Sister, Sister

It’s shiny. I must look like a big girl with it on. Like Amy does with her hoop-y earrings, the ones mum doesn’t like. She has a gold ring too, but it sits on a chain round her neck. I think a ring on your finger is better, more grown up, even if it only fits on my thumb. Mum and Amy are looking at shoes for her first high school dance. The dress she chose is a sunny orange. She is going to wear her hair in curls and mum will paint her nails nude. Amy needs high heels to be taller, but mum is saying no; she is too young, and it is inappropriate. I can hear them arguing, Amy argues with mum a lot because she is 13. She never used to shout but now she does all the time. And she is always on her phone.

I look over at Amy, her face is getting very red, not like your face does when you are warm, but when you are angry. Mum is sitting on a stool; she is holding her face with her hands. She does that a lot since Craig left. I didn’t mind Craig; he let me drink his Coca-Cola when Mum wasn’t looking. But Mum says he was a freeloader. I asked Amy what that meant, and she said it means he was lazy and sat on the sofa all the time. I twirl around in front of the little mirror by the jewellery, admiring my ring. The little plastic tie attaching it to the cardboard keeps sliding to my knuckle and I wish I could pull it off. My denim jacket looks baggy - it was Amy’s – but I can fit all kinds of things in the pockets, they are very deep. I look back over to the shoes; an old shop lady is trying to help. I look over to the pay desks; there is no one there. It is always empty when we come to the shopping centre, not many people shop when it is dark. I can feel my heart thudding, and I feel like I am going red but that’s because I am warm: not angry. Mum has roses in her cheeks, and everyone says she gave it to us, her girls. The shop lady is passing Amy a box of shoes, but she has her arms crossed in front of her. Mum calls her ungrateful and I can see her nostrils get very big. Mum won’t let me have the ring, because she said today isn’t about me; but if I’m good, I get a jam donut on the way home. But I want both. I want the jam donut; and I want my ring. I know they are about to come and find me and I don’t have any more time to think. And so, I dig the hand with the ring, cardboard and all, into my pocket. 

***

Mum needs to go to the toilet and tells Amy to take me to get my donut and meet her at the car. Amy isn’t looking at me; she is walking very fast in front and tapping on her phone. I have to do a little skip to keep up with her which is fine because I am very good at skipping. Last Christmas I got a jump rope from Uncle Mick; it is pink with purple handles. He also got me a matching hula hoop because he thinks I should be a gymnast. He said he will pay for lessons when I am 8. I can see the stand up ahead and I stop skipping. I’m going to need to take my hand out of the pocket to hold my donut. Using my first and second finger, I try to push the ring off my thumb, into the pocket. It won’t come off. I try again. It’s not moving. I start to feel sick. I don’t know why it won’t come off. It’s like my thumb has gotten fatter. I feel very hot. I want to grab Amy’s hand and tell her I don’t want one anymore, it’s the truth: I don’t. But I can’t get my mouth to open. There is a golf ball in my throat. What if the ring never comes off my thumb? What if they have to cut it off? What if they have to cut off my whole arm?

‘Why are you being such a weirdo?’ Amy has stopped to see that I am a few steps behind her. She is still pink.

My bottom lip is moving up and down really fast and I can’t stop it.

‘What is wrong with you?’ She is asking me again.

I can’t hold it anymore. I am going to explode.

‘IT WON’T COME OFF.’ I am really crying now. My nose is dripping, and I am trying to wipe it with my sleeve.

‘What are you talking about?’ Her face is all scrunched up at me.

The golf ball is coming out of my throat in hiccups. I do a big sniff and pull the hand with the ring out of my pocket and hold it up to her. Her eyebrows go up her face.

‘You stole that?’

‘I took it,’ I reply.

‘No, Ellie. You stole it.’

‘No…’

‘You’re a thief! You’re going to be in so much trouble when I tell mum.’

‘Amy don’t tell mum. Don’t.’

‘Maybe you’ll get sent away. You’ll go where the bad little girls go.’

‘Where?’ I am suddenly cold.

‘Baby Prison. Probably.’

There are bees in my tummy, I can hear the buzzing in my ears, so I am shaking my head side to side very hard. I can’t go to baby prison. I can’t. I won’t be able to take my gymnastics classes. I won’t be allowed to skip anymore. I won’t even be able to come home at night and I don’t like sleepovers. I always miss mum too much. I can’t let Amy tell. But she is bigger and older than me. I broke a vase once; it was mums’ favourite yellow one. I said it was Amy, but Mum didn’t believe me because Amy said it wasn’t. I have to stop her this time. But it can’t be a lie. It has to be truth.

‘If you tell mum, I’ll tell her about the man on the phone.’

‘Shut up!’ Amy’s eyes are flashing.

‘I will tell her.’ I’m still sniffling.

Amy is quiet. She knows she will get in trouble if I tell mum about the man on the phone. Amy is only allowed to call friends mum knows, and family. When I first heard him, I thought it was Uncle Mick. He had the same funny kind of voice. When Uncle Mick talks about me, he says ‘our Ellie’ which I love. Mum says it’s because he’s Northern. He says it’s because I’m his favourite. But the man was not Uncle Mick.

Amy says the man on the phone is looking for dancers with talent, to come on a Tv show he is making. He saw her TikTok videos and thinks she is very good. I was jealous when she told me, but because I’ll be a gymnast, she said maybe he will want me too. She made me promise not to say anything. If we end up on a Tv show, mum will be very surprised, but excited because we will be famous.

‘You can’t tell mum about the man on the phone. Not now. You’ll ruin everything,’ she says.

‘Are you going to be on Tv soon?’ I ask.

‘Yes. He is coming to meet me. After the school dance, to take pictures. But you can’t tell mum, she won’t let me.’

‘Will he still want me too?’

‘He said he wants to meet you next.’

‘I won’t tell mum. If you don’t tell about the ring.’

Amy looks at me very serious, then holds out her hand, her pinkie in the air.

‘Promise?’

***

When mum leans into the backseat to strap me in, I am holding my breath hard. It makes my chest feel all tight. Sometimes when she looks in my eyes, she can see things I am not saying. So, I don’t look at her, I stare at my lap.  

‘What happened?’ Mum pushes my fringe behind my ear. ‘You’ve been crying?’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Your eyes are red,’ she runs a thumb over my cheek, ‘and I can see your roses.’ Mum pulls herself out of the backseat and faces Amy.

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing? She dropped her donut, but they gave her a fresh one.’

Mum is looking at me again. I can feel it.

‘Was it that or did something else happen?’

I think Amy is holding her breath too. I can’t look at either of them. So, I just nod, very slowly. Mum looks back and forth between both of us, then sighs; not like you do when you are annoyed, but when you are very tired. She turns on the car, and I let the air escape out of my nose. I twist the ring around my thumb, round and around in the darkness of the backseat. I need the ring. Everyone knows you wear jewellery when you’re famous.