Ashleigh and Remy Brett 1975 Aged 13 #2
Just a tingle at first, but quickly this spread into something almost paralysing.
A feeling. The same feeling she had felt at the prospect of sitting the entrance exam.
A heaviness in her limbs, a sickness in her gut and a pressure that sat across her shoulders and pushed her down and down .
. . law or medicine . . . Oxbridge . . .
too much, all much too much for her to cope with.
She was without doubt brighter than Jacinta and Harry; her grades alone proved this.
But the idea that she was as capable as them, as worthy as them, not at all.
They carried a confidence that eluded her, a self-belief that meant they would set their goals, aim high and succeed.
But for Ashleigh? She was not from the same stock.
A scholarship girl. Her dad sold concrete, her mum made shepherd’s pie and fussed over the arrangement of the faux flowers on her dining table.
A girl who had never sat the entrance exam because of that tingle, that feeling – like she was in freefall.
Remy
Remy closed her bedroom door and took a beat on the top stair, steeling herself for the day ahead as she peered across the narrow hallway into the room she used to share with her sister. A space she now avoided.
‘Come on, little doves, flutter up to bed!’
She could still hear her mum saying that when they were small: ‘Up you fly!’
It hurt to think of it, even now, nearly three years later; the casual nature of her sister’s request, spoken over supper, as she sat in her green wool blazer and long skirt.
‘Okay, so I was thinking’ – Ashleigh’s voice was clear and confident, addressing their parents who hung on her every word – ‘I’d quite like my own bedroom. Can I move into the little room?’
Remy had felt winded, stunned, and then came the unexpected bloom of tears.
Hot, snaking glass rods of distress that trickled down her cheeks.
Her mum and dad didn’t notice, staring at Ashleigh as she spoke.
For Remy, it seemed like the beginning of the end to have separate rooms, not to wake and see her sister’s face looking back at her.
There was already a thin sheet of separation that had never existed between them before, but with different friends, different schools, different expectations and what felt like a different standard in their education, this request felt a lot like punishment for a crime she didn’t know she had committed.
Only that wasn’t true: she did know, and so did Ashleigh.
It seemed that her actions on exam day were at the heart of their separation, and it killed her.
‘If that’s what you would like, love,’ her mother replied, keenly. ‘I suppose I can move my sewing machine up into the loft and your dad can find a place for all the boxes.’
‘Great!’ Ashleigh had forked baked spud and beans into her mouth, but avoided eye contact with her, because she would have known – Remy was convinced that her sister would have known what this meant, and how it felt.
‘I suppose it makes sense in the long run, all that homework and proper studying, special textbooks. Clever girl.’
Remy had stared at her mother. What did she think, that her textbooks were less informative, riddled with errors, books for dumdums?
Frustration had bubbled in her veins, and she’d stared at Ashleigh, and in her gaze she fired the words, We both know the truth and I know that’s why you can’t look at me and don’t want to see me when you wake up in the morning.
We both know it . . . It was doubly galling because she rarely thought about the bloody exam, but it was obviously a big deal for her sister, who had changed so much since starting at St. Jude’s.
Her voice was different, her mood a little sullen, her expression serious, and she never shared anything about her school life, not a thing, as if Remy wasn’t worthy of being party to such things.
Excluded. She wasn’t sure she’d even like the girl if she met her for the first time now.
Not that she’d share this with anyone, ever. Not even Tony.
‘In fact,’ her dad had piped up, ‘why doesn’t Remy move into the little room, give you the space you need?’
‘Yes, that’s a brilliant idea!’ She had jumped up. ‘Why don’t I? Or better still, why don’t I just put my bed in the shed and Ashleigh can have both rooms? One to sleep in and one for all her very important, special, clever textbooks!’
‘There she is!’ Her dad pulled her from these thoughts now, calling upstairs, ‘Come on, love, car’s running!’ He rubbed his palms together as if it were cold.
‘Coming.’ She reluctantly trod the stairs, stepping out of the house and watching as her dad shut the front door behind them and pushed it, twice, just to double-check it was properly closed. Her mum was already buckled up in the front seat.
‘I don’t see why I have to go. Can’t believe I’m taking a day off school for this!
