Victoria Fox - The Santiago Sisters

In a depressing instant, Calida’s life rolled out ahead of her, as average as the face she saw whenever she looked in the mirror. She would always be behind the camera … never in front of it. Teresita was different. She was destined for more. And in her mind’s horizon, before she drowned in sleep, Calida glimpsed the ship that was coming to take one of them away, sailing stealthily through the night towards them.

At fourteen, Teresa Santiago’s body was changing. Her breasts were growing—now, when she put her hands on them, their fullness filled her palm. She compared them with Calida’s, glimpsing her twin’s flatter chest under a smock, and wondered why some girls had them and others didn’t. Her legs were lengthening and her waist was shapely. There was hazy fuzz between her thighs. It reminded her of Señorita Gonzalez in the stables: the mysteries of the body that played on a loop in her mind.

Today, the house was empty. Teresa ventured into her mama’s bedroom and sat at the dressing table. It was a claw-footed thing in eggshell-beige with an oval glass top: a relic from Julia’s former life, and at odds with the austerity of the rest of the farm. Above the dresser was a mirror, mottled where it met its frame, and in it Teresa appraised her reflection, the effect uncanny because she looked so like Julia in her younger years that it could well have been the same person. She reached for a brush and ran it through her hair, black as coal and sheer as silk. Her eyes were green, wide, and Cleopatric, and her brows were thick. Her mouth was a Cupid’s bow.

Your beauty will serve you well … Julia’s voice reached her—or was it her own? It will be the thing that gets you out of here. She clung to it, her pass, her ticket to freedom: the one thing she had that was all hers, not her twin’s, not anyone else’s.

Her reflection gazed back at her for so long that she began to lose her grip on which was the real version—the one here or the one in the mirror.

Quickly, she left the room.

Calida wasn’t speaking to her. Teresa understood why, but the further she climbed in, the deeper she dug, the harder it became to turn back. She was testing her beauty; how far it would take her and the currency it held—and Daniel would give her her answer.

Every time she felt bad about Calida, knowing how her sister adored him, she reminded herself of the many things Calida had taken from her. Forever being the one in control, telling Teresa what she could and couldn’t do, always making the decisions and treating her like a child. Being the apple of their father’s eye, the one people trusted and relied on and respected. Being born first: the eternal offence.

What did Teresa have? Her looks. They were all she had.

Many times she wanted to forget the whole thing, say sorry to Calida and go back to how they were. But then she thought of the cracks in their companionship, and the glaring rift where she had kept the facts of their father’s death to herself. Teresa felt wronged by it, made to protect his affair and then watch him die and feel responsible for it. Calida hadn’t had to go through that, had she? Her memories of Diego were untainted. Teresa carried the burden and resented her sister for it.

Moreover, her father and Gonzalez had proven one unambiguous truth: that there was no justice, no integrity when it came to love. In an adult world, it was every person for herself: a question of survival. Realising that was just part of growing up.

Friday night, she made a decision. Daniel was in town—she had overheard him making arrangements to meet at Luz de Las Estrellas.

Teresa prepared carefully: her best outfit, lashings of mascara, high heels she had practised walking in. Finally ready, she stumbled into the kitchen—only to find that Calida had beaten her to it. Her sister was in the process of sneaking out of the door. Calida’s face was painted with lipstick and eye shadow, badly applied, and with a pang Teresa thought of the dozens of times their mama had taught her to put on make-up and had never done the same for Calida. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

Calida was defiant. ‘To find Daniel.’

‘Oh. So am I.’

Calida broke out and went ahead down the lane. Teresa followed, seeing her twin’s balled fists and tight shoulders and feeling sorry but at the same time proud.

Finally, here was something she could take control of. A judgement she alone could make. Besides, why was it fair that Calida got Daniel all to herself? Did she feel entitled, because she was older? Did that mean Teresa deserved only scraps for the rest of her life? In truth, she had no feelings for Daniel. He was a gaucho, not a billionaire, and he had Calida’s soul, the soul of the ranch, the soul of Argentina …

Her own soul felt confused.

But she had to know if he liked her. If beauty was everything Julia vowed it was. Daniel was a test, the results of which decided her survival in the outside world.

The moon was whole in the sky, illuminating the track that led the half-mile to the highway. When they reached the road, Calida looked like an abandoned child, shivering in her skirt and top, her arms wrapped round her waist.

‘How are you going to get there?’ Teresa asked.

‘I’ll think of something. I don’t need you.’

Teresa put her arm out to hail a car. Calida slapped it down.

‘Someone will stop!’

‘That’s the idea.’

It wasn’t long before a truck pulled over.

‘Hi.’ Teresa leaned in the window. She looked older than she was: they could easily have been sixteen-year-old friends on a night out. ‘Give us a ride?’

‘Jump right in.’

She slid on to the back seat. Calida hesitated, before cutting her losses and joining her. The girls sat as far apart as possible, Calida staring resolutely out of the window at nothing, hating every perilous moment but unwilling to allow her sister to go alone. The man driving was middle-aged, with thinning hair. He wore a beige shirt and slacks. Teresa couldn’t see his face, only his darting eyes in the rear-view mirror.

‘Where you headed?’ he asked as the car pulled away.

‘Las Estrellas,’ Teresa answered.

The man sneered. ‘You old enough?’

‘We’re eighteen.’

His eyebrow lifted. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Something the matter with your amiga ?’

‘She’s shy.’

‘You’re the chatty one,’ he said. ‘I like that.’

Teresa took her eyes from the man’s. Her heart was beating like crazy. The way the man ogled her, like a bear in need of a meal. She could say or do anything and he would still want her. She could ask for anything and he would say yes.

Minutes later, their ride pulled up outside the club. Calida got out and slammed the door. The entrance was heaving. A crowd swigged from beer bottles, blowing smoke into the air. The deep, heady thrum of music leaked out to the street.

A guy on the door stepped forward. ‘ID,’ he demanded.

Teresa lifted her chin. ‘I don’t have mine. I’m eighteen.’

‘Sure you are. ID, or you’re not coming in.’

Teresa batted her lashes. ‘Come on, give me a break …’

The man looked over her head to the next in line. Scowling, Teresa stepped to the side. Just as she was working out a Plan B she saw Daniel Cabrera emerge from the club, his arm round an attractive blonde. Behind her, Calida stiffened, appalled at the notion he had a girlfriend. Teresa stalked over without a backward glance.

‘Hi,’ she said.

Daniel was shocked. ‘What are you doing here?’ Then: ‘Calida? Is that you?’

Teresa sensed rather than saw her sister approach. She stood her ground. ‘We came separately,’ she said.