In My Sister's Shoes Read online

  ‘You get used to it,’ she said.

  ‘Well, you look tired to me,’ said Dad. ‘I hope Mark’s doing his fair share, Goldwin Prize or no Goldwin Prize.’

  ‘Yes, Dad, he is. Mark’s a very hands-on father.’

  ‘Here you go,’ I said, pouring his tea to shut him up.

  ‘Well, have you met a nice lad yet?’ he asked, ricocheting from one interfering question to the next.

  ‘No, I’m too busy with work to meet men,’ I said.

  ‘You’ve always been far too focused on your career. You should spend more time trying to meet a nice fellow like your sister and settle down. You’re no spring chicken any more.’

  I almost choked on my tea. Mark had never been Dad’s idea of a great son-in-law. He had hoped Fiona would meet someone who’d spoil her and pamper her and take away all her worries and responsibilities. Give her back some of the childhood that had been robbed from her. But you can’t turn back the clock and change the past. Fiona was responsible, efficient, reliable and dependable, and she wasn’t going to change regardless of whom she married. Besides, she really did seem to love Mark and he adored her.

  They had met at a chess competition – Mum had taught Fiona how to play. When she was too sick to get out of bed, Fiona would go up to her room and they’d play for hours. After Mum had died, Dad signed Fiona up to a chess club and made her go every week. At first she didn’t want to, but then she began to enjoy it, especially after she met Mark.

  For Fiona it was love at first checkmate. She had finally met someone who was passionate about chess and maths. Living with Derek and me must have been torture for her – we could barely add. They spent hours discussing linear programming, genetic algorithms and differential equations. Fiona thought she had died and gone to heaven. After years of trying to teach me and Derek to play chess – I got bored after five minutes and Derek tried to shove the pieces up his nose – she had found a true kindred spirit.

  ‘Thanks for reminding me of my age, Dad,’ I said. ‘And, by the way, in case you ever meet anyone I work with, I’m twenty-six,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘In my line of work once you reach thirty you’re over the hill, unless you’re hugely successful. So, I’ll be twenty-six for a couple of years.’

  ‘What kind of a job is that? You should come home and–’

  ‘Get a real job,’ I said, finishing his sentence for him. ‘No, thanks, Dad. I love my job and I’m where I want to be. If I have to starve myself and go to the gym five days a week to look younger, so be it. It’s worth the effort.’

  ‘You’re looking very thin,’ Fiona said.

  ‘I have to be. TV adds on ten pounds – and you should see the girls I’m in competition with. They’re stunning and rail thin. It’s dog eat dog out there.’

  ‘Who’s eating dogs?’ asked Jack.

  ‘That’s mean,’ said Bobby, putting a protective arm round Teddy.

  ‘No one’s eating dogs, sweetie, it’s just an expression,’ said Fiona, giving Jack a hug.

  ‘Mummy, will you light the candles again?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course. Will we sing “Happy Birthday” again too?’ Fiona asked.

  ‘Yes, please,’ they said, jumping up and down.

  ‘OK, here we go.’ She lit the candles and we sang ‘Happy Birthday’ for the fifth time.

  I watched Fiona’s face looking lovingly down on the twins as they blew out their candles, and remembered my mother lighting my birthday cake and felt a pang of emptiness. I prayed that everything would be all right with Fiona’s lump. Children need their mothers, and Fiona was incredible with the twins. They were lucky to have her, and she deserved to be their mum for a very long time.

  3

  I sat smiling tersely at the teenager sitting opposite me and watched the clock tick. I had ten minutes with her and was supposed to air the interview on the show later that week. Some interview, I thought glumly. So far the kid had answered every question with either a shrug or a barely audible monosyllable. The bolshie Hollywood starlet scowled and pulled on her cigarette, exhaling smoke into my face. I took a deep breath and tried again: ‘So, did you find the role of Amy challenging?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is Louisa May Alcott your favourite author?’

  ‘Who?’ said the star, frowning.

  ‘The author who wrote Little Women, the book of the film you’ve just made,’ I said, beginning to lose the screed of patience I had left.

  ‘Dunno, never read books.’

  ‘So you made a film, based on a classic tale, and didn’t read the book?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Are you as good at reading as you are at conversing?’ I snapped.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Talking. You know, having a conversation,’ I said, letting my temper get the better of me. ‘Is that concept alien to you? Because I’d like to know why you’ve wasted my time today. I’ve spent five hours waiting in a draughty hotel corridor to interview you for ten minutes and all you can say is,“don’t know”,“yes” and “no”. Do you not understand English?’

