Charmless

Charmless

EGDL: every girl deserves love.

Put me next to my sister Candice and I fade into the background. It’s a twist on ugly duckling/ beautiful swan syndrome.

The fact I’m two years older only makes it worse. I’m eighteen and Candice is sixteen. She’s everything I’m not. She has brilliant green eyes to my hazel ones, golden hair to my light brown, and a figure to die for. But it’s more than that! Every pore oozes sexuality and confidence. She only has to crook her finger and the boys come running.

The last straw came when one of her admirers tried to befriend me in order to get close to her..

Our family live in a modest private house on the edge of a sprawling estate. “The wrong side of the tracks,” dad calls it. But he turns a blind eye to my sister’s frequent trips there. As far as he’s concerned, Candice is “an angel” and it seems she can do no wrong. People often say she’s the spit of dad. No one ever says that of me. With dad, I learned that being noticed was usually the first step to being corrected.

Built in the 60’s, the estate is a sprawling affair consisting of white blocks of polygonal courtyards. From a distance, they rise up like gravestones made of granite. It covers around fifteen acres and is connected by a series of ramps. I’ve often wondered how long it would take to walk from one end to the other, I have no desire to try it. Instead, I bypass it. I, take the longer route to avoid crossing its pathways.

It wasn’t always bad with my sister. Not so long ago, we used to link arms, laughing about silly stuff the way sisters do. It was the pair of us against the world. But that was before her hormones kicked in. The last time I stepped out with her on the estate was sheer punishment; before long, the air was thick with whistles and shouts of “Can you get out tonight, Candy?” No one gave me a second glance.

It was hard to take the humiliation.

EGBDF: Every good boy deserves favour.

A mnemonic to show the lines of the treble clef starting from lowest to highest.

We’re talking early 80’s when every Sunday I attend the “mission” for young people at a high school for boys, of which dad is in charge. Whenever I see these words chalked up on the blackboard of the music room where the service is held, I wonder if any boy will dare to erase them. But then, a boy might get a beating for doing that. Corporal punishment is still alive — even if it’s fading. Also, it’s a boys’ school so it’s not going to have a mnemonic mentioning girls.

It’s 3 o’clock on Sunday and I’m cringing in one of the plastic orange seats that have been painstakingly set up for the “young people’s fellowship group” as it’s officially called. I wait with bated breath dreading dad will say something that will make me want the floor to eat me up. There’s no point asking him to tone it down because he’ll just tell me I should be supporting him in his “missionary work.” To avoid trouble, I generally say as little as possible

It’s a different story when it comes to my sister. She only has to work her charm on him to get what she wants. For weeks now, she’s managed to get out of going to the meeting.

“She needs to spend more time on her homework,” he said the one time I questioned it.

Fat chance of her spending time on her homework though! How little he knows her. At the first opportunity, she’ll slip out of the house to be with her mates from the estate. I’ve seen her staring at one of the boys from the bedroom window. It’s only a matter of time before he succumbs.

It may be unfair, but I don’t complain.

I have my own reasons for not making a fuss.

His name is Greg. For some reason, he’s selected me as his friend. Literally gorgeous, about six months ago, the music room door opened and there he was. Dark and mysterious, clad in motorbike leathers, he immediately came and sat next to me. I longed to put my fingers through that thick brown hair and have those deep blue eyes gaze into mine, have his voice soothe away my worries. I could listen to him talk for hours, except he’s more of a listener. He listens in a way that makes your words worth saying. We hang out together before, during and after the meeting.

In the last few weeks, a group of teenagers who I think of as The Gang of Five have been showing up. Four boys and one girl smirking and giggling all through dad’s talk in the back seats. The slightest thing sets them off, but he appears unfazed. If anything, their presence fires him up; he regards this intake of “fresh blood” as a chance to spread the word.

Whereas I just feel sick.

It’s the half hour break and I’m waiting to catch up with Greg in the playground. We never go out together in case it rouses suspicion.

This time he’s a little later arriving at our designated spot. I concentrate on the yellow lines marking the playground. Self-conscious to a fault, I dread encountering any of the gang members. I know they’re around somewhere. I’m worried they might latch onto Greg. For all his kindness, he may be easily led by whatever shines brightest.

Too late. I feel myself tense as Shaz, the girl member, saunters over.

“Got a fag?”

“No sorry.”

“Naaaa, you don’t look the type. Daddy’s good girl, aren’t ya?” We’re back in the day when smoking was cool – although its health effects were starting to be questioned.

