They were not identical twins. They were not even vaguely similar. In fact, they were not the same gender. Glenda was tall and broad-shouldered while James was petite, with delicate bones and slender fingers. Nature doesn’t always get it precisely spot on. On this occasion, She (nature, that is) slipped up big time. It was as if nature had gone on a bender on the day She concocted the twins. Before she turned 13, (Glenda, that is) she had an impressive Adam's apple, and the telltale shadow above her upper lip could only be the makings of a very handsome moustache. Meanwhile, James inherited their mom's shapely hips that swayed gracefully when he walked, and his balls wouldn’t descend until he'd turned 23. They were not gay, to start with, though. Just because you inherited some features of the opposite sex, it did not mean that you had to be gay or lesbian. Their dad, in his heyday, was a firebrand Baptist vicar, so they could not be that way inclined, even if they tried.
Glenda immersed herself in all the usual girly stuff. When she was nine, her favourite style was to tie her hair back in two curly plaits that made her look like a ram wearing a pair of lazy horns. It sparked a row when James remarked, one day, that she would probably look better wearing her hair short. She joined a girl band when she was 13. She was the lead vocalists, but when her voice broke and she performed a rendition of Whitney Houston's ‘I will always love you’ in a perfect baritone, she was told to leave. At any rate, the rest of the band had not always been comfortable with the way she towered over everyone else like an annoying older brother.
As for James, all he wanted was to be like his dad, but with a delicate nose and soft, gentle, eyes, it was like a circle yearning to be a square. Reverend Watson was a ‘man’s man’, with eyes that gleamed beneath forbidding brows, and hands made of wrought iron. He had the stature of a wrestler and a voice that growled like hurricane Katrina at the height of its fury. He had prayed all his life for a son, and could not have been anything but horrified about having two such children. Although he tried hard to conceal his dismay, he could not help the occasional betrayals of his inner feelings towards them. How could God have misunderstood such a simple request? In any event, his church work was very demanding, so he had very little time to spend with his children, even if he had wanted. In his father’s absence, James could only make do with the next best thing - his mom. Unlike Glenda who seemed more independent and adventurous, he liked to help his mom with the cooking, tiding up, and such like.
In school, the older boys picked on him. They said he ran like a girl, which hurt, more so, because he really did. They painted a rose on his cheeks and they pinched his bottom. Brenda always came to his rescue, which did not help, altogether. He lamented his lack of machismo, and made it a point of duty to grow a beard at the earliest possible opportunity. Well, that’s if Glenda doesn’t get there first! Which led to another massive row. He had said it before he realized the absurdity of his own words; and she hadn’t taken it all too well. That was one of the, very few, times he had made his sister cry. He was later to accuse her of ‘stealing’ his masculinity at the time they were born (rather like stealing his favourite pair of sneakers) and he would be happy to have everything back - except the Adams apple.
They had many more rows after that. But 10 years later, they had the biggest row ever – the mother of all rows that was to end all rows, after which James moved to Bristol. Brenda blundered her way through high school, dropped out of University in the first year, and eventually resigned herself to the unglamorous prospect of working odd jobs and long late night shifts. After several false starts - as a hairdresser, a seamstress and a nursery attendant, she finally found her niche as a bouncer in a North London Night club, and she rented a flat. The last thing she expected was for her misfit twin to turn up at her doorstep. She recognized him at once and she almost shut the door in his face.
'What do you want?' was her first words to her brother who she hadn’t seen for seven years, turning her face away from his weak, implausible smile.
'Hi Sis' he said 'Long time no see, eh?'
She stood squarely in the doorway, and scowled as he looked hopefully past her into the flat.
'Just a friendly visit, it’s been so long-'
'Look, I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want to see you. If you have come to say something, please say it and go. And don’t call me sis. I am no sister of yours'
'I came to tell you about Dad.'
