Life as Planned

Ashleigh and Remy Brett 1972 Aged 10

Ashleigh and Remy Brett

Ashleigh

Five more minutes . . .

Ashleigh Brett prayed, and screwed her eyes shut at the sound of the bedroom door opening.

Lying immobile in her single bed pushed against the wall, she wriggled further under her eiderdown and savoured the last few seconds of warmth, of stillness, knowing that once light had pierced the dark, and people moved about and words were spoken, the day would truly begin, and she would be forced to stir.

Wheels would then be set in motion, driving a machine that would carry her into her future. A machine, the sights and sounds of which she had been dreading since the first mention of the exam, almost a year ago now.

An exam.

Not just a test or a mere quiz, but an exam, a word with so much weight attached to it she could barely say it out loud without wanting to crumple with the effort of holding it on her tongue.

This was a new and fearful experience and what scared her the most was how powerful it seemed, taking over each waking thought and wiping all the joy from her usually happy life.

Lurking like a dark thing, the monster under the bed, a baddie behind the curtain, ready to pounce the moment she was alone.

A whole year of letting the fear build, of feeling the swirl of nausea in her tummy at the thought.

A year of doing her best to bury the worry, and able with relief not to dwell on it too much because a year was a long, long way away.

Then six months was far in the future, and then a month felt like an age, and then a week, which meant it was creeping closer . . . and now, suddenly, it was today.

Today!

In that moment, it seemed to have arrived in a blink.

‘Rise and shine, little doves!’

There it was, the slightly irritating sound of her mother’s voice, hollering into the small room she shared with her sister.

The room with the Cindy shelf their dad had built.

A sturdy white, bold, bracketed affair, on which they displayed their favourite dolls.

All the Cindys looked down at her now, as they stood in front of their caravan, with their bike, grill, dog, and backpacks, everything a Cindy doll might require for a decent weekend in the great outdoors.

These just a few of a wide array of accessories from gramophones to ironing boards, even a tiny crib.

They really did cover all bases when it came to Cindy’s life choices.

They had been avid collectors, she and Remy.

Relatives had for years delightedly presented them with new Cindys or Cindy-related items on their birthday and at Christmas.

Truth was, however, they didn’t play with them anymore, and Ashleigh for one would rather have books on the shelf or her collection of Wade Whimsies, but her dad had built it and it felt like a big deal to ask if they could pack away these treasured things.

Her mum had cried when they’d placed their Fisher-Price activity centre and record player into a box destined for the loft; goodness only knew how she’d react to a request for a removal of the dolls.

Ashleigh stared at them, the smiling lookalikes. All seemingly excited to go about their day of adventure. She wished she could be a Cindy, just for a day. More specifically, just for today.

Some might think it an odd wish, to sit on a shelf with someone who had the exact same face and physical features as you, but this was not strange to Ashleigh, who stole a glimpse at Remy, her identical twin, on the other side of the room.

Identical in looks, build, size, shape, everything, but very different people this morning, as Remy was smiling while Ashleigh had to concentrate on not crying.

‘One egg split in two, one person really, same genes . . .’ her mum liked to remind them. Ashleigh didn’t have the heart to say that just the thought of it made her feel a bit sick. Who wanted to be half an egg? Who wanted to feel like a person split in two?

Not her, that was for sure.

With her head still resting in the satisfying dent in the pillow, she opened one eye fully as her mum, Ruthie Brett, drew back the orange-and-brown swirl-patterned curtains to let the yellow glow of the streetlight fill their room.

The window, always an indicator of the weather, carried small icy patches in the corners which, close up, looked like snowflakes.

She sank down further on to the mattress, feeling the caress of the striped brushed-cotton sheet on her downy legs.

Remy, she noticed, was already sitting up, happily.

This irritated her too, the fact that her sister seemed to be taking it all in her stride, as she did everything.

She wondered, not for the first time, if that egg had been split equally, fairly, because it seemed to her entirely possible that her sister got more of the happy genes, the ones that made you care a bit less.

It wasn’t Remy’s fault, but still Ashleigh had to smother the flames of jealousy that leapt inside her, wishing she could be more like her sister, who didn’t seem to sweat things in quite the same way.

‘Seven eights?’ her mum yelled.

