Laura Elliot - The Lost Sister

I wore my striped tank top to Sheila’s party, my best Levi’s and my new Adidas trainers. I remember so many things about that night. They come back to me in fragments. How Rory Jones broke a piece of Mrs Brogan’s precious Aynsley china. Sheila cried as she swept up the pieces but no one else cared. I remember how we turned away in disgust, but laughing, when Rick Martin threw up in the kitchen sink. I remember my reflection in the mirror with the gilt-edge frame that hung above the mantelpiece. I danced with Jeremy, cheek-to-cheek, and I could see the back of his head, hear my bangles jangling when I raised my hand and stroked my fingers through his thick blond hair. Our bodies, made for each other, our feet moving to the same step, and he was hard when he pressed against me, so hard it hurt, almost, and that, too, was part of the pleasure. He whispered into my ear, told me he loved me, wanted me, his breath hot on my neck, and I wondered if we dared slip away, slip upstairs to one of the empty bedrooms, and what would happen then, would we…could I…and he held me tighter still as we danced past the mirror, danced in a slow dark circle, oblivious to what was taking place on the bend of the coast road leading to Heron Cove.

I remember the silence that settled over the party when Sheila came into the living room with a policewoman. The policewoman’s mouth seemed full of glass when she tried to explain why a squad car was waiting outside to bring me home. I remember the room swaying. Jeremy tried to catch me before I fell. My head banged off the edge of the table. I don’t remember any pain. My new trainers struck out in front of me. Funny thing to remember, my heels clamped together, forcing my toes into a V. I don’t remember being lifted to my feet, but someone must have done so because I know I could never have managed to stand on my own. And I remember the whispering that started when the policewoman took my arm and led me away from the party. Jeremy came with me but I don’t remember anything he said to me, or if the policewoman spoke to either of us.

Lights were burning in the windows of Heron Cove. Doors were open. Neighbours were clustered in huddles in the hall and the kitchen. I remember their faces, Lydia’s tears. Julie’s screams as she broke free from Paul’s arms and ran towards me. And I remember thinking, as we held each other, that our lives had changed utterly and for ever.

The attic in Havenswalk is reached by a spiral staircase. A handy place for dumping broken furniture that has some possibility of being repaired but is inevitably forgotten once the door closes. Next year, Cathy plans to convert the attic into a dance studio but, for now, it is a repository for all the bric-a-brac she and Alma have acquired and abandoned since they moved to New Zealand.

She switches on the light and browses for an hour among boxes and crates, sifts through account ledgers and old books that release the fusty smell of neglected papers. She stops to examine some clothes and toys belonging to Conor, items she decided to save for the memories they evoke. The silence is uneasy. She suspects unseen creatures lurking in the eaves and crannies, but only the spiders ignore her intrusion and continue spinning in gauzy corners.

The edge of the moon shifts from her gaze as she moves the broken frame of an awning to one side. It is heavy and almost topples over. She prevents it falling and waking everyone. Underneath it, she finds a wicker picnic basket. The weave is broken in places. Snapped reeds jut outwards and cobwebs trail like a shiver across her fingers when she snaps open the rusting lock. Her letters to Nirvana. Carefully she lifts them out. They are tied together with an elastic band that breaks with an exhausted snap when she stretches it.

She hesitates, undecided. Does she really want to delve into the past and relive those fragmented years when hormones, confusion and unresolved heartache formed their own convulsive mix? Never look back, Rebecca used to say. Nothing but dust around corners.

The date on the first letters startles her. Was she only eight years old when she wrote it? She always imagined she was older, probably about ten. The early ones were written on notepaper with delicate border drawings, Edwardian ladies with parasols and lacy, ruffled collars. A writing set, she remembers, given to her by Lydia Mulvaney as a starter present. Write to your mother, Lydia said, and when you are sleeping she will read your letters. Angels fly at midnight. Their first stop is home.