‘What about Dad?’ the edge had gone out of her voice. She last saw their dad two days before, at the Waltham Cross nursing home where he had been for the past six years. It had all been downhill for him since their mom died in an accident. He became disillusioned, quit his work as a vicar, and rapidly descended into melancholy. Soon, ill health took hold of him and he eventually succumbed to early dementia. By the time he was moved to the home, he could barely recognize anyone, not even Brenda who unfailingly paid him a visit every Tuesday. James never went to see him. Perhaps, after all, she was the son he never had, and James was the daughter he never wanted.
What the hell could he have to say about dad? If the old bugger has finally croaked, the people at the home would have gotten in touch with me first. She stepped aside and let James in, watching him closely. He hadn’t changed that much despite the years, and even though he had dyed his hair blonde and wore it shoulder length. He was wearing a tight fitting blue T-shirt and even tighter black jeans trousers. His nuts must be screaming with pain! He had developed an infuriating case of roving eyes syndrome because, from the moment he entered the flat, his eyes never stopped darting from all over the place, even when he sat down on the double sofa in front of the small TV.
‘So, what is it with dad?’
‘I went to see him today.’
Why can’t those eyes keep still, I bet he must be on something? And that stupid grin! If he keeps wrinkling his nose like that, I will kill him.
‘Well, what-?’
‘I have no place to stay tonight’
‘Why don’t you go back to Bristol? You can’t stay here, that’s for sure. And don’t give me that stupid look...’ she remembered how she was always looking after him; and at no time did ever say thank you.
‘It’s too late to get a train to Bristol at this time’
‘Well, get yourself a B&B for goodness sakes’
‘I’m skint, sis. I don’t even have the bus fare to the train station’
‘You should have bloody thought of that before you came here!’ she checked herself as she realized she was starting to raise her voice. Christ! What will the neighbours think! She wondered if she could scare him off with one final bluff.
‘If you don’t leave here at once I will call the police.’
‘Dad talked.’
‘What?’
Their dad hadn’t spoken a word for the past six years. When she visited, he just stared at her. He only made noises - un-ecstatic grunts of pain and discomfort, or, at other times, a perfectly meaningless groan. Brenda did all the talking; telling him about what she was up to, most of which he would surely not have approved.
‘Yes, he talked to me about things’
‘You liar, the man is brain dead’
‘I'm telling you, he did. One of the nurses was there, the one with the fake eyebrows. She called two other nurses. You should have seen their excitement’
Glenda was silent. The old git, not talking all this time, James pays him one measly visit and he starts blabbing his head off.
‘So what did he have to say?’
‘Will you let me stay or what?’
Glenda did not reply. Instead, she went into the bedroom and shut the door.
James took the opportunity to have a good look around. Somewhere in this grubby flat, there was what he was looking for.
The place was like the abode of a Lithuanian prison officer – tatty but tidy. There was a black and white photo of a man on motorcycle on the wall; Which one does she fancy, the man or the bike? In one corner, there was a classic telephone with rotary dial, but without a connecting cable. Parked neatly by the bathroom door was a pair of gigantic ballet shoes. He wandered into the kitchen. If she catches me snooping around, I'll tell her I'm making myself a cup of tea. A few plates were stacked on the worktop. There were some glass cups, mugs and other bits and pieces in the upper cabinets. spic and span, our Glenda, she is. Clean as a weasel. There were some cracked tiles on the floor and dark stains of rising damp on the back wall.
Really done well for yourself, haven’t you, sis? Far better than him. His girly looks always got in the way of his job prospects. But that was about to change. Their dad, in one final bout of guilt and regret, had told him about the money left to him and Brenda by Uncle Fred. Uncle was always trying to teach them to be wise with money. He had set up their joint savings account and given them the passbook as a present on their 10th birthday. There was only £10 in the kitty to start with, and, although they had never saved any more money, despite Uncle Fred’s constant advice, Brenda always kept the passbook. Knowing Brenda, somewhere in the flat there would be a box containing some old photos from their primary school days, several dolls - in varying stages of damage but equally cherished – and some of their mom’s jewellery. There would, of course, also be the passbook, now – unknown to Brenda -worth 60 grand. Uncle Fed had put the money into the account shortly before he died. Only their dad knew but he did not think they derived it, so he wasn’t saying anything about it. If James could get his hands on that passbook, he would forge his sister’s signature, and all that money would be his. She did not need to know about it. She was doing okay, anyways. If she knew, she would cheat him of his rightful share. The selfish, overbearing bitch.
