‘Nope, other way around.’ Her sister smiled at her. ‘Don’t worry, Mum. It’s easy to get us mixed up, everyone does it. It’s hard to tell us apart sometimes.’
Remy sat back in the seat. Her sister was right: itwashard to tell them apart.
Ashleigh and Remy Brett
1975
Aged 13
Ashleigh
‘Right, listen up!’ Mr De Vere clapped and waited for hush in the junior common room. ‘I know we are all excited, but there are a few things I need to remind you of.’ Ashleigh rolled her eyes to make Jacinta and Harry laugh. The three had been tasked with loitering in the quadrangle and helping direct any lost or bewildered guests in the right direction. ‘I want you to have fun, of course – speech day is something we should all enjoy – but also, be aware that you are representing St. Jude’s Academy. I want top buttons done up, ties straight, blazers on and hair brushed.’ Ashleigh patted her locks, which she kept in a tight plait, with any loose curls tamed by a brush and tucked in flat to her head. ‘We have a reputation to uphold. This school has been here for nearly two hundred years, and we don’t want today to be the day our reputation goes down the swanny because of some lapse in judgement from you lot!’
A ripple of laughter swept around the room. He was great, Mr De Vere; fun, handsome, quite trendy when out of school, in his flared corduroys and leather jacket. She had seen him in the Post Office in the holidays, buying stamps. Unlike some of the more stuffy masters, he spoke to them as if they were equals. Everyone had a tiny crush on him. He had long sideburns and reminded her a bit of David Soul.
‘Now, you all have your roles, your tasks, your responsibilities, and I am trusting you to execute them wonderfully! Be polite at all times, and remember you cannot leave with your parents until the end of the school day and have to be signed out in the usual manner by your house master or mistress! No scarpering after lunch like we did in my day!’
There it was again, that laughter, like he was a mate. He was always keen to remind them that he was St. Jude’s alumni and loved it so much he’d come back here to teach.
‘Have a great time. This is your day – a chance to show everyone around our beautiful campus – so enjoy it!’
Ashleigh was glad to be outside, to stretch her legs, as an unidentifiable cramp squeezed low in her gut. It was brief, nothing to worry about.
‘Are your parents coming?’ Jacinta asked, as they made their way from the junior common room to the main quad to take up their posts.
‘Yes, worse luck, and my sister.’
‘Why worse luck? I wish mine were coming, but my dad’s in Hong Kong and my mum’s probably at home with a migraine or a severe case of can’t be bothered.’
Ashleigh laughed; she was funny, Jacinta. Not that they were close, not really, but their interactions were always pleasant enough.
‘I didn’t mean worse luck.’ She regretted her openness in the face of Jacinta’s response. ‘I’m glad they’re coming, kind of.’ Sheswallowed. ‘It’s just that my mum always makes such a big deal out of everything, and my sister’s never been here before, so ...’ This was a small lie. Remy had of course been here once before, but only briefly, long enough to set wheels in motion that had affected her whole life – both of their lives.
‘Consider yourself lucky,’ Harry huffed. ‘My parents will travel in separate cars, and scowl at each other across the marquee over lunch, only smiling or being civil when I’m there. They’re halfway through a divorce and arguing about the house and money. My sister pointed out the other day that they’re not fighting over us! Says it all, really.’
She and Jacinta shared a wide-eyed look. This was quite shocking. She didn’t know anyone who was divorced and couldn’t begin to imagine how a family like that functioned. She’d heard her mum say that divorce was a terrible thing, and that it was awful to be from a broken family. Itsoundedawful, a familybroken, heartbreaking even. She was glad her parents still liked each other.
‘My dad’s got a new girlfriend, and my mum hates her, so’ – he sighed – ‘be happy your parents are coming here together. It’ll be nice!’
‘I guess so.’ She smiled, still processing Harry’s words, and knowing she could never explain just how she felt about her sister coming to see the prize that should have been hers. Not that they had ever mentioned it, not ever. It was a dark and deceitful episode that seemed to have put a splinter in all of their communication. Ashleigh avoided talking about school, sometimes avoided talking to Remy altogether. Preferring not to give her the details of all she was missing out on, this life that should have been hers. The trouble was, all Ashleigh couldthinkto talk aboutwasschool and as it was a topic that was off limits ... It sat like a poisonous thing between them, not to be discussed or prodded, for fear of awakening the whole sorry subject.
Not that it would have been easy to talk about. It was hard enough for her to get it straight in her own mind; how she felt about her place here, her life at this amazing institution and all the opportunities it afforded. But certainly guilty, torn, delighted would do for starters. That, and having to carry a secret had never sat well with her. Her life here at St. Jude’s was undoubtedly wonderful, but it came at a cost, the duplicity and subterfuge around her winning the place a high price for her to pay, especially as it was something she had not chosen. It was conflicting, trying to understand this, but also knowing that, despite their awkwardness, Remy had only ever acted out of love.
It was partly why she chose not to pursue deep friendships here and could never have entertained bringing anyone from school back to her house. Not that she was ashamed of their less-than-grand abode with its lack of spare bedrooms, not that, but rather she feared getting close to someone and blurting out the truth, or worse, her sister blurting out the truth, being exposed as a liar. She had only recently realised that at the end of every school day the way she exhaled deeply and let her muscles uncoil was not the simple reaction to another day done, but rather relief that she had got away with it. Again. It was a good day if no one tapped her on the shoulder and marched her across town to the comprehensive school without its own swimming pool, array of science laboratories, lecture theatres and grounds pretty enough to rival any well-kept park.
‘Jacinta!’ A diminutive woman in a neat navy wool two-piece suit waved from the other side of the quad.
‘Mum!’ Jacinta’s face lit up, and she turned to Ashleigh. ‘Well, whaddya know? I guess my motheriscoming after all!’ The two met on the path and enjoyed a brief hug.
‘Are these your friends? Hello!’ The woman raised a gloved hand and Ashleigh took the opportunity to admire her pillbox hat, the pearls at her neck, her clip-top leather handbag and matchingclickety-clackety kitten heels that made the most pleasing sound on the path. She was smart and fancy. Ashleigh felt the watery rise of inadequacy in her stomach. It was always this way when she met people like Jacinta’s mum; she was aware that she was a little less than. A fraud.
‘Yes!’ Jacinta’s face coloured a little. It was certainly an assumption, but she understood. Far better than admitting that, like her, most people in her year were no more than acquaintances, casual buddies with whom she could sit for lunch, chat to at the beginning and end of class. People to smile or nod at when you passed them in the corridors or on the sports pitch. But proper friends with the kind of connection that Remy and Tony Newman shared, the kind you giggled with until you collapsed, reminisced with about shared experiences, swapped in-jokes and the platonic love that wrapped them in an impenetrable bubble? No, nothing like that. Not even close.
‘This is Ashleigh.’ Jacinta beamed.
‘How do you do, Ashleigh?’
How do you do . . .
