Weekend Reading

This week Lucy finds some strange photos of her missing sister, Deb, which raise new suspicions about her sudden departure.

Hallowe’en

Since my last letter, Ma has calmed down, no more ghosts in the garden although this is the season for them so I’m not ruling out another midnight scene. She’s even talking about doing a small part in the Christmas show. I never thought I’d be glad to have her warbling and trilling around the house again! I think it’s Annie because she keeps singing ‘Tomorrow . . . tomorrow . . .’.    

  Today, I slept all day. Now I’m on duty keeping the home fires burning. Well the plastic coals above the three bars of the heater – they’re all lit, even though Da says not to put them all on at the one time. I had to stay here in case you turned up among the hobgoblins and vampires looking for sweets and peanuts. Ma and Da – wonders! – have gone to a knees-up for the Crowleys who are emigrating to Cork. Kind of a pity because Denis is a fine thing.

  When I woke this morning after my sleepathon I had a fit and decided to clean out our room. Or at least my stuff. Call it late spring cleaning. Ma would have a caniption if I touched anything of yours. Not that I planned to. Did I tell you she keeps your bed made up, changing it every week, in case you show up? I found your photo album – under my bed – and decided to take a peek. It’s not the same thing as reading a diary is it? After all the photos are meant to be shared with people, your friends and your grandchildren. What will they make of the collection I wonder?

  The best picture is the one of Ma and Da probably on their honeymoon. Ma in a floaty stripey summer dress, Da in a Hawaiian shirt, wherever he got that! They’re sitting outside an ice cream parlour sharing what looks like a knickerbocker glory, posing with their long spoons crossed, feeding each other. It’s a bit corny but they look young and happy, laughing as if nothing could harm them.

  I remember them like that once. We went for a picnic somewhere in the Wicklow hills. I must have been about five and you would have been eight. It was one of those sunny days when you forget that it ever rains here. They spread a red rug near a splashy waterfall. Ma dished out the egg sandwiches and Da poured lemonade. Just like the Swiss Family Robinson! Afterwards we rinsed our plates and cups in the stream. Suddenly Da scooped Ma up in his arms and made to throw her into the river. Ma laughed and shrieked and thumped his shoulders, calling to be let down. We danced around his feet, egging him on.

Your laugh wasn’t as hilarious as mine. You began to look worried and called to Da to let Ma down. He clung to her then and spun her around until finally the two of them flopped onto the rug. He kissed her and laid his arm over her. She beckoned to us to join them and we snuggled in between them and lay there looking up at the trees and the fluffy clouds crossing the sky and no one moved and we for a moment we were one large warm body dozing in the sun. There are no photos of that picnic and very few of the four of us together. There are lots of photos of you as a baby and toddler, all got up in frills and ribbons, and a few of us playing together or dressed up for Christmas in our red velvet dresses. You may not want to hear this but the older you get in the pictures, the more you look like Ma.

  Now we come to the interesting ones – kinky sis! How did you come up with the idea for this lot? And how did you do it? With mirrors? At first I wondered were they of Mirror’s body and was there something between you two after all. But when I saw the butterfly tattoo I knew they were of you. They are pretty strange – or pretty and strange? The way you’ve magnified parts of your body makes you look like a creature in a nature programme. Your toes are larvae and your skin could be a relief map of the moon. What I can’t believe is that you photographed everything. Except your face. I can see the long curve of your tongue sliding down to your throat, your two slightly gapped front teeth are like an opening shell, your belly button could be a snail curled in his shell and so on until we get to the forest of your pubic hair and the peepholes below.

  I took the photos out of the album and tried to piece them together like a jigsaw but they refused to match up. There were gaps between them which made them disturbing, as if you had cut yourself into segments. I chose a couple and standing in front of the mirror held them against my body for comparison. You’ll be relieved to know they weren’t very alike. Your elbow is sharp, mine is a dimple. Your nails are evenly filed mine are bitten to the quick. Your breast is firm and round as an apple, mine is large and tilts sideways. You are dark and I am fair. There is nothing to say we are sisters.

  I wonder did Ma find these in her drug raid. If so they must have freaked her. You’re lucky she didn’t tear them up.

  The last picture in the book is a bit dull but it makes me curious because it’s the last – an unfinished chapter in your story. It’s the one of your art class in Trafalgar Square, taken on your trip to London to see the galleries just a year ago. There’s Johnson’s Wax in the middle of you all, with a cheesy grin on him. He looks as if he’s trying to put his arm around you and you look as if you’re pulling away from him. You’re not smiling. And there’s Mirror on his other side, looking even more uptight than usual. Someone has told you all to watch the birdy because all the heads except yours are tilted up to look at a flock of pigeons in the grey sky. You’re looking off to the side away from him and away from the camera. He didn’t come back to our school this year. Someone said he’s gone off to teach in a posh private school. The new art teacher is a woman. Suddenly I remembered the way JW slobbered all over you the night you won the prize. And then I thought but no it’s not possible. I mean you wouldn’t have . . . couldn’t have . . . could you? He was a creep and besides he’s married.   

  There goes the doorbell – better give the little monsters their treats!!

   Five minutes later.

   No monsters! Just Daire, although he was wearing a big Fozzy Bear mask. Instead of looking for treats he had brought some of the liquid and smokable variety. So we’ll have to stand at the open back door while we light up. Not quite fireworks but the next best thing!!

   To be continued.

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