’ Sitting in her dad’s Austin, Remy’s mood wasn’t helped by the fact that she had a stomach ache, a gripping pain, no less.
She pulled at the mustard-and-red kilt that had been bought for her cousin’s wedding almost a year ago and now sat some inches above her knees.
The whole affair would, she knew, be a lot easier to bear if she’d been allowed to wear her corduroys and a nice blouse.
The kilt was itchy, unfashionable and a little tight around the waistband.
The fact it was paired with a thin red turtleneck did little to help.
Her tights were American tan, and she hated them too, nearly as much as her brown clumpy school shoes which she felt finished off the whole ensemble with just the right level of shitness.
She felt like a wally, already uncomfortable enough going into this strange environment where she knew she’d feel out of place.
The only saving grace was that Tony would not see her in this get-up and would therefore be robbed of the ammunition to tease her with in the coming weeks.
She smiled to think of him, hoping he’d be okay, a full school day without her. He’d survive, but only just.
‘So, ready for the gossip?’ he’d asked her yesterday as they made their way to class, heads together, tittle-tattling.
‘Always!’ How she loved him.
‘You remember Nancy from the library at primary school?’
‘Of course I do!’
‘Well, she’s pregnant!’ he gasped.
‘Pregnant? I didn’t know she was married.’ She wondered if she’d got hitched to her boyfriend who had cooked her tea.
‘That’s the thing, she’s not!’ Tony had enunciated, stressing the horror of it. ‘I heard my mum telling her sister on the phone.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘Exactly!’
‘Are you two actually joined at the hip?’ Mr Morgan, their biology teacher, had yelled at them as they dawdled arm in arm along the corridor.
‘I think, Mr Morgan, that as a biology teacher, you’d know that would make us conjoined twins, and we are most definitely not that,’ Tony had replied without a whiff of irony, earning himself a detention for insubordination.
It would be worth it, she knew, as this was the kind of story they’d laugh about for months.
‘For the love of God, Remy! Please not this again!’ her mum snapped, rubbing her forehead as she turned to shout at her through the gap in the front seats.
‘You have to because it’s important! We are going to support your sister!
It’s her first speech day! You’re only invited when you leave the prep and go into the big part of the school. It’s an honour!’
An honour my arse. Remy bit the inside of her mouth and swallowed the sentence.
Words she knew would only be incendiary to her mother who for days had been rather worked up about the whole event.
That morning she’d had her curlers removed and her hair combed out before having it sprayed into a fixed helmet that a hurricane couldn’t budge.
Her dad, too, sat tall in the driver’s seat, his sports jacket with gold buttons hanging on the coat hook above the rear passenger window behind his seat.
His company tie was around his neck, his white shirt pressed and starched.
His grey slacks steamed. His black shoes shiny. Proud, so proud.
‘Ashleigh won’t care if I’m there or not,’ she half mumbled.
Her mum’s finger appeared then. Jutting towards her. She knew things were bad when her mother’s finger appeared.
‘That’s it, smartarse! I do not want to hear a peep out of you for the rest of the day. No moaning. No whispers, no mumbles, and no embarrassing your sister!’ The finger recoiled, and she was glad of it. ‘This is what I was talking about when I told you there’d be consequences.’
Ah, perfect. This was just what she needed, her mother kicking off about the bloody exam. Again she bit her cheek and stared out of the window as they trundled past Old Sarum.
‘People are rewarded for putting in effort, Remy. I don’t think that’s something you’ve quite grasped yet. You had the chance. You both did. We’ve never treated you girls any differently. Never. We love you just the same.’ Her mother drew breath.
Wait for it . . . there’s a but coming any second now . . . She half wished Tony was in the car to witness the perfection of the moment, knowing he would get it and find it as funny as her. Not as funny as her grotty kilt, however.
‘But . . .’ There it was, right on cue! ‘But not taking the exam put you on a different path, my little love, one that you now no doubt regret, but there’s not a whole lot we can do about it. We did try and explain to you.’
‘We did,’ her dad chipped in, eyeing her in the rear-view mirror.
‘It was a chance, an opportunity, and there’s no saying you’d have passed or got the scholarship, of course not – the other two kids from your school failed to get in – but Ashleigh . . .’