One Long Thread by Belinda Jeffrey Page B

close to Sally as anyone ever got.
    â€˜You ever have the same thoughts?’ people used to ask me.
    â€˜How much the same are you? You got the same moles? You get the same pimples?’ People always want to know how far genetics extends.
    In history when we learnt about the Holocaust I went home and cried.
    Over six million people losing their lives for no other reason than they were born into a particular religion was reason enough to cry, I suppose, but my tears were for a small group of children I had read about.
    In Auschwitz the most terrible experiments were carried out on identical twins by a Doctor Mengele. One story still gives me nightmares. Two twin girls were literally sewn together by their backs, just to see if they could survive, and whether they shared a mysterious medical compatibility that regular people did not. Imagine their pain. I sometimes think that animals are incapable of the kinds of cruelty that humans willingly inflict on each other.

10.
    One afternoon Amona was waiting for me when I finished my shift at Mr Grandy’s. She had come inside the store, just before closing time.
    â€˜Fancy a lift home, Ruby?’ she said.
    I was tired and didn’t fancy legging it to the tram home again so it sounded good. A relief, actually. ‘That would be great,’ I said.
    Amona leaned on the counter while I wiped everything down and re-pinned bolts of fabric and returned button containers and lace wheels to their places on the shelves. In the office on the second floor, up three stairs, Mr Grandy turned out the lights and left, locking the door, meeting me at the front counter.
    â€˜Amona,’ I said, turning. ‘Mr Grandy.’
    Amona held out her hand to Mr Grandy and they shook.
    â€˜Nearly done,’ I said, moving across the floor quickly to return the last of the items. I thought I’d have had some time to choose a few material samples and buttons for my collection, but I had accepted the lift and didn’t want to make her wait while I made my choices. Anyway, I told myself, no harm in waiting one more day.
    Dad and I hadn’t talked about Amona very much, though I knew that they had been seeing quite a bit of each other. This thought felt like a sharp sting, like I’d pricked myself with a pin.
    Her BMW smelt of fresh leather, polish and upholstery. It was so neat and shining that I didn’t want to sit on the seats. Dad had money, I supposed, and even though he could have afforded a new car, he got about in an old Datsun station wagon which – right then, at that moment on brand-new leather seats – felt like a hobowagon. Scrapmetal.
    â€˜Now,’ Amona said as she pulled away from the kerb into the traffic. ‘I wanted to drive you home so we could have a little chat. I hope you’re not going to mind,’ Amona continued, stopping quickly as peak hour traffic swallowed us up in a slow and painful, bumper-to-bumper crawl through the city. I realised this trip was not going to be over quickly.
    â€˜But I was so impressed with the dresses you made, Ruby. I mean . . .’ she paused and shook her head slightly while I squirmed on the seat and put my handbag on the floor beside my feet. ‘They are really something.’
    â€˜Ta,’ I mumbled.
    Amona laughed. ‘You don’t have any idea how good you are, do you?’ she turned her head to look at me.
    I shrugged.
    â€˜What do you do?’ I asked, thinking I might be able to redirect the conversation.
    â€˜I’m a distributer for a pharmaceutical company. We have offices in Melbourne, Brisbane, South Australia. I fly a lot. But I know talent when I see it. You should think about entering the Young Designer of the Year Award . One day.’
    â€˜How do you know about that?’
    â€˜You’re kidding? I watch it every year on TV,’ she continued. ‘I’ve always loved fashion. I love seeing designers showcase their latest.’
    I was