My Sister’s face
By Janet Baldey
It was when my sister’s
heart stopped beating that suspicion dawned. We weren’t close and I’d been called to her
bedside as her only living relative, my parents having recently died - I hadn’t
attended their funeral, as I said, we weren’t close.
Her funeral did nothing to assuage my unease. It was a lavish affair, obviously orchestrated
from beyond the grave and without a doubt, my parent’s wishes had been followed
explicitly. Anne-Marie’s ornate casket dominated the centre of a large private room
in a luxurious hotel, sited in the best part of town. The décor was immaculate, crystal sparkled and
fine wine flowed. Canapes were being handed
round on silver platters by dark suited waiters and the mellow sound of harps was
piped from every corner. I couldn’t help
wondering whether the arrangements would have been so extravagant if it had
been my funeral. I thought not.
I weaved my way through the other mourners all suitably dressed
in the obligatory black. I knew none of
these people, my parents always made sure I was kept out of the way when they
held their soirees although Anne Marie was paraded before them, wearing yet
another new party frock in some pastel shade or other. My parents liked pale colours, which made me
all the more determined not to.
At last, I stood by the side of her coffin. Again, I stared at her face, trying to find
some family likeness. I searched hard but could see none. She was fair and I was dark and all at once I
saw myself through my parents’ eyes. The
plain and awkward younger daughter. Then,
suddenly something caught my eye and an icy hand squeezed my heart. I gasped.
If one looked hard, as I was doing, you could see that her face was
starting to degrade. Her hands were artfully arranged in front of her but instead
of the blue tracery of veins, it looked as though they were strung together with
wires. The room began to jerk and dance around me
and I clutched at the white satin lining the casket. There was the sound of agitated whispering and
I heard a low voice mutter something. As
limp as a wet lettuce, I slumped and, as I did, felt a strong arm hold me
upright and I was escorted out of the room and into a small office where I was
lowered into a chair.
“Here. Drink this.” A
glass was pressed into my hand and reluctantly I took a sip. Expecting water, I was shocked into
consciousness as the bitter liquid burned my throat.
“We thought you knew.”
The voice came from Mr Ambrose, the family solicitor. Open-mouthed, I watched him as the unthinkable
sank in. He must have read my
expression, because his buttoned-up exterior, softened.
“Don’t
think too badly of them. You must
remember that before you came along they’d given up hope of ever having a child
of their own. So, they decided on the
next best thing and hence Anne Marie.
She filled a need and very soon they grew to love her as if……” His voiced trailed away.
“as if she were real.”
My unspoken words finished off his sentence. I was appalled. I’d grown used to feeling inferior to
Anne-Marie. She was the bright, glowing
elder daughter, the apple of my parent’s eyes, and I was the runt. I saw the unease in Mr Ambrose’s eyes as he
struggled for words and I wondered if he had any idea of what it had been like
growing up in a family like mine.
Sometimes it felt as though I was an annoying fly on the wall, at best
disregarded and at worse swatted out of the way. All my parent’s ministrations were directed
towards Anne-Marie. My mother’s face lit
up when she entered the room and immediately the spotlight fell upon her and I
was ignored. I could well understand
why. Tall, slim and poised, no blemish
ever spoiled the perfection of her skin and she looked equally as good wearing
her school uniform as she did the frothy dresses my parents chose for her. Clever
too, all her grades were A-plus starred, as my parents were keen to tell their
friends, disregarding their glazed eyes.
My A’s, B’s and occasional C’s were not mentioned. I was the polar opposite of my brilliant
elder sister and my looks were not helped by my sulky resentment. It was a poisonous shock to realise all that
time I’d been jealous of a facsimile.
During my childhood, as far as I was aware, the only
advantage I had was that I was healthy and Anne-Marie was not. Every six months she failed, her complexion
dulled her hair grew lank and she took to her bed. Within days she was admitted to hospital. “For treatment. You must be very kind to her Trudy.” There was invariably a look of reproof on my
mother’s face as she said this. To me,
these hospital forays were a welcome respite.
For a week or so, I had my mother to myself and I was so happy.
However, my delight never lasted long. Inevitably Anne-Marie would re-appear and the
status quo would resume. Jealousy is a
terrible thing, it defiles the soul and it wasn’t until I’d left home and met
Laura that I found true contentment.
Laura was the one who bolstered my shattered ego, she was the one who
praised the colour of my eyes, convinced me that I was slim and coaxed me out
of shapeless garments and into high fashion. However, even Laura could never have imagined
what I now knew to be the truth and I wondered what her reaction would be. I
felt a longing to be with her. I yearned
to listen to her voice, as calm as rippling water flowing over pebbles. In her cool, matter-of fact way, she would
make sense of people like my parents who preferred perfection over their own flesh
and blood.
I came to, realising that Mr Ambrose was talking to me. “Of course, although your parents were
wealthy people, looking after Anne-Marie was an expensive business, state of
the art technology does not come cheap and there were all those upgrades…” He
sighed.
Upgrades, of course. That was what they were. Anne-Marie had never seen the inside of a
hospital, as such. My head ached as I
fought to come to terms with the fact that I had been fighting a robot and had
lost. Of course, I knew they were now
common but the ones I’d seen were clunky-looking mannikins used for chores
no-one else wanted to do. I had no idea
they had become so sophisticated. Of
course, money talked as it always did.
I tried to concentrate on Mr Ambrose. He was talking money now and as suddenly as
if someone had thrown iced water over me, I came too. The small sum he mentioned was, to me, not
small at all. If we were careful, and
thrifty Laura would make sure we were, there was enough to make all our dreams
come true. I felt like jumping for joy.
My past might have been a desert but I was head for the sunny uplands.
Copyright Janet
Baldey
