Ashleigh and Remy Brett
1972
Aged 10
Ashleigh
Five more minutes . . .
Ashleigh Brett prayed, and screwed her eyes shut at the sound of the bedroom door opening. Lying immobile in her single bed pushed against the wall, she wriggled further under her eiderdown and savoured the last few seconds of warmth, of stillness, knowing that once light had pierced the dark, and people moved about and words were spoken, the day would truly begin, and she would be forced to stir.
Wheels would then be set in motion, driving a machine that would carry her into her future. A machine, the sights and sounds of which she had been dreading since the first mention of the exam, almost a year ago now.
An exam.
Not just a test or a mere quiz, but an exam, a word with so much weight attached to it she could barely say it out loud without wanting to crumple with the effort of holding it on her tongue. This was a new and fearful experience and what scared her the most was how powerful it seemed, taking over each waking thought and wiping all the joy from her usually happy life. Lurking like a dark thing, the monster under the bed, a baddie behind the curtain, ready to pounce the moment she was alone.
A whole year of letting the fear build, of feeling the swirl of nausea in her tummy at the thought. A year of doing her best to bury the worry, and able with relief not to dwell on ittoomuch because a year was a long, long way away. Then six months was far in the future, and then a month felt like an age, and then a week, which meant it was creeping closer ... and now, suddenly, it was today.
Today!
In that moment, it seemed to have arrived in a blink.
‘Rise and shine, little doves!’
There it was, the slightly irritating sound of her mother’s voice, hollering into the small room she shared with her sister.
The room with the Cindy shelf their dad had built. A sturdy white, bold, bracketed affair, on which they displayed their favourite dolls. All the Cindys looked down at her now, as they stood in front of their caravan, with their bike, grill, dog, and backpacks, everything a Cindy doll might require for a decent weekend in the great outdoors. These just a few of a wide array of accessories from gramophones to ironing boards, even a tiny crib. They really did cover all bases when it came to Cindy’s life choices.
They had been avid collectors, she and Remy. Relatives had for years delightedly presented them with new Cindys or Cindy-related items on their birthday and at Christmas. Truth was, however, they didn’t play with them anymore, and Ashleigh for one would ratherhave books on the shelf or her collection of Wade Whimsies, but her dad had built it and it felt like a big deal to ask if they could pack away these treasured things. Her mum had cried when they’d placed their Fisher-Price activity centre and record player into a box destined for the loft; goodness only knew how she’d react to a request for a removal of the dolls.
Ashleigh stared at them, the smiling lookalikes. All seemingly excited to go about their day of adventure. She wished she could be a Cindy, just for a day. More specifically, just fortoday.
Some might think it an odd wish, to sit on a shelf with someone who had the exact same face and physical features as you, but this was not strange to Ashleigh, who stole a glimpse at Remy, her identical twin, on the other side of the room. Identical in looks, build, size, shape, everything, but very different people this morning, as Remy was smiling while Ashleigh had to concentrate on not crying.
‘One egg split in two, one person really, same genes ...’ her mum liked to remind them. Ashleigh didn’t have the heart to say that just the thought of it made her feel a bit sick. Who wanted to behalfan egg? Who wanted to feel like a personsplitin two?
Not her, that was for sure.
With her head still resting in the satisfying dent in the pillow, she opened one eye fully as her mum, Ruthie Brett, drew back the orange-and-brown swirl-patterned curtains to let the yellow glow of the streetlight fill their room. The window, always an indicator of the weather, carried small icy patches in the corners which, close up, looked like snowflakes. She sank down further on to the mattress, feeling the caress of the striped brushed-cotton sheet on her downy legs.
Remy, she noticed, was already sitting up, happily. This irritated her too, the fact that her sister seemed to be taking it all in her stride, as she did everything. She wondered, not for the firsttime, if that egg had been split equally, fairly, because it seemed to her entirely possible that her sister got more of the happy genes, the ones that made you care a bit less. It wasn’t Remy’s fault, but still Ashleigh had to smother the flames of jealousy that leapt inside her, wishing she could be more like her sister, who didn’t seem to sweat things in quite the same way.
‘Seven eights?’ her mum yelled.
‘Fifty-six!’ Remy responded.
‘Okay, this one is for you, Ashleigh, sleepyhead, what’s the capital of Iceland?’
‘Reykjavik,’ she mumbled.Duh! Everyone knew that.
‘My clever babies!’ Her mum, in her lilac housecoat and quilted slippers, danced in the small channel between their beds, her excitement crackling from her like electricity. ‘My clever, clever babies!’
She did this, spoke about them as if she had won a prize, as pride and delight dripped from every syllable. It was nice, sometimes, but not today.
‘I don’t think it’s going to be that kind of exam, Mummy.’ Remy caught her sister’s eye and subtly pulled a face. Ashleigh smiled back. Aged ten, they were already proficient in humouring their mother and understanding the need for it.
‘Well, it’s still good to get your brains warmed up!’
