Yeah, right. Whatever you say. Salted caramel. Is that what they call it at the hairdressers?
I poke my tongue out at her, but she knows its all in jest. Thats the great thing about our friendship. We tease each other mercilessly, but we can switch to drying each others tears in a matter of seconds if needs be. And Issy, bless her, has done her fair share of being the shoulder to cry on this year, so its important to remember to laugh about things as much as possible.
They refer to it by number. But its the darkest blonde they do, Issy replies haughtily, running her hand over her locks once more. Youd see for yourself if we were in the right light. This house has terrible natural light, and you know it. Its the price we pay for living on the shady side of the street.
Shes right about that. Even in the height of summer theres a distinct chill in the lounge of the mid-terraced red-brick house we share. I swear we mustve been the only people pulling down furry throws from the back of the sofa to keep warm during the one red-hot week that had passed as the British summer. Even long sunny days had done nothing to rid our lounge of its chilly gloom. And now, on an early-September evening, where its still light outside, both of us are in pyjamas, dressing gowns and super-thick socks, a necessity if were going to meet our annual challenge of making it to the half-term break without caving and putting the heating on.
So, are you going to pour me a glass or that Merlot or what? Im dying of thirst over here.
Youre not exactly encouraging me to share when youre slagging off my hair and saying my jobs easy. Maybe Ill keep the whole bottle to myself instead.
Theres a cheeky glint in Issys eyes as she pulls the bottle to her mouth as though to swig from it. I know shes only messing around, but its still enough to make me worry. Its Friday night. I need that wine.
I never said it was easy, I correct quickly. Just that youve not got the screamers and the over-anxious parents and the snotty noses and the pooey pants to deal with. When the negative aspects of the job were all strung out like that, working as a teaching assistant in a reception class sounded bad. Like a cacophony of noise and hassle and bodily fluids.
Issy shoots me a look. You knew what you were getting into, youve got a degree in child development. Its not exactly a state secret that four-year-olds have accidents and dont know how to use a Kleenex.
I know, I know.
And I cant imagine doing anything else. My oldest friend Connies stuck in a hell-hole of an office all day and she hates every miserable minute of it. Shes crying out to do something more worthwhile than filing and answering phones. School might be exhausting, but there are plenty of rewards too some of the things the kids come out with are hilarious and its great watching them grow and progress day by day.
I do love the kids, I add, especially the little ones. Theyre continually evolving and that moment when they grasp how to do something new theres nothing like it. The pride in their faces
I place my hand over my heart, recalling the happiness on one childs face today as he counted to ten by rote. It had been a touching moment, and one that reminded me how much I love my job.
Youre going to set me off crying at this rate.
Issy rolls her eyes, but the grin that accompanies it is the real giveaway it shows she understands. I might be more of a people person than Issy, but she cares about the kids much more than she outwardly shows. She just does a good job of hiding her love and loyalty. Issy plays her cards very close to her chest.
Its great being with the little ones. I wish theyd have a bit more independence sometimes, though.
Like you said to me, itll get easier. Youll have them whipped into shape by the summer. Theyre used to being mollycoddled at home, thats all. Come on, youll feel better after a glass of wine, she chivvies. And at least theres no alarm going off at some ungodly hour in the morning, so lets put a film on and forget about work. Ive got a Toblerone in the cupboard, too, if you fancy a few little triangular pieces of heaven?
Mmmmm. My mouth waters at the thought. Toblerone. My favourite. That sounds amazing. What do you want to watch?
Its a ridiculous, pointless question. Weve watched the same film every Friday night for the past three months.
Ooh, let me think, Issy replies sarcastically, putting the tip of her index finger to the corner of her lips, as though theres actually a decision to be made here. Her nails are coated in black polish and theres not a single chip to be seen. Typical: Immaculate Issy. After a brief, yet dramatic, pause, she announces Frozen!
I pull the shiny rectangular DVD case from the boxy Ikea bookcase as Issy snuggles into the corner of the settee, pulling the chocolate-brown throw over her knees in an attempt to get cosy, because when it comes to frostiness, 24 Cardigan Close can easily rival an icy Arendelle. Brr!
