‘Good, thank you.’ She kept her vowels well rounded, emulating the way Jacinta spoke.
‘And this is Harry.’ Jacinta gestured towards the boy.
‘Hello, Harry.’
‘Hello, Mrs Wentworth.’
Mrs Wentworth ... yes, of course!Ashleigh knew she should have addressed the woman in this way and made a mental note for the future.
‘Well, this is all very charming!’ Mrs Wentworth laughed without making a noise. ‘What are you planning on doing when you leave, Ashleigh?’
‘Oh, probably just go home. My mum will have cooked tea.’
This time her laugh was audible, but only just. The woman’s nose gave a slight wrinkle of distaste. ‘I meant when you leave St. Jude’s.’Of course you did ...‘We’ve told Jacinta it can only be Oxbridge and that she should read the law like her father and grandfather. Her brother is currently at Brasenose.’ The woman spoke with reverence, and as if Ashleigh should be aware of what this meant.
‘That’s good,’ she managed.
‘I’m hoping for medicine, Christ’s, Cambridge,’ Harry piped up confidently, part of the club. ‘It’s where my father went.’
‘Wonderful!’ Mrs Wentworth almost glowed with approval.
And there it was . . .
Just a tingle at first, but quickly this spread into something almost paralysing. A feeling. The same feeling she had felt at the prospect of sitting the entrance exam. A heaviness in her limbs, a sickness in her gut and a pressure that sat across her shoulders and pushed her down and down ...law or medicine ... Oxbridge ...too much, all much too much for her to cope with. She was without doubt brighter than Jacinta and Harry; her grades alone proved this. But the idea that she was ascapableas them, asworthyas them, not at all. They carried a confidence that eluded her, a self-belief that meant they would set their goals, aim high and succeed. But for Ashleigh? She was not from the same stock. A scholarship girl. Her dad sold concrete, her mum made shepherd’s pie and fussed over the arrangement of the faux flowers on her dining table. A girl who had never sat the entrance exam because of that tingle, that feeling – like she was in freefall.
Remy
Remy closed her bedroom door and took a beat on the top stair, steeling herself for the day ahead as she peered across the narrow hallway into the room she used to share with her sister. A space she now avoided.
‘Come on, little doves, flutter up to bed!’
She could still hear her mum saying that when they were small:‘Up you fly!’
It hurt to think of it, even now, nearly three years later; the casual nature of her sister’s request, spoken over supper, as she sat in her green wool blazer and long skirt.
‘Okay, so I was thinking’ – Ashleigh’s voice was clear and confident, addressing their parents who hung on her every word – ‘I’d quite like my own bedroom. Can I move into the little room?’
Remy had felt winded, stunned, and then came the unexpected bloom of tears. Hot, snaking glass rods of distress that trickled down her cheeks. Her mum and dad didn’t notice, staring at Ashleigh as she spoke. For Remy, it seemed like the beginning of the end to have separate rooms, not to wake and see her sister’s face looking back at her. There was already a thin sheet of separation that had never existed between them before, but with different friends, different schools, different expectations and what felt like a different standard in their education, this request felt a lot like punishment for a crime she didn’t know she had committed.
Only that wasn’t true: shedidknow, and so did Ashleigh.
It seemed that her actions on exam day were at the heart of their separation, and it killed her.
‘If that’s what you would like, love,’ her mother replied, keenly. ‘I suppose I can move my sewing machine up into the loft and your dad can find a place for all the boxes.’
‘Great!’ Ashleigh had forked baked spud and beans into her mouth, but avoided eye contact with her, because she would have known – Remy was convinced that her sister would haveknownwhat this meant, and how itfelt.
‘I suppose it makes sense in the long run, all that homework and proper studying, special textbooks. Clever girl.’
Remy had stared at her mother. What did she think, that her textbooks were less informative, riddled with errors, books for dumdums? Frustration had bubbled in her veins, and she’d stared at Ashleigh, and in her gaze she fired the words,We both know the truth and I know that’s why you can’t look at me and don’t want to see me when you wake up in the morning. We both know it ...It was doubly galling because she rarely thought about the bloody exam, but it was obviously a big deal for her sister, who had changed so much since starting at St. Jude’s. Her voice was different, her mood a little sullen, her expression serious, and she never shared anything about her school life, not a thing, as if Remy wasn’t worthy of being party to such things. Excluded. She wasn’t sure she’d evenlikethe girl if she met her for the first time now. Not that she’d share this with anyone, ever. Not even Tony.
‘In fact,’ her dad had piped up, ‘why doesn’tRemymove into the little room, give you the space you need?’
‘Yes, that’s a brilliant idea!’ She had jumped up. ‘Why don’t I? Or better still, why don’t I just put my bed in the shed and Ashleigh can have both rooms? One to sleep in and one for all her very important, special, clever textbooks!’
‘There she is!’ Her dad pulled her from these thoughts now, calling upstairs, ‘Come on, love, car’s running!’ He rubbed his palms together as if it were cold.
‘Coming.’ She reluctantly trod the stairs, stepping out of the house and watching as her dad shut the front door behind them and pushed it, twice, just to double-check it was properly closed. Her mum was already buckled up in the front seat.
