hour each time. The second time, towards the end of the visit, Barbara had inexplicably burst into tears. Desmond, his own eyes rheumy, whispered stiffly to Kate that ‘the old girl’ found the baby brought back difficult memories and gently steered Barbara out of the front door. That time, Kate had cried herself into such a state that Simon, alarmed, called the doctor.
After the metallic-tasting apple crumble, the adults cleared the table and Desmond banged about in the kitchen, inexpertly loading the dishwasher and making a pot of tea. Her mother had vanished somewhere and Kate went into the living room where Simon was on the floor preventing violence breaking out over Snakes and Ladders. She sat down next to the mahogany bookcase, with its ranks of photographs. There was a single picture of Daisy and Sam taken by her friend Claire the summer before, and a small wedding portrait of Kate and Simon. But the other dozen photographs, not to mention the three framed enlargements on the wall above the piano, were all of the same girl, a pretty, laughing, blue-eyed brunette – a little like Kate but not Kate. There she was, full of life, her sister Nicola – as a jolly sun-hatted baby sitting in her pram, playing in a sandpit at three, in school uniform with a thick navy Alice band at twelve, in a white confirmation dress at fourteen, gorgeous in midnight-blue taffeta at nineteen . . . when the photographs stopped.
As familiar as the pain from an old war wound came that double stab of jealousy and guilt. Jealousy that her parents’ attention was still, after all these years, focused on Nicola. Guilt that it was Nicola who had died, not Kate. Nicola, whom Kate still firmly believed, everyone had loved best.
When she and her sister were very young, they had had a series of nannies, mostly local women with little English, in whichever country the Carters were living in at the time. The girls only saw their parents for a small part of every day. Barbara, nervous when handling small children, usually found some secretarial or voluntary work deliberately, to take her out of the house, and then there was a range of mess events and bridge parties in the evenings.
Nicola didn’t seem affected by this mild form of neglect that constituted the traditional English officer-class way of bringing up children. She was naturally bubbly, charming, self-possessed, and the obvious favourite of the nannies. Kate, on the other hand, everyone dismissed as quiet and stubborn. She badly needed cuddles and reassurance, which she didn’t get – except from her big sister. Nicky always guarded Kate. There was one famous incident in Hong Kong, when the amah had slapped Kate hard after accusing the five-year-old girl of stealing from her. Nicola had jumped up and slapped the woman back, then lectured her like a grown-up, threatening her with the sack. The money was later found to have been taken by a visiting child, but Missy Nicola was held in awe after this and Kate loved her for it. And hated herself for still being jealous of her sister.
One thing she found increasingly difficult to cope with was that, whatever she tried to do, Nicola unwittingly took the limelight. Their mother was no more affectionate to Nicola than to Kate, but Kate could see that at least Nicola made some impact on Barbara. Barbara would encourage her to try new things – to ride her bike, play the piano, take ballet lessons, go out with friends. She never showed the same interest in Kate, rarely praised her when she practised hard at the piano and passed her exams ahead of Nicola.
When the girls both went away to boarding school, again, it was Nicola whom everyone liked best. ‘Nicky, would you like to take the lead part in the play?’ ‘Nicola, we need you on the lacrosse team.’ ‘Nicky, will you come and stay with us at half-term?’ At first Kate trailed around after her sister, trying desperately hard to get into a school team, writing to her parents that it
After the metallic-tasting apple crumble, the adults cleared the table and Desmond banged about in the kitchen, inexpertly loading the dishwasher and making a pot of tea. Her mother had vanished somewhere and Kate went into the living room where Simon was on the floor preventing violence breaking out over Snakes and Ladders. She sat down next to the mahogany bookcase, with its ranks of photographs. There was a single picture of Daisy and Sam taken by her friend Claire the summer before, and a small wedding portrait of Kate and Simon. But the other dozen photographs, not to mention the three framed enlargements on the wall above the piano, were all of the same girl, a pretty, laughing, blue-eyed brunette – a little like Kate but not Kate. There she was, full of life, her sister Nicola – as a jolly sun-hatted baby sitting in her pram, playing in a sandpit at three, in school uniform with a thick navy Alice band at twelve, in a white confirmation dress at fourteen, gorgeous in midnight-blue taffeta at nineteen . . . when the photographs stopped.
As familiar as the pain from an old war wound came that double stab of jealousy and guilt. Jealousy that her parents’ attention was still, after all these years, focused on Nicola. Guilt that it was Nicola who had died, not Kate. Nicola, whom Kate still firmly believed, everyone had loved best.
When she and her sister were very young, they had had a series of nannies, mostly local women with little English, in whichever country the Carters were living in at the time. The girls only saw their parents for a small part of every day. Barbara, nervous when handling small children, usually found some secretarial or voluntary work deliberately, to take her out of the house, and then there was a range of mess events and bridge parties in the evenings.
Nicola didn’t seem affected by this mild form of neglect that constituted the traditional English officer-class way of bringing up children. She was naturally bubbly, charming, self-possessed, and the obvious favourite of the nannies. Kate, on the other hand, everyone dismissed as quiet and stubborn. She badly needed cuddles and reassurance, which she didn’t get – except from her big sister. Nicky always guarded Kate. There was one famous incident in Hong Kong, when the amah had slapped Kate hard after accusing the five-year-old girl of stealing from her. Nicola had jumped up and slapped the woman back, then lectured her like a grown-up, threatening her with the sack. The money was later found to have been taken by a visiting child, but Missy Nicola was held in awe after this and Kate loved her for it. And hated herself for still being jealous of her sister.
One thing she found increasingly difficult to cope with was that, whatever she tried to do, Nicola unwittingly took the limelight. Their mother was no more affectionate to Nicola than to Kate, but Kate could see that at least Nicola made some impact on Barbara. Barbara would encourage her to try new things – to ride her bike, play the piano, take ballet lessons, go out with friends. She never showed the same interest in Kate, rarely praised her when she practised hard at the piano and passed her exams ahead of Nicola.
When the girls both went away to boarding school, again, it was Nicola whom everyone liked best. ‘Nicky, would you like to take the lead part in the play?’ ‘Nicola, we need you on the lacrosse team.’ ‘Nicky, will you come and stay with us at half-term?’ At first Kate trailed around after her sister, trying desperately hard to get into a school team, writing to her parents that it
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