I stood on the cold Soho street, looking down the metal stairs into the cramped cocktail bar that Kitty
had chosen for my sister’s hen night. It was so ridiculous, fantasizing about what I would have chosen if
I’d been given the task – how well it would have demonstrated my love for her, my forensic knowledge
of who she really was. It was all a futile attempt to paper over my bottomless grief.
I took a couple of st eps down the curved, wrought-iron stairs, and then froze. A couple of pissed girls
squeezed past me, squashing me against the cold metal railings. At least I hadn’t gone to the bottle these
past few days – my pride in that fact somehow propelled me down the rest of the st eps. I st epped into
the bar, looking around. Kitty had reserved a nest of couches at the back, helium balloons weighted
down on the tables, ice buckets filled with bottles stretching across. My sister sat in the middle of a
gaggle of her best friends, a plastic tiara perched on her head at a jaunty angle, a flute of Prosecco held
in her left hand. I remembered when we found out she was left-handed, how her spidery infant scrawl
would run the wrong way down the lines of her school books, to Mum’s eternal frustration. All of these
little, precious pieces of her that added up to a whole person, that I now had to commit to a memory box
held de ep inside.
I approached the table, taking in the gang before Sophie saw me. No sign of Mum: thank God I’d called
that right. Then Sophie looked up, her face freezing in shock. The rest of the group followed her gaze,
and the ones who obviously weren’t up to speed started drunkenly shrieking at me to sit down and grab
a glass. I’d never felt more sober. ‘I’m sorry to turn up like this,’ I said.
Her best friend Kitty, a bit of a prefect from Owl Class onwards, glared at me. The intimidation was
offset by the lurid, flammable ‘Bride’s Best Mate’ sash
that was slung across her black dress. ‘Rachel,’ Sophie said, the syllables slurred, a hand held over her
mouth in shock. ‘Rachel!’ she r epeated, stumbling to her feet and coming over to envelop me in a tipsy
hug. ‘Come and have – I dunno, a glass of water. Girls, budge up for my sister.’ It was almost
impossible not to break down. I hugged her back fiercely.
‘Sophie, I need to talk to you,’ I said into her hair, wrapped tight enough to smell the serum from her
party-ready blow dry. ‘I really don’t want to ruin your night, but can we go outside? It won’t take long.’
Sophie’s smaller than me: she looked up at me, her eyes round with confusion. She’d pushed the boat
out, worn contact lenses instead of her familiar wire-framed glasses. ‘But – can’t we just have a nice
time?’ she pleaded. ‘Is it illegal for me to say I’m so happy you’re here?’ She giggled, hugging me
tighter.
‘I’m sorry, I’m not taking the piss. It’s just so nice to be normal.’ ‘Course we can, but only once we’ve
had five minutes on our own.’ I preferred my old lies – the selfish, addict variety which were only about
pleasing myself. This lie was so painful that it nearly broke me. We stood at the bottom of the spiral
staircase, dodging the few smokers who were brave enough to puff their way through the freezing
February night.
‘Rachel...’ she said, swaying on the stilts of her high heels, a goofy grin on her face. I couldn’t lose
focus. I’d rehearsed this in the mirror, but having her with me made it so much harder. ‘Sophie, I love
you...’ ‘I know that, silly!’ she said, grabbing my hand, her words still slurry. ‘Can we get a drink now?
Sorry... that was in... insensitive.’ ‘Don’t worry about that now,’ I said, holding her arms and looking
into her soft, pretty face. ‘I’m going away for a little bit. There’s a big project in Scotland that they’re
putting me on to, and I’m leaving this weekend.’
‘That’s great!’ she said, face lighting up. ‘So it’s going better again? You seem better, Rachel.’
Lying to her was like a knife in my own ribs: I hated and treasured how much my successes were her
successes. Her face in that second was another treasure for my memory box. ‘Yeah, yeah it is,’ I said.
‘And I am. But I need to tell you a couple of things before I go.’ I watched her bubbliness drain away.
‘What are the couple of things?’ she asked uncertainly.
This was agony. ‘Firstly, how lucky Toby is and how much I hope you’ll be really happy.’ ‘But – you
can come to the wedding?’ I k ept going. ‘Secondly, that you being born was the most fantastic thing that
ever happened to me. It might sound weird, but you’re the love of my life – not in a cre epy way. But I
never felt, like, sibling rivalry, or that you’d taken anything away from me. You were just this gift I’d
been given. When you used to sing to yourself in the mornings, or, there was this time when you’d want
to sle ep with an apple, instead of a teddy. It had to be red.’ She looked so confused, so emotional – I
squeezed the goose-bumped skin on her bare arms and hurried on.
‘What I’m trying to say is, there are a million tiny details that make up you, that I will always remember
until the day I die. Every single one is precious to me.’ ‘Rachel, you’re precious to me! That’s why it’s
been so awful having to shut you out like you’re some kind of frigging devil...’ ‘But I understand why
you had to,’ I said, heartfelt. ‘I put you through so much, and I’m truly sorry. This is the last thing I need
to tell you, and I’m sorry that it’s tonight, on your hen night. If I wasn’t leaving, I wouldn’t do it, but
you have to know.’
‘What?’ she said, voice rising. The cold and the intensity were sobering her up: I felt a flash of regret
that I had to do this, tonight of all nights. ‘Sophie, I found out for absolute definite that Dad and Esther
had an affair. Mum did know it was true, but then she found out that Esther was pregnant, and she
needed to ke ep her under our roof to make sure she had an abortion.’
I could see the battle raging in Sophie’s eyes. She wanted to dismiss me, but she knew me so well.
Something in the calm authority I was projecting, which was costing me so much to maintain, was
working on her now. ‘Rachel, don’t – how can you know that?’ Was I really going to risk this? ‘I heard
it directly. From her.’ Lies come in many different hues. The half lies, grey ones like this one was, are
almost the most betraying. I had heard it from ‘her’, just not the ‘her’ she thought.
Sophie had turned pale by now, a red-tipped hand clamped over her mouth as if she was stopping herself
from retching. ‘Oh, Jesus. Are you sure? Are you really sure it’s true?’ I nodded, hugged her properly.
‘Dad doesn’t know, so Esther’s been able to walk in and out, knowing that she can tap Mum up for
money. That’s why she’s been working for him the past few months.’
‘How could they – how could they do that?’ she wailed. ‘I’m sorry. I needed you to know, and I won’t
be around for a while.’ A sob wracked Sophie’s body, and I wrapped her tighter in my arms. ‘Just try to
leave it alone for this weekend, okay? Try to enjoy your hen, and just let them have their stupid mini
break. If you talk to Mum on the phone, she’s going to try to deny it. You’re better off waiting until you
see her.’
Tears were rolling down her cheeks, wreaking havoc with her make-up. I got a tissue from my bag and
dabbed at her eyes. I went to put my coat around her naked shoulders, but I knew if I stayed any longer,
everything would start to unravel. ‘Sophie, I have to go. I love you so much.’ She grabbed hold of me.
‘No, Rachel! Please don’t leave me with all of this shit.’ She looked up at me, eyes full. ‘You’re the
only one I can trust.’ She paused.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.’ It took all the strength I had to untangle myself from her. ‘I’m sorry,
too,’ I said. ‘For all of it.’ I put my hand on my heart. ‘You’re always here. You always will be.’
I broke away, half running up the dizzying loops of the metal stairs, icy tears freezing on my cheeks like
stalactites. Then I cut through the crowds on Charlotte Street, pulling out my phone in the crush. Amber
answered on the first ring. ‘It’s done,’ I said. ‘Now we just have to wait for Monday.’