“Actually, I don’t get on with him.” I speak quietly, unable to hide the bitterness. “I did smoke but then I got caught. Sorry, I haven’t got anything on me.”

“So your old man caught you? I’d liked to have seen that.” Her opinion of me shifts a little.

“Yeah.”

“He’s sumfing else, eh?” Must be ‘ard being preached at all the time.”

“Something like that.” Actually, it was mum who caught me smoking and I made her promise not to tell dad, but I’m not going to admit that to Shaz.

“We only come ‘ere for a laugh, you know.”

“Right.”

“Ah, don’t take it like that; we don’t mean no ‘arm. Sommat to do, innit?”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway, it’s my last time here. Mum’s moving away so I won’t be coming again.” She studies me intently. “You’ve got a soft spot for that Greg fella, haven’t ya?”

I say nothing.

“Yeah, you do. I can tell. No skin off my nose, mate. He’s not my type.” She scrabbles about in her bag. “Here, you can have this.” She hands me a glinting charm of a ladybug hanging from an elastic strap. “It’s supposed to be lucky. If you wear it, you get the boy you want. But don’t go and lose it like I did. Even when I found it again, it stopped working. It’s no use to me now. Maybe you’ll have better luck than me.”

“Thanks.” I’m sceptical when it comes to the power of charms, but touched by her gift.

Greg saunters over.

“He looks like a hard nut to crack,” Shaz adds. “Think you’re gonna need that charm, girl.”

When I get home I tuck the necklace away in a drawer. Then I poke my head round the kitchen door where Mum’s slaving over a roast with all the trimmings.

“Give me a hand, Beth, please. Carry the plates in.” she says.

I’m about to object that it’s always me who gets called to help, but seeing how tired she looks, think better if it. I once asked her why dad favoured Candice over me. Her face clouded and I thought she was going to deny it, but in the end she just said, “Please don’t make a fuss, Beth. He loves you too. In his own way.”

At the table, my sister looks like butter wouldn’t melt. Cozying up, doing her usual charm act on dad. He says nothing about the telltale smudge of makeup she hasn’t quite wiped off…

While everyone is tucking into the meal, I’m thinking about the words chalked up on the music room blackboard. Doesn’t a girl deserve favour too? If only I could find a way to capture Greg’s heart and make dad love me the way he does his Candy.

I keep going over what Greg said to me a few weeks ago.

“You’re such a good mate, Beth. It’s a bit like being with another bloke – except better.”

Bittersweet words. Can there ever be anything other then friendship between us? A spark from his side? All I know is I have to do something.

After the washing up is done, I try the necklace on in my room. The ladybug charm feels like a tiny piece of hot coal pressing like a pulse against my neck. Tiny fake diamonds surround the red and black dotted centre. At least, I assume they’re fake. If anyone asks, I’ll say I got it from a church sale.

Deep down, I’m worried dad will forbid me from wearing it, but when he sees it, he says, “That’s a nice necklace, Beth. It suits you.” I’m amazed by his reaction. I can’t remember the last time he’s complimented me. Is my luck about to change?

My good luck continues when the following Sunday Greg and I meet in our usual spot during the intermission.

“You seem different today, Beth.” He looks as if he’s seeing me for the first time. “What’s that you’re wearing?”

“Just a necklace.”

“That’s so pretty.” He draws closer. No mistaking the electricity as he touches the charm.

“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

“Erm, I was wondering if you’d like to go to the cinema with me next week?”

“What?” I exclaim.

“Well, only if you want to.”

I think of my sister. How would she respond in my shoes? “Sounds like fun,” I say, lightly.

“Great. When?”

“It will have to be when dad’s not around. You know how he is.”

Between us, we work out the best time is next Sunday when dad is preaching. “I’ll tell him I’m not feeling well. Candice gets away with it all the time, so why shouldn’t I?”

“You don’t speak about your sister much,” Greg says curiously.

“She’s not worth speaking about.”

In the cinema, Greg puts his arm round me. The warmth of his body and his aftershave make me dizzy. I have no idea what the film is and when he kisses me, I feel faint. All I can think of is getting him alone.

Like Juliet, desire changes me, makes me bold. When my parents decide to break the normal rules and take Candice to a London show as a birthday treat. I plead I need extra time to revise for my exams. Normally, that would have been true. Now, I seize the chance to spend time with Greg alone.

