Like that was possible. On either front.
“Because that’s what you like about Sophie. Her personality.” They were halfway down the stairs, Sunny raising her voice so she could be heard over the thump of her own footsteps.
“Sunny.” Win directed a meaningful look towards the light coming from the kitchen doorway.
Her parents knew. When Win made a plan, she carried it out. Like she’d said to Freya, she’d waited until after Liu and Dom’s wedding that summer, then she’d sat her parents down at the dining room table and told them she was a lesbian.
There’d been some shock, some concern, some tears. There had also been love and effort. But acceptance was a slow process – Win’s mythical future husband no longer crept into every other conversation, but her mythical future wife had yet to make an appearance – and Sunny announcing “WIN HAS A CRUSH ON A GIRL CALLED SOPHIE” wasn’t something Win felt ready for five minutes before leaving the house.
In the lounge, Dad dozed, socks and sliders up on the recliner, Sky News scrolling on mute in the background, although he stirred long enough to tell Win that there was no shame in leaving a party early if she wasn’t enjoying herself. Mama was still in the kitchen, tidying up from dinner.
“Stay close to meimei,” Mama said, giving Win a distracted pat on the arm while frowning at her youngest. “This is her first party. No trouble.”
It was Win’s first party too but she thought better of mentioning it, in the same way that she made no impossible promises about keeping Sunny out of trouble. At the door, Win went for the same faded Converse she’d worn all day, Sunny putting her feet into something that more closely resembled a collage put together by an enthusiastic toddler than trainers designed by someone so exclusive they’d cost every last penny of the money she got at New Year.
“Like I can cause trouble dressed like a nun…” Sunny started as they walked down the drive, and Win tipped her head back and silently begged the sky for a reprieve. “… boobs shrouded beneath my habit. Lucas won’t even look at me, let alone think about kissing me.”
“Look. Either someone wants to kiss you or they don’t.” Win double-checked the pockets of her tracksuit bottoms – phone, money, house keys, car keys. “A tiny dress and a push-up bra isn’t going to change that.”
“Hard disagree.”
“That’s because you want boys to kiss you. They’re shallow. Girls are different.”
“Yes but you’re the one who wants a girl to kiss her, not me.”
Win felt like banging her forehead repeatedly on the roof of the car before she got in it.
“Stop talking. You’re annoying me.”
“I can annoy you without talking…”
Win gave her sister a plaintive look. “That wasn’t supposed to be a challenge.”
SOPHIE
Sophie’s room was the best in the house – Mum had sacrificed size for an ensuite and Christopher had claimed the loft extension for his lair. Next to her bed was a huge bay window looking over the drive, and there was enough wall space that, even with a double wardrobe and a chest of drawers, there was still room for posters and photos in a haphazard jigsaw of charity-shop frames.
Sophie lay on her bed and tried to talk herself out of The Fear.
That parcel, finding out about Lucas, then seeing Ryan’s name … it was a lot to process. The hurt and confusion that came with it took energy Sophie couldn’t afford to spare and anxiety gnawed away at what was left. She feared the slide from how she felt now to how she might feel later tonight – or tomorrow. More than anything, she feared that once it started it wouldn’t stop – that she’d find herself hurtling towards the bottom once more.
She’d been there before. Two months ago, when she’d have expected her medication to make things better, she’d been worse than ever before. The drugs she was on brought on an almost insurmountable fatigue and left her so nauseous that she’d sobbed through every meal. On her worst days Mum had to hold a straw to her lips because her arms were too heavy to lift them herself; even breathing became an effort. On her best – on the days she dragged herself to school with all the verve of a week-old corpse – Sophie would struggle through lessons and spend break crying in the toilet or trying to get comfortable in the sick bay.
Back then she’d been frightened beyond all reason that this was her life now. She’d been betrayed. Told this would help. At her lowest, she’d prayed to come off her meds and go back to the rotation of pain she’d been so desperate to be rid of.
Then her rheumatologist had given her something different. Changed her meds and changed her life. Nowadays the pain was OK – not great, but survivable, the fatigue less persistently pervasive.
That something could happen, that she might relapse back into living like that, was a threat that terrified her.
When the alarm went off on her phone, Sophie hit snooze.
She probably could have showered, made a real effort with her clothes and her hair. But there was always the risk of more to come from Freya’s parcel. More names, more uncertainty, more strain on an already half-broken heart.
Better to save herself with a little dry shampoo and a spritz of Marc Jacobs.
Next time the alarm sounded, Sophie turned it off and put some music on for motivation.
“Get up.”
She stayed where she was, staring at the ceiling.
“Come on.”
There were clothes heaped on the window seat, outfits she’d shortlisted the day before that didn’t feel right today: a couple of dresses Mum had helped order – smaller sizes than she’d ever needed before that would invite comment on how “good” she looked from people who didn’t realise it wasn’t a compliment if it wasn’t a choice.
Opening her wardrobe, Sophie grabbed a shirt new enough that she’d not worn it a thousand times already. It was bold and bright, tropical birds so loud they’d obliterate any chance someone had of noticing the shape of the girl who wore them.
Put it with shorts and high-tops and she wouldn’t hate seeing herself in other people’s pictures.
Make-up next. Steroids had given her a mild case of moon-face that made contouring compulsory and didn’t leave much time for her eyes. When Sophie reached for a fast-to-apply liner, her hand wavered and her heart failed her.
It was three for two so I got you one.
But I never wear black…
Which is why this one is green.
Freya had dropped it into the bag Sophie was carrying and kissed her on the forehead.
You’re welcome.
Crying wasn’t an option. Not ten minutes before Win would be here to collect her. Instead of falling down the rabbit hole of thinking about Freya, Sophie thought of Win. How lucky Sunny was to have a sister that enabled her crushes – Sophie had once said something nice about one of her brother’s friends and Christopher had done nothing but torture her until she could no longer risk being in the house if his friends were over.
And maybe there was a part of her that felt grateful on a smaller, more selfish level. She’d liked having Win around this afternoon, someone to share a secret with so that it didn’t weigh as heavily as all the others Sophie carried.