A young Millicent leant against the wall, letting the draught from the open front door numb her cheeks. At just twenty three she already knew how good her mother, Madeleine Haslin was at manipulation. She held between her fingers the pages of a letter neatly written out on plain paper, without any mistakes. It was a work of art, designed to elicit sympathy, to remind Madeleine's daughter that she had a family, and that family would fail without her.
'I am arranging for a photographer to come to the family home for you and Rachel. It's going to be a birthday present for George. You know how he's been recently, I want to cheer him up.'
The thought of her and Rachel next to each other after no contact, caused a terrible sort of paralysis in Millicent. She found that the moment the letter was opened, and her eyes read the words, everything seemed to slow down. They had all been affected by Rachel, that was something Madeleine would never write in a letter. There had been no contact between the siblings since the events in the attic that winter. Now Madeleine was drawing her out, letting Millicent think it was her decision to come play the doting daughter, and sit for a picture next to the sister she loathed.
They all knew that Millicent wouldn't come, unless it was for her father George. He was the one who had come to the door of the attic on that November morning. It was George who had gently laid Millicent down in the back seat of the car, and ran a red light to drive her to the hospital. It was George who had found her a place to live afterwards.
“If you could put aside your feelings and come, George would be so proud of you both.” Millicent read the letter ten times before she realised what would happen. Rachel's re-appearances were always unique. They produced a sharp taste in Millicent's mouth whenever she thought of them.
“Is it so difficult for you to be civil with her? She's ill, Millie, and most of what she does is because of that illness, including what she did to you.” Madeleine knew how to word certain things, so that nothing horrible could be implied.
“What does forgiveness even mean?” Millicent said aloud to the empty room. If Madeleine could see where she lived now, at such a young age, she would insist on having her back at the family home. A room with a bed, a sink and a rusty kettle didn't stand a chance next to forgiveness. Madeleine would've told Millicent to accept events the way they were, and move back to relative comfort.
Millicent left the letter on her bedside table, knowing that if she let it, the invitation would sit there until she gave in. Millicent packed a bag and left that afternoon.
The two Haslin sisters sat opposite each other in their best clothes. The high arched windows of the rented mainland house let in vast streams of light over their heads. Neither sister said a word as Rachel smoked a cigarette. Millicent, the younger of the two, watched her sister carefully. Rachel would not meet her gaze.
The doctor's said that Millicent's scar would heal; that it would fade. It hadn't. With each passing year it flourished, itching at certain times of the day. When she leaned forward to clutch a glass of wine or a cup of tea, she could feel the skin stretching from under her ribs to across her abdomen. She often woke up in the night in her single bed with her stomach covered in sweat. The scar wept. It spoilt the silk blouses she liked to wear. It smarted against the corsets she had occasionally begun to lace up against it, if only to cover up what wouldn't fade.
Now she was sat across from Rachel; the woman everyone forgave. Rachel's baby bump was still invisible to everyone else including Madeleine, but Millicent knew. When their father George Haslin returned from overseas, he would know too.
Rachel went with strange men whenever she liked. She disappeared for days on end, returning shocked and bruised with no explanations. Millicent had been the one who dealt with it all. It wasn't enough that Madeleine wanted her to speak to Rachel, she actually wanted an official photograph of them together to give to George as a birthday present.
Rachel crossed her arms for a moment, before speaking.
“Madeleine's late.”
This didn't elicit any response. Rachel blew smoke across the room. She looked exhausted, but then she didn't ever sleep soundly, even as a child. She suffered from a sleeping condition which caused her to lay in bed with open, glassy eyes as if in a trance.
“You shouldn't smoke in your condition.” Millicent said, nodding to her stomach.
Rachel paused before drawing deeply on her cigarette. “Why not? They didn't let me do it inside, and besides, I'm not keeping it.” She flicked the ash onto the carpet and trod into it with her heel. She put one hand on the sofa, and held the cigarette up in the air.
Millicent raised her eyebrows. She would've given anything to take the seed from her sister and put it into her own womb. “Madeleine won't let you have an abortion,” she said.
“When I tell her what I want, Madeleine will support me.”
Millicent knew that what Rachel said was true. Madeleine forgave her anything, after all. She scratched her diaphragm, running her nails across the deep red line. Rachel saw the movement and looked up sharply. It was as if she was waiting for Millicent to stand up and reveal the ugly scar underneath her clothing.
“You always said you would get pregnant before me.” Millicent said, quickly.
Rachel's shoulders tensed. She leant forward, looking at Millicent's right hand where it rested on her lap. “Don't you want to know what it was like in there?” She asked.
Millicent knew it would give her sister some satisfaction to tell the horror stories; to make her feel guilty because it was her fault that Rachel had gone away this time. Hers and George's.
The door opened and Madeleine stood there with a man clasping a camera to his waist. She breezed through the vast living room in a black diaphanous robe, waving her long nails to direct the photographer on how to get the best shot. Millicent looked away, embarrassed. It was Rachel whose face had lit up at the sight of Madeleine. She stood up immediately and hugged her mother whilst she was talking.
“Aren't they beautiful, my daughters?” Madeleine held Rachel's face between two palms, looking for signs that she had been affected by her committal. “Arrange them how you like, you won't get a bad shot.”
Rachel beamed. Millicent sighed, and stood up slowly. She could feel the scar chafing under her blouse. “Can you imagine what my grandchildren will be like with this one for a daughter?” Madeleine said. The photographer nodded obediently. Rachel's smile fell.
“I've always imagined myself surrounded by adoring grandchildren. I'm sure Rachel will do me proud. That's what we're here for, after all, isn't it?” She glanced at Millicent for a moment, cocking her head sideways. “Millie, dear you're going to have to change your blouse, you've spilt something down it.”
Millicent looked down at herself. Rachel, who was looking at the photographer rather than her family, stubbed out another cigarette. The camera flash caught their expressions perfectly. Rachel's arm touched Millicent's once during the sitting. They moved apart slowly, making sure Madeleine didn't notice. There was always a narrow path between them; a chink of light visible in photographs before and after.
By the time George Haslin's birthday arrived, Rachel was heavily pregnant. Madeleine sent copies of the photo out to everyone she knew. Millicent moved back into the family home, and began to throw out most of Rachel's discarded belongings. She found the photograph one day, wedged between the pages of a book. Millicent had run her fingers over the serrations on Rachel's face.
"All this goes beyond wanting to hurt your baby sister because you're jealous. This goes much further than that.” Those were the words that George had uttered months earlier whilst driving to the hospital, with Millicent bleeding all over the back seat.