After spending the day with him, I now know what all the fuss is about. Even though the charm is starting to irritate my neck, I keep it on. Greg seems fascinated by it so it’s a small price to pay. He touches it even during our most intimate moments. I only I take it off in the bathroom. And even then, I keep it close.

I don’t want to tempt fate.

Even though it’s starting to feel like love has become glass and metal enclosed around my throat.

Inevitably Greg will get to meet my sister because dad has invited him round for Sunday lunch. I can almost hear her intake of breath when he’s introduced. She must see him as a challenge because she spends the entire meal flirting. But it’s all to no avail: it seems he only has eyes for me.

For weeks everything goes well, but then one day I leave the charm in to my bedroom while I take a shower. When I go to put on my necklace, I find it’s gone. I start freaking out. Greg is due round any minute!

Why am I not surprised to find my sister sitting at the table wearing my necklace, her hand circling the charm? Why am I not surprised to see her looking smug?.

“You’re wearing my necklace,” I snarl. “Give it back to me.”

“Surely you don’t mind if I borrow it. Just for today.”

“I never said you could.”

Dad looks up from his plate. “Don’t be churlish, Beth,” he says. “Let your sister wear it.”

“Mum?” I plead.

“You shouldn’t take what doesn’t belong to you Candice. Just make sure you give it back to your sister by the end the day.” Mum quietly serves out the vegetables.

As events unfold, its like being glued to a horror movie. I watch powerless as Greg suddenly reacts to my sister the way all the other boys do. After the meal, her eyes glint as she offers to give him a tour of the neighbourhood. I can’t keep track. I feel paralysed, unable to act. All the time, the charm glitters mockingly on my sister’s neck. Mesmerised, Greg follows her out of the house, not looking back.

“Greg…Please…don’t go.” My throat constricts. I can’t get the words out properly.

“We won’t be long,” Candice says. “I know how much you hate wandering round the estate.”

I’m standing in my sister’s room watching the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. Fast asleep, she has always hated the dark and keeps the curtains slightly open. The cold glare of the moon reveals the charm lying attached to its necklace on her bedside table. There’s a slight stirring, but no waking. Lying there vulnerable and exposed without the necklace. An image flashes of when we were kids dressing up in mum’s clothes and trying on her shoes. Like little magpies, we used to love the glittering jewellery.

Candy is still playing at being grownup. At heart, she’s still a child, snatching at adult things. Seeing her like this reminds me I used to take care of her. She’d snuggle up next to me while I read her stories in bed. Nothing too scary because she was easily frightened.

For a few seconds, my anger evaporates, only to return to the familiar refrain of “If I can’t have him, neither can you.” Things have spiralled and I can’t get them to stop. Sibling rivalry is primal; a pulse running deep. The human urge not to be replaced. Wanting to preserve what’s mine at all costs. Wanting to matter.

Anger makes me decisive. I quickly slip the necklace into my dressing gown pocket, tiptoe across soft carpet pile and gently close the door.

The upstairs hallway is eerily silent. Pressing my ear to my parent’s bedroom door, I hear nothing. Padding downstairs, I open the front door. My nostrils are filled with air that is smoky and rain-drenched and I can almost hear the wind whispering through the ramps of the estate like a ghost. Undeterred, I make my way to the outside drain where I release the necklace. There’s a slight plop as it hits the water. I wait for a minute but the darkness offers only silence. So much better than throwing it down the sink where it could be retrieved.

The following morning, Candice bursts into my bedroom.

“You fucking bitch! What have you done with the necklace?”

Now it’s my turn to look like butter wouldn’t melt.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. After all, you took it off me, remember?”

It comes as no surprise when not long after ‘losing’ the charm, she and Greg split up. Candice is devastated. It’s the first time a boy has rejected her and for the life of her she can’t understand why.

Lying in bed, I hear her bitter crying between the walls. Not only has she had to deal with the ignominy of being dumped, Dad has listened to mum for once and generally clamped down. There’s to be no more rearing off and she’s been banned from mixing with boys from the estate. He’s also insisted she attends all the Sunday meetings, no excuses.

My only comfort is Greg won’t be there. He hasn’t been for weeks now and I never want to see his face again.

Many years have passed since that fateful night. I’ve often wondered what happened to the charm after it sloshed its way through miles of underground pipes. Did it make its way into the stomach of some gluttonous rat, or did it spend years being stuck in the slime of some disgusting goo, waiting to be dislodged?

I never saw it again.

I only hope it will bring someone lasting luck. Someone who deserves it.