Cathy smiles, remembering how the image of hovering angels had comforted her and how, when the fancy notepaper ran out, she wrote on the torn-out pages of copybooks and refill pads, writing by torch light at night when the house was quiet, secret hours under a duvet tent.

If she read the letters before contacting Rebecca her courage would have failed her. Yet the die has been cast by now, Conor at her heels, demanding…ring them now…now…

Her sisters are on their way. She is still amazed that Rebecca changed her mind. Amazed and frightened and relieved in equal measure. She rang her sisters seeking closure but how that closure is to be achieved is impossible to tell. Cathy tries not to panic. Has she made the worst mistake of her life–or is this the beginning of healing, the closing of a wound that has festered for far too long? She sinks to a cast-off settee and begins to read.

Meadow Lark

Wicklow

19 August 1985

Dear Mammy,

How are you and Daddy today? We are having a nice holiday in Meadow Lark with the Morans. We call them Auntie Olive and Uncle Steve. They have lots of rooms and no kids, only horses. Uncle Steve taut us to ride a pony called Zorbo. Lauren is afrayd to go on him. When Uncle Steve lift her up she cry and cry. But she wont fall and brake her legs again. A pony is not a car. Auntie Olive brothe her and me to the shops for froks and socks and nickers and jeans and tops and shoes. She wont let Nero sleep on the bed with Becks. No hairs on the dubay or dog pee smell in her posh house. Becks is cross as a bare because Nero has to sleep in a shed and he barks all night. Julie hates it here. She hates living in the sticks and she hates the staybell smells and not being with Paul. Auntie Olive is a teecher. She has big glasses like a owl eyes. She makes me rite lesons and spell proper. I love Zorbo. I will rite more tomorrow.

XXXXXXXXX to you and Daddy

Cathy

Heron Cove

21 August 1985

Dear Mammy,

We are home again and Becks is cross as a bare. The row was bad. Uncle Steve gave out lots to her about Lauren. No one knew I was outside the door. Auntie Olive said its right he worry. She want to mind Lauren in Meadow Lark and help her kope with being a orpan. Becks said no way ho-say. She told Uncle Steve to shove his opinins up his bum and called Auntie Olive a inturfearing old cow. Auntie Olive keep hugging Lauren at the train station and saying poor pet poor pet and Lauren was like a swan with a hangy neck. She wants to live in Meadow Lark and ware nice froks. Becks said we have to call them Mr and Mrs Moran because they are not real family. Mrs Moran was Mammy’s pal when they were little girls but Becks says she is a spy like the woman with the black case. Julie is glad to be home as well. She wants to start the band again but Becks said no way ho-say neybours will talk.

I miss you so much it makes me sick. Tell Daddy I miss him as well as you. I will rite more tomorrow. I love Zorbo.

XXXXXXXXX to you and Daddy

Cathy

26 December 1985

Dear Mammy,

Xmas Day is over. The only thing that made me cry was the Xmas songs at mass and Lauren hating the ballet book I gave her for her present. Kevin gave me sope on a rope and I gave him a Star Wars annual. The Morans called with lots of presents. We have to furgive and furget and they will not take Lauren away only for holidays. I got a pair of jeans. Becks got a really posh food mixer. Julie got a tiket for a rock concert and Lauren got a golden frock with a frill. Gramps gave us money and was drunk. The best the very best present was from Becks. Remember when I told you about finding your hair brush in the dressing table with your hair still in it and how she took it from me because I was doing her head in with crying? She gave me a love heart locket with your hair inside it and photos of you and Daddy. She is the best, the very very best. After dinner we went for a walk. All the waves were white. The wind made my skin sore. We saw the heron. Then we saw Jeremy with Rose More. Rebecca said don’t look don’t look see if I give a hoot and stuck her nose up in the air when we walk past. Julie called him a bad word. I wont write it down. It begins with W. We fed the swans. The heron flew away. Becks cried when we came home. I thought she was mad about Jeremy not hanging around greef but it was about the food mixer. She kept pointing at it and saying my life has come to this, a f…ing food mixer.