Glenda finally came out after about two hours. By then James had satisfied himself that the passbook could only be in the bedroom, he’d had three cups of tea and he was curled up on the sofa in front of the TV like a Munchkin cat, using his rucksack as a headrest, watching Jeremy Springer’ late night show.
She had changed to her work clothes - a black sleeveless top and a pair of black combat trousers. She had powdered over her red-rimmed eyes and her face was hard. ‘OK, you can stay, but only for tonight’. Her Adam’s apple juddered, as she swallowed, ‘I don’t care for your silly games over dad’s condition. I want your sorry arse out of here first thing tomorrow.’
‘I don’t want to push my luck, sis, but is there any chance of something to eat?’
She did not reply.
James was dismayed to see that she was holding a key. The bitch, she’s locked the bedroom door. She stared at him and waggled her Adam’s apple as if she was about to say something and then she turned round.
‘When are you coming back?’
‘I’m working through the night; I’ll be back around seven’. She hesitated. What am I doing, leaving all my belongings in the hands of this – stranger. But she left without saying a further word.
‘Ciao!’ James said, gleefully.
He pottered about the flat for a while. If I damn well have to break down that door, I will. And once I get that passbook, I'm gone. But when he turned the handle, he was surprised to see that the door was not locked after all. He stepped, gingerly, into the mixed aroma of sandalwood powder and cheap perfume. The bed dominated most of the space, with a little dressing table on the other side. The embroidery on the pillow reminded him of his needlework when he was 13. He picked up the pillow and found an old leather-bound book underneath. What do we have here? ... Brenda's diary! He picked it up at once and began to read. What, an entry for every single day! Sis must have too much time. Her handwriting was neat but the words leaned forward as if they were standing in the middle of a Mediterranean gale. Most of the pages were tear-stained and some of the words were smudged.
...Today, I was sitting all by myself in the Lloyd Park, watching the people milling past. If only I was part of the crowd. I am fed up with being the outsider...
James chuckled. Awww, poor sis, how my heart bleeds!
…
... Visited Dad at the nursing home today. I don’t think he will ever get better. I tried to cheer him up with the joke about the randy monk, but he just stared at me with those dead eyes. I miss the old Dad, even though he was never there. I miss mom and J...
…
... Stayed in all day today. I didn’t even bother to switch on the light when it was getting dark. I wonder what J is up to? Why do I feel so lost? It felt like half of me was ripped apart when we both went our separate ways – like it was only yesterday. I feel incomplete...
…
... Today I won £10 in the lottery. If I won a million, I would give it all away just to make up with J.
…
... I will never forgive J for telling Mom and Daddy about Jeanette and me, but I will give my right arm see him again. Why did he have to go so far away and never get in touch? I will not be the one to get in touch first, that’s for sure.
But going to Bristol was dad’s idea. He said it was all for the best. When I called, he said you did not want anything to do with me, the devious, old bastard!
…
By the time Glenda returned, James had read through the whole diary twice. He had completely forgotten about the passbook. He was sitting on the bed, just as he had been, four hours before, when he entered the room, staring at the open diary and trembling, his eyes streaming with tears. And his Adam's apple was beginning to hurt.
……………………………………………………………………………………………..
Next story
Due date: 20 Aug 2010
Working Title: A In a different world
Rough synopsis: Dr Tobias McDonald, a Physics lecturer in the University of Basingstoke, was a man who prided himself on his reasoning ability. For him, everything had a rational explanation. Thus, he tended to be sceptical about most things. His wife was the exact opposite; she was a devout Catholic who read her Bible regularly and believed in supernatural phenomenon and miracles. They both found themselves in a situation in which bizarre things were happening - Things that defied all the logic and reason that Dr. McDonald was used to. They both struggled to deal with the situation, challenging each other with their own perspective and interpretation of the unfolding events.
Comments
Highhat | July 25, 2010 - 17:26
what a fascinating story ;)