*
By the time Hans and Anna are capturing the brilliant white moon in their hands as they dance beneath the waterfall, Issy and I are both decidedly more relaxed. A second bottle of red wines been opened and all that remains of the chocolate is the iconic triangular prism box and a screwed-up ball of silver foil strewn on the table. The cares of the week are slowly slipping away; the weekend has truly arrived.
Until the doorbell rings, rudely interrupting the peace.
Issy groans. Cant we leave it? I know theres no way on earth shell get up from that settee; shes set up camp for the night. Begrudgingly, I inch myself into a standing position while she chunters on. Who calls unannounced on a Friday night anyway?
Exactly, I say. It must be important.
Or one of those door-to-door charity collectors.
A ferocious banging follows, five loud knocks that it would be impossible to ignore.
Thatd have to be one desperate charity collector.
I pull my dressing gown more tightly around my waist as I reach for my key from the small hook on the back of the door. The knocking continues, louder and more frantic than before, followed by a voice.
Mon! Mon! Its me!
The desperation in the high-pitched cries urge me into action. The voice is instantly identifiable. I fling the door open and my sister stumbles over the threshold, a bulging black sports bag slung over her shoulder and a wheelie suitcase by her side. Her face is deathly pale in stark contrast to her chocolate-brown hair, and her cheeks are stained with the snail-trail tracks of tears.
Hope! Whats going on?
Im shocked at the state of her. Actually, Im beyond shocked. Im not used to seeing my older sister like this. Hopes always been the stronger of the two of us, the one with the dont mess with me attitude and a permanent look of disdain waiting in the wings to throw at anything or anyone she considers beneath her. But right now she looks fragile and vulnerable, like a frightened kitten in a thunderstorm.
I didnt know where else to go, Hope sobs. Her long, dark hair falls in front of her face as she hunches forwards, a protective veil to hide behind. I know the trick; Ive used it myself.
Start at the beginning. I try to keep my voice calm, although inside Im flailing. Placing my hand on my sisters back, I gently guide her into the living room. Hans and Anna are no longer singing about love being an open door. Issys pressed the pause button at an inopportune moment; the close-up shot of the princess showing her eyes closed and her face contorted. Whats going on?
Start at the beginning. I try to keep my voice calm, although inside Im flailing. Placing my hand on my sisters back, I gently guide her into the living room. Hans and Anna are no longer singing about love being an open door. Issys pressed the pause button at an inopportune moment; the close-up shot of the princess showing her eyes closed and her face contorted. Whats going on?
Its Amara, Hope says finally, before looking up and locking her bleary, bloodshot eyes with mine. Shes thrown me out. She said shes had enough of me pressurising her into telling her parents the truth. She pauses for breath, gulping the air. Ive been patient, havent I, Mon? Its been four years now, but she still wont admit to her parents that were a couple. Four years! Im sick of moving my stuff into the spare room every time they come over, pretending were just best friends sharing a flat. Her shoulders judder as the tears start to fall. All I want is for her to be honest. I dont want to have to hide any more.
What exactly did she say? Issy interjects, moving to the edge of her seat. Do you think she means it? Or is she just angry at the situation and taking it out on you?
Oh, she means it alright, Hope answers with a bitter laugh. Shes ashamed to be with me. Her parents are coming up from London tomorrow and when I told her I thought it was time to come clean, she said thatd be impossible. Hope raises her hands, wiggling her fingers to indicate quotation marks. Its a move full of pain-drenched sarcasm. When I said I was sick of her pulling all the strings in our relationship, fed up of it being fine to hold her hand when were clubbing on a Saturday night or walking around Endcliffe Park on a Sunday morning but having to outright lie when it comes to her family she said she couldnt lie any longer either. She handed me my bag, told me it was over and ordered I pack and leave.
Issy raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow and when she speaks her tone is disbelieving. And you did it without a fuss? Im sorry, Hope, but that doesnt sound like the feisty girl I know. She wouldnt give up and walk out on the love of her life.