‘Fifty-six!’ Remy responded.

‘Okay, this one is for you, Ashleigh, sleepyhead, what’s the capital of Iceland?’

‘Reykjavik,’ she mumbled. Duh! Everyone knew that.

‘My clever babies!’ Her mum, in her lilac housecoat and quilted slippers, danced in the small channel between their beds, her excitement crackling from her like electricity. ‘My clever, clever babies!’

She did this, spoke about them as if she had won a prize, as pride and delight dripped from every syllable. It was nice, sometimes, but not today.

‘I don’t think it’s going to be that kind of exam, Mummy.’ Remy caught her sister’s eye and subtly pulled a face. Ashleigh smiled back. Aged ten, they were already proficient in humouring their mother and understanding the need for it.

‘Well, it’s still good to get your brains warmed up!’

The woman was both relentless and undaunted.

‘What’s heavier, a kilo of feathers or a kilo of tar?’

‘They’re the same.’ Ashleigh sat up and rubbed her eyes, wishing she could turn back the clock to last night and sleep all over again, meaning this day would never come.

Or better still, turn back the clock to when she had started school, when she now knew it would be wiser not to be so smart, instead to sit at the back and hang out with the gigglers, the slowcoaches, and the dumdums, who seemed to have much more fun than she did.

It wasn’t fair, how much she cared, how hard she worked and how she now had to sit the stupid exam.

‘Ah, I can’t fool you!’ Her mum lowered her voice and pointed out of the window. ‘This is an important day, and I want to talk to you about Mrs Jenkins who lives in that house on the corner, you know the one, don’t you?’

They both nodded.

‘She’s got three spare bedrooms, three! And you, my little doves, will pass this exam and get a place at St. Jude’s Academy, a full academic scholarship, where you will get the very best education, and that will get you the best job, which will pay you the best money, and you can buy the best house, with four spare bedrooms if you choose, four! ’

‘I don’t think I’d like four spare bedrooms,’ Remy piped up.

‘Why not?’ Her mum stared at her sister as if she just didn’t get it.

‘It just seems like more to clean, all that hoovering and dusting, more rooms to worry about.’

This time Ashleigh caught her mum’s eye, and they exchanged a slow, conspiratorial look. Remy was right: she didn’t get it. Ashleigh knew that if you could afford four spare bedrooms then the chances were you could also afford a cleaner or housekeeper to do all that stuff for you.

She wondered if Mrs Jenkins had a cleaner and tried to imagine a life like that.

The big question was, what would you do in your house while your cleaner was in it?

Her mum was always busy, constantly polishing, cleaning or scrubbing something with her Marigolds pulled up to her elbows and her hips shifting from side to side beneath the bow of her pinny.

And if she wasn’t doing that she was peeling, chopping, stewing, simmering, or mixing, preparing food for the family.

Ashleigh wasn’t sure she wanted a life like her mum’s when she grew up, and she had heard Nancy, who worked in the library, say that her boyfriend had cooked their tea!

Her boyfriend had cooked their tea! It was so shocking she had mentioned it to Remy, who had been just as surprised.

It had stuck in her mind; she was quite unable to imagine her dad doing anything in the kitchen, let alone cooking tea!

It was an idea so far removed from their little life here in Church Lane it made her laugh, like suggesting her mum go out in the car every day to do her dad’s job and come home expecting her tea to be on the table!

This wasn’t what mums did.

But maybe to have a cleaner would be the answer, someone to do all those chores, while she had time to read!

Yes, that was what she’d do if she had a cleaner in the house.

She’d sit on the sofa and read book after book.

It sounded lovely, a life like that, sitting around while someone else did all the work.

A life that would probably not be hers if she didn’t pass the exam.

And just like that her stomach folded with nerves and she felt like she might be sick.

Remy

Remy was excited for the day ahead – a change in routine and missing lessons was always a novelty on a school day.

Plus, she had a trip in the minibus to look forward to and a chance to look around St. Jude’s.

Oh, and the exam, which she had no doubt they would ace!

But it was definitely the minibus trip that felt like the most exciting thing.

‘Right, up and at ’em, little doves! See you downstairs in five!’

Her mum clapped as she left the room. Remy stared at Ashleigh, who looked less than keen to rise and shine.