Page 55 of Waiting for a Bright New Future

“I’m still waiting?” William was wiping the last part of his toast around the soup bowl, soaking up the dregs of the light brown liquid.

“I’m not miserable. I’ve just got the hassle of finding a new lodger. Florence moved on.” His voice stayed level. Nothing wrong with his equilibrium.

“Why?”

Mind your own business. “Circumstances. Things have been traumatic for her.”

“Won’t be easy for her to find somewhere else that’s cheap and will take animals.”

“She’s left Tibby with me. Until she gets sorted.”

The old man nodded slowly, weighing Stuart’s words but not commenting.

“Battenberg and a cup of tea?” Stuart took the now clean bowl, anxious to move the meal on and get out of there.

“Please. And,” he paused and gave Stuart a wink. “Why not leave a second piece of cake on the table here with my flask for this afternoon?”

“I shouldn’t but I will.” Stuart relaxed a little. The old man seemed happy with his explanation and had forgotten about his second question.

As he boiled the kettle and made tea for them both, plus some for later in William’s flask, he thought up a football conversation opener to do with the change of manager at City, William’s team.

“You didn’t talk to yourself this time?” William was in there before Stuart could put the tea tray down and frame his own question.

“I don’t talk to myself.”

“So who do you talk to when sound comes out of your mouth but there’s no one else in the room?”

To reveal my identity or not? That is the question.

Manners, and the small matter of being desperate to keep this job now that his rental income had gone, meant Stuart couldn’t ignore William’s question. His brain struggled. Sandra’s voice had been with him ever since he questioned the photograph. His dead sister had kept him company through the long years of caring. Most of the time she’d been a comfort. Since Dad died, she’d changed, become cheekier, more sarcastic, more ‘in your face’, as they’d say on the TV. Like him, she used to be grey and reserved. Unlike him, she’d now become alive and colourful.

William was peeling the marzipan from around the edges of the cake and eating it separately. “It’s the first sign of madness,” he said, taking a small breather between marzipan and sponge. “Like growing hair on the back of your hands.”

Stuart spread his right hand in front of him and looked down.

“That’s the second sign.” William broke off a pink square of sponge and ate it before speaking again. “You’ll feel better with it off your chest.”

The old man would probably drum him out of town but he’d asked for the truth and Stuart couldn’t think of any other plausible explanation.

“My twin sister died a few days after birth. Her name was Sandra.”

A proper name check, I like it. First time any family outsider has been told about me for years. This is almost my fifteen minutes of fame.

“When I was young there was always a photo of her on the mantelpiece. People would say, ‘Such a shame about pretty little Sandra. I bet you would’ve loved to have a girl in the family after all these boys?’ Mum and Dad would always agree and look sad. When pushed, even Robert and George would agree that a sweet little sister would’ve been better than a pesky kid brother who was always after their attention and wanting a sparring partner or a football opponent. Nobody ever thought about the effect this talk would have on me.”

Stuart paused, waiting for some sympathetic reaction from the old man to let him off the hook of further explanation. William maintained a neutral but interested expression. Stuart was obliged to fill the silence.

“At first I didn’t understand the connection between Sandra and me. Then, when I was about five, I asked Mum about the picture of the two babies, one in a pink babygrow and the other in blue. She explained that I was the baby in blue and that Sandra, in pink, was my twin sister. Sandra had been too good for this earth and now lived with the angels in heaven but everybody missed her and wished she was still here. The brains of small boys don’t work well. I interpreted all of this to mean that I was second best. My parents had wanted a girl, not another boy. Sandra had been the good one, too good to live and therefore I was the bad one, left to live in a family that didn’t really want me.”

William’s expression didn’t change but he stopped his demolition of the Battenberg. One pink and one yellow square still remained on his plate, glued together with a thin layer of red jam.

“I tried to live my life well enough for two twins, a boy and a girl. That’s probably why I ended up caring for Dad instead of pushing Robert and George to pay for professional carers. I had to prove my worth to the family.”

“Whatever you did could never replace the only girl in the family, who was put on a pedestal, idolised by all and endowed with perfection.” William had folded his arms and spoke slowly. He looked like an underweight but wise old sage with wispy hair.

And I thoroughly deserve those accolades. Do I not?Stuart ignored her.

“It was a long time before I became aware that was what I was doing. It was near the end of Dad’s life. Lillian, next door said something to me, and a lightbulb went on. Shortly afterwards, Dad died and Sandra’s personality changed.”

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