Page 31 of Sisters Making Mischief
From my bed I could see out of the window and the fields below, which were still swirling with early morning mist. In the distance I saw a van looking as small as a toy, travelling along a road, busy with a delivery of newspapers perhaps, or taking vegetables to market. I wondered which vegetables they would be, and I didn’t have a clue. In my supermarket there was no seasonal rotation of vegetables and fruit. Everything was there all the time.
I drank my tea and relaxed. I spent a good ten minutes watching the branch of some climbing plant outside my window, the new leaves only tight buds against the dark wood. Sometimes my mind was busy with questions and thoughts, other times it seemed completely empty, which felt very strange. But then I was beginning to realise there is a certain value to just occasionally doing absolutely nothing, like giving my brain a rest from all those years of worrying and thinking.
It was nearly nine o’clock when I finally got dressed and went downstairs. In the kitchen the stable door was half open and there was the usual chaos of newspapers, paperwork, and the remnants of someone’s breakfast on the table, but no sign of Isabel.
I wondered if I should start to tidy up a bit while I was waiting for her. There was nothing that made me twitchy more than worktops covered in random stuff. The place would look so much better if a few things were tidied away and the washing-up in the sink – which was still jostling for space with yesterday’s muddy leeks – was done. I noticed there was even a cute wooden box on the table, with ‘Lettres Importantes’written on the side in curly script, but all it contained was a bottle opener and some elastic bands.
There was, however, a pot of coffee keeping warm on a hotplate, and I poured myself a cup. I went to stand looking out of the kitchen door and spotted Isabel in the distance at the bottom of the garden with the two dogs zooming around her.
She saw me as she came closer to the house and waved. Not just her hand or her arm, but it seemed with all of her; her enthusiasm for the day – perhaps just for being alive was so great.
‘It’s a lovely day,’ she shouted.
I waved back and was suddenly filled with affection for my noisy, disorganised, and generous sister. Last night she had voiced the opinion that we had been apart for too long, and at that moment I felt she was right. Over the last few years, I could have done with some of her energy, her optimism, her ability to see the funny side of just about any situation. How were we so different, I wondered. Two years younger than I was, she had been the unpredictable one, always late, always trying to add some personal and unacceptable touches to the school uniform, fond of taking risks and speaking her mind. And yet despite the fact that she constantly seemed to be in trouble, she had always seemed happier than I had. I might be more financially secure than she was now, but which one of us had found the better life?
‘Coffee,’ she panted as she reached the door, ‘I’ve been out with this pair for a good long walk along the river in the hope that they will be too tired to jump all over you.Theymight not be worn out, but I’m pooped.’
We sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee and eating some more of her honey and apricot cake out of the tin because she said she had run out of clean plates.
‘I want you to come and have a look at thegîtes.Like I said, they are going to need prettying up before the first guests arrive, and you’re better at that sort of thing than I am.’
It was on the tip of my tongue to mention the delightful place she had created in the attic bedroom and disagree with her, but then I realised she just wanted us to do something together and it gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling.
‘And come and look in the metal storage unit at the newbrocantethings I have collected over the winter. They’ve been in there because the actual barn is a bit damp, but I’ll be setting things up in there because it’s more attractive and has that rustic charm. People like that.’
‘Has Felix gone to work?’
‘About an hour ago. But the boys should be here sometime this morning. They still have the water to connect up in thegîtesand they promised they would be here,’ she glanced around rather vaguely, ‘I’ve got to find a couple of invoices for them… I wonder where they are.’
‘Well, shall we tidy up a bit?’ I said. ‘We might find them.’
Isabel looked around as though she was seeing the muddle for the first time.
‘I suppose so,’ she said at last, ‘I hate doing that. Do we have to? It only gets in a mess again.’
It was all the encouragement I needed and after we had finished ourpetit déjeuner,we set to.
I moved the leeks onto the only empty space, which was the windowsill, and then I collected up all the dirty crockery.
‘Have you got a washing-up bowl?’ I said, looking around.
‘No, I turned mine over one day and it was disgusting, all sorts of random stains and things on the bottom. I chucked it out.’
So, I filled the stone sink with hot soapy water and started on the washing-up. Isabel meanwhile sat at the table looking through the piles of paperwork and exclaiming in amazement when she found something interesting or important. Then she found a long letter from someone and sat with some more coffeereading it. Occasionally she read out snippets to me, insisting that this person had been at school with us although I couldn’t remember anyone called Sylvia Anders who used to be good at netball.
‘Listen to this bit. “I went to the latest school reunion even though my arthritis was playing up and saw Jackie White – who is in a wheelchair – Susan Peacock who has just retired from some high-powered job and looked a million dollars, and Lesley Tims who doesn’t seem to have changed at all, apart from having blue hair.”’
I shook my head as I rinsed off the last plate. ‘They don’t ring a bell.’
Isabel sighed in exasperation. ‘Jackie White had more detentions than anyone in my year, even me. Susan Peacock was in your year, she was the one who pushed Miss Coyle into the swimming pool, accidently on purpose, and Lesley Tims was in my year. She got pregnant. She did her O levels swathed in a huge jumper because everyone knew but none of the teachers did. You must remember that?’
‘I don’t remember any of them.’
Isabel huffed. ‘Well, that’s your fault, you’re the one that left school and was never heard of again. Did you ever go to a school reunion? They happen every five years or so.’
‘No, I don’t think I did.’
‘You should. I didn’t go this time because things were a bit frantic here, but usually I do. You must come with me next time.’
