‘You’re an absolute genius,’ she’d said, when he walked through the door with it, making silly dinosaur noises and waving the thing about.
‘She loves the puppy too, of course,’ Millie continued, glancing at her watch. ‘Another reason I should get back. Larry’s taken to chewing everything in his path. He’s already ruined the ballet pumps Abigail got from Lindy Bop.’
‘Oh that’s a shame.’
‘I know. She just stared at them for ages, as though they would miraculously mend in front of her eyes. I’ve had to order another pair quick.’ She smiled. ‘Why didn’t someone tell me puppies are harder than babies?’ She dragged Luna to her face and plonked a kiss on her black nose. ‘I should have got a cat. So much easier.’
‘Sometimes,’ Isla said. ‘Although Luna is super naughty, and has been known to poop in my trainers.’
Millie laughed, and Isla paused from straightening her hair, her eyes on her older sister once more.
Millie worked almost as many hours as Julian, as a teaching assistant at a village school just outside Letchworth, and Abigail, at fifteen, still needed as much help as she always had done. Isla felt it wasn’t right that everything fell on Millie’s shoulders all the time, while Julian snuck into the garage each evening and weekend to play with his ever-growing model train set.
‘Julian should help more,’ Isla said, glancing over her shoulder.
‘He wouldn’t know where to start.’ Millie crunched on another biscuit, and Isla couldn’t work out if her sister actually liked the idea that they couldn’t survive without her.
‘But it’s not the 1950s,’ Isla continued, before she could warn her mouth not to open.
Millie’s face wrinkled into a frown, and she prodded a spot on her chin.
‘And don’t touch that – you’ll make it sore,’ Isla said.
Millie whipped her hand away from her chin. ‘And there’s me thinking my spots weren’t noticeable.’ She pulled a fake sad face.
‘They’re not, not really.’ Isla shook her head, regretting her words.
‘It’s OK. I know I look like a fifteen-year-old boy, at times.’
‘No, you don’t. It’s just … maybe you could get something from the GP to clear them up.’
Millie shrugged. ‘Yes, maybe I could, although there never seems time, somehow.’ She paused again. ‘And let’s face it, nobody looks at me anyway.’ She laughed, but Isla could tell she meant it.
‘Are you OK?’ she said softly. She wanted to be there for Millie. ‘You know if you ever need anything … to talk … you know I’m here.’
‘Blimey, Isla, where’s this come from?’ Millie sounded way too upbeat. ‘I’m absolutely fine. Always am.’ She turned from Isla’s gaze. ‘So are you going to tell me where you’re off to tonight?’
‘Spoons in Cambridge.’ She turned, eyes back on her reflection, and once more dragged her hair straight. ‘A university reunion.’
‘Bit of a trek, isn’t it?’
‘Not really. I’ll get the train and a taxi.’
‘You hate taxis.’
‘Used to hate taxis,’ Isla said. She refused to let on that the enclosed feeling of a taxi had triggered her anxiety only a few days ago. ‘I’m OK now. If I can go to Canada alone, I’m sure I can get in a taxi.’ She wondered if she sounded smug, although she felt far from it.
Millie had never travelled. Married at twenty-three with Abigail on the way had meant they’d struggled at first. And later Millie hadn’t seemed to want to go far. Although lately, Julian had taken off to European countries alone, claiming to need space. ‘Abigail wouldn’t cope,’ was all Millie said, when Isla suggested she should go too. ‘I could take care of her,’ she’d offered, but Millie had declined.
Not that her sister had ever given Isla reason to think she wasn’t happy with her life. Bringing up a child with Asperger’s syndrome had been difficult at times, of course it had, but Millie had never complained.
‘I think you were amazing doing the journey to Canada on your own,’ Millie said. ‘Really, really brave, after what you went through in Sydney.’
Isla felt a prickle behind her eyes. Millie had always had a knack of barging in with mentions of Carl Jeffery over the years. Oblivious, it seemed, to how wretched it made Isla feel.
‘Can we not talk about that?’ Isla said. ‘You know I try to put it out of my head.’ She turned and slammed her straighteners down on the coffee table, and padded across the room.
‘Sorry,’ Millie said. ‘I didn’t think. Sorry.’
‘It’s fine, don’t worry.’ Isla tugged her make-up bag from her handbag and glanced out of the window at the star-free night sky. She lowered her gaze to the road crammed with traffic: vehicles slowing as they approached the roundabout. About to close the curtains, she noticed someone standing on the other side of the road, silhouetted against the trees that edged the park. The bright light behind her made it hard to see, so she moved closer to the glass, narrowing her eyes. Someone was watching her.
‘What are you looking at?’ Millie asked, and Isla glanced over her shoulder to see her sister pick up the mug of coffee she’d made her fifteen minutes ago and take a sip. ‘Jesus, this is cold,’ she said, banging it back on the table, startling Isla. ‘It’s your fault, Luna, darling,’ Millie went on, tickling the cat’s head, ‘demanding so much attention.’
Isla returned her eyes to the figure, tingles biting at her neck.
‘Are you OK, Isla?’
‘Yes, fine,’ she said, running her hand over her rubber band. Whoever it was wore dark clothes and a scarf and hat, their face barely visible. She snatched the curtains closed and stepped back from the window.
Millie rose and headed over. ‘Did you see something?’ she asked, cracking open the curtains and looking out.
Isla stood behind her. ‘It’s just … well … I thought I saw someone, that’s all … someone staring up at the apartment.’ Her voice was soft and uncertain. She pinged the band three times, snap, snap, snap.
‘Well, there’s nobody there now,’ Millie said, turning and touching her sister’s arm gently.
Isla peered over her sister’s shoulder. Whoever had been there was gone.
‘Perhaps you were mistaken,’ Millie said.
‘Yes, yes, I must have been.’ She yanked the curtains closed once more, scooped her hair behind her ears, and moved back to the mirror.
Millie followed her, and looked into Isla’s eyes through their reflection, in a way she had after Carl Jeffery. It was her I’m worried about you look.
‘I’m fine,’ Isla insisted.
