the room. Then she kneeled down in front of it, her heart racing.

There, on the very bottom shelf, was a collection of children’s books. Not just any old children’s books but first editions: The Hobbit, Where the Wild Things Are, The Wizard of Oz and an extensive collection of Roald Dahl including Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. They were worth thousands of pounds.

Hand trembling, she reached out and touched them, hurt and confused by the sight of them. Not wanting to believe how they had come to be placed on a bookshelf here, in Abby’s house.

 

 

FOUR


1994


Ellie was sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, her shoe-clad feet planted on the hall floor, trying to imagine them sticking to the wooden floorboards, growing roots so she didn’t have to leave. Her and Abby’s suitcase was upright by the front door and, if she turned her head she could just see through into the living room where her sister was kneeling on the sofa, leaning over the back so she could watch out of the rain-pelted window for the car.

Her mother was scarce, doing something busy in the kitchen, as she always did on these occasions. Ellie still didn’t quite understand why she never accompanied them on their trips to Grandma and Grandad’s, except that Susanna had said that she had had a ‘falling-out’ with her parents over ‘Daddy’ years before. Ellie couldn’t even ask ‘Daddy’ to explain more as he had left before she was born.

‘It’s here,’ Abby called through flatly and climbed down off the sofa, just as the large silver car pulled up and her grandparents’ driver, Harold, who had worked for them for two decades, climbed out.

Susanna appeared from the kitchen. Saw their downcast faces.

‘Come on, it’s not that bad.’

‘It’s horrible, Mummy,’ Ellie burst out. ‘They are always asking us questions. Questions, questions, questions!’ She felt on the verge of tears.

‘What musical instruments are you learning? What are your grades like? Why don’t you ever wear dresses?’ intoned Abby, as the doorbell rang.

‘It’s only twice a year,’ pleaded Susanna. ‘It’s not too much to ask, is it?’

‘And their house is so big,’ continued Ellie. ‘And full of breakable things! I’m scared of breaking something like last time. They were so cross. They said it cost thirty hundred pounds.’

‘Three hundred,’ corrected Abby, and Ellie felt humiliated. She always got things wrong. ‘For a vase,’ added Abby incredulously.

‘But it’s nice to have lovely things, isn’t it?’ said Susanna. She spoke carefully. ‘Just think. Some of those things might be yours one day. They’re your only grandparents. It’s important to get to know them. And it’s only for a week.’

Ellie, already feeling desperately homesick, couldn’t bear it any longer. She flung herself at her mother and burst into tears. ‘I don’t want to go. Don’t make me – please, Mummy. What if I get ill again?’ she suddenly wailed.

She felt her mother’s strong arms embrace her but then they loosened their grip and the familiar, comforting warmth was taken away.

‘You won’t get ill. You’ve been so much better the last few weeks. Now, Abby, why don’t you let Harold in and you can be on your way?’

Ellie and Abby sat in the back of the cavernous car, their seat belts unable to keep their small bodies from sliding around on the leather seats as Harold navigated the rain-slicked roads. Ellie pressed her nose up against the window, trying to keep the image of her mother in her mind, her kind face getting smaller and smaller as they’d driven away. The journey wasn’t long, as their grandparents lived in Weybridge, just a few miles away. However, despite the short distance, the two houses could not be more different.

Grandma and Grandad lived in a place called St George’s Hill, which, when she was five, Ellie had thought might also harbour dragons. But now she was eight, she realized this was a ludicrous notion and, in fact, it only housed very rich people. Grandma Kathleen and Grandad Robert’s place was a large, flat-fronted mansion with pillars either side of the imposing front door. Whenever she arrived, Ellie felt as if the dozens of windows were staring at her, or there was someone hiding behind the balustrade that ran around the top of the house. Grandma was waiting at the top of the steps as the car pulled into the enormous drive and Ellie scrambled out, knowing her grandmother was already scrutinizing her.

She felt intimidated here – her grandmother set great store by the acquisition of knowledge and would turn each and every conversation into a test. ‘What’s the capital of Peru?’ she’d ask, when she found Ellie gazing up at a picture of Paddington Bear on the landing (an original artwork, Grandma said), or ‘How much milk would you have left if I poured you a quarter of a pint from this bottle?’ when she was so dying of thirst she couldn’t even think straight. Even if she could, she wouldn’t have been able to answer. Ellie was always pitiful at answering the questions. She’d missed so much school from being ill. She was back in a classroom at the moment but had spent lots of time having lessons with Mummy at home. She’d loved having her mother all to herself, especially as they didn’t really do much work but would often go to the park instead and she would sometimes even buy her an ice cream, something she had to keep secret from Abby. Also, being at home meant that she got a break from the children who teased her. Some of the really mean ones called her ‘Illie’: ‘Hey, Illie, why are you at school? Illie, are you going to be sick?’ It made her want to cry. But the worst thing about being ill was having to go to see doctors all the time. They asked so many questions and made her lie on a bed and poked her tummy and put a needle in her arm and stole half her blood and she was worried she wouldn’t ever get it back, even though they said she’d grow more. She hated it. She’d even had to go to hospital where they asked even more questions. Most of them Mummy answered, thank goodness.

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