Cant you see? Its because I love her! Thats why Ive gone. If Amara cant tell her family that weve been in a relationship, then whats the point in being together anyway? I know Im lucky. Mum was fine with me being gay, once she got her head around it. Amaras parents arent like that. Theyre always on at her to find a nice young man and provide them with grandchildren. If she tells them shes gay, theyll probably disown her.
But even if shes not with you, shes still going to be gay, I reason. I hand her my glass, thinking a sip of alcohol might calm her down. Shes not going to suddenly start lusting over Daniel Craig just because youve moved out. So shell still be lying to them either way.
Hope winces as she sips the Merlot and its only then I remember shes never been a fan of red wine, much preferring a crisp glass of refreshing Pinot Grigio. Ah well, beggars cant be choosers.
I know, Hope answers resignedly. But its easier for her to call an end to it than tell them the truth. If shes on her own, she can make up excuses and fob off the questions. Shell say shes not found the right person yet or that she wants to travel or concentrate on her career. Thatll be more acceptable to her family than the reality.
Concentrating on a career, I snort. Ive heard that one before.
I grind my teeth, determined not to make this about me, but its touched a nerve. I feel brittle, fragile. It comes over me like this every so often, and it makes me mad. These involuntary reactions are all little reminders that however much I profess to have moved on, I still catch my breath at the thought of Justin Crowson. He upped and left and broke my heart, but in just over three months hell be back in Sheffield. The break will be over; we can get back on track. Im clutching tightly to that thought. Its been painfully hard having so little contact with Justin since Christmas, and I hate this feeling of being so distant. Going from inseparable to short, sharp emails and five-minute phone conversations has been like losing a limb.
Its times like this Im actually glad to be eternally single, Issy replies. You Brown girls sure know how to get shat on from a great height.
Issy hasnt had so much as a one-night fling in the last eighteen months, let alone anything more. Drunken snogs are her speciality, but nothing ever goes further. Shes adamant shes holding out for Mr Right, the man shell marry and ride off into the sunset with.
Well, I say, cutting Issy off before she says anything that starts Hope off blubbering again, you can stay here for as long as you need to. The futon in the spare rooms not all that comfy, but youre very welcome to crash on it. And right now Im going to get you a glass of your own. Have some more wine and watch the end of Frozen with us. Thatll make everything seem a bit brighter.
That set Hope off crying again. Shes never been an especially girly girl and in her current state, the thought of princessy Disney films was probably enough to push her over the edge.
Ill need more than one glass of wine to get through Frozen, no matter how big it is, Hope says.
You make it sound like an endurance test rather than an animated film. Issy laughs, but not unkindly, as I move into the kitchen to fetch a glass. Its hardly scaling Everest!
It might as well be. You two are bloody obsessed with that film. Even the kids at school have had enough of it now.
Hope works with Issy and me at Clarke Road Primary, teaching the Year 4s. She never planned to go into teaching falling into it out of necessity rather than a vocational calling but jobs related to her degree in visual arts are few and far between. At least this way shes able to use her imagination in the classroom now and again, even if there isnt as much freedom as shed like. Creativitys not exactly a priority in the curriculum these days but Hopes eye-catching display boards are always spectacular, a talking point with staff and pupils alike.
I peep around the doorframe, mock horror on my face at Hope rejecting my favourite film of all time. Frozens not a fad, its a way of life! Its a story of sisterhood and love for all ages. And its one of the best films to sing along to. Theres nothing like belting out Let It Go at the top of your lungs to make everything better.
Excuse me if Ive not quite got your level of optimism, Hope mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.
I can see her shivering from here, and Ive a sneaky suspicion that its not just her body responding to the chilly temperature in the house. Maybe the realisation that she no longer lives with her gorgeous girlfriend in a modern, city-centre apartment but is crashing out with her baby sister in what is little better than student digs is hitting home.
Anyway, Im not sure the neighbours will thank us, Hope says wryly. Were hardly Little Mix, are we?
Ah, I reply with a smile, but thats the best thing about living near the university. Everyone else on the street is a student. Most of them arent even back until the end of the month, and the ones that are will either be out in town or having a party involving something far more raucous than the three of us pretending to be Elsa.