  As my cameraman, Gary, sniggered, the PR woman, who had been nodding off in the chair behind him, leaped to her feet and said that the interview was over. How dare I speak to her star like that? She called Security and I was promptly escorted out of the hotel by two large bodyguards.

  ‘Bloody hell, Kate, what’s got into you today?’ asked Gary.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m in a really bad mood and I’m sick to death of interviewing mind-numbingly stupid child actors with attitude.’

  ‘Yeah, but Donna’s going to do her nut when she hears about this.’

  ‘Fuck Donna,’ I snapped. Gary stared at me in shock. I never lost my cool in interviews – I had plenty of experience with uncooperative stars. He knew something was up.

  ‘Sorry, Gary, I didn’t mean to be so grumpy. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you back in the office. We’ll sort something out,’ I said, smiling weakly at him.

  Gary shrugged and walked off to his van.

  I sighed as I watched him go, then set off for the tube, putting my sunglasses on to hide my tears. What was I going to do? For the first time in my life, my sister needed me. I knew going home to Dublin was the right thing to do but I also knew that the sick feeling in my stomach wasn’t just concern and fear for Fiona. If I was being totally honest, a big part of it was selfish anger. I knew that by leaving London I’d lose everything I’d worked so hard to achieve.

  I went over that morning’s disastrous phone conversation with Mark.

  ‘Hello, Kate. Are you alone?’ he asked, sounding strained.

  ‘Yes, what’s up?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news. Fiona’s biopsy has shown the lump to be malignant. She has breast cancer. She’s having the lump removed and then she’s probably going to need chemotherapy.’

  My hands began to shake violently.

  ‘Kate?’

  ‘Is she going to be OK? Is it bad?’

  ‘We won’t know until after the lumpectomy, which she’s having on Thursday.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Not good. She seems to have fallen apart.’

  ‘Can I talk to her?’

  ‘No. She’s gone to drop the boys to music lessons. Besides, she doesn’t know I’m calling you. You know what she’s like, never wants to worry anyone.’

  My head was throbbing. ‘Does Dad know?’

  ‘She’s too afraid to tell him. Especially with your mother’s history.’

  ‘Oh, God – poor Dad! This’ll kill him. Do the boys know?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Mark, choking up. ‘We’re going to need help with them, so I don’t want to say anything until we’ve arranged something. Actually, that’s why I’m calling. Could you come home and look after them?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll come home tomorrow for the day and try to get back every chance I have between recording the show.’

  ‘The problem i
s, Fiona’s going to need full-time help for the foreseeable future. It could be three months, it could be six.’

  ‘But if I come home every opportunity I can, and if you work part-time, we should be able to manage.’

  ‘Unfortunately the timing couldn’t be worse. I’m completely swamped with this Goldwin Prize paper and Fiona won’t hear of me giving it up. She became hysterical when I mentioned it. She said my work on the paper would keep her going, that it would be a really positive focus for us in the middle of this nightmare. She thinks she can manage on her own, but she can’t, Kate. She’s struggling already. She needs someone to be there all the time for the boys, someone she trusts and who knows them,’ he said getting emotional again.

  ‘But, Mark, I can’t give up my job and move back. I’ve only just got my own show after eight years’ hard slog. I’ll help in anyway I can – I’ll come back at every opportunity – but I can’t be there full-time. You can work on your project when the boys are asleep and I’ll be back every week and Dad can pitch in. We’ll muddle through.’

  ‘Muddling through isn’t good enough,’ said Mark, suddenly sounding angry. ‘We have a crisis on our hands. Fiona has cancer. She’s always been there for you – she gave up her youth to bring you up when your mother died. You owe her, Kate.’

  ‘Look, I’ve said I’ll do what I can and I–’

  ‘I have to go! She’s back, and she’d kill me if she knew I was asking you for a favour,’ whispered Mark. ‘Kate, I need an answer within the hour, or I’ll have to start calling nanny agencies. She’s going into hospital on Thursday. Call me back as soon as you’ve made your decision.’

  I stared at the phone in shock. I wasn’t Mark’s biggest fan, but he’d never been rude before. I understood that he was upset, but he didn’t have to try to blackmail me into moving back. Who did he think he was, telling me I owed Fiona? Telling me she’d given up her youth for me. I knew exactly what Fiona had done – she’d been amazing and I did owe her. But I loved my job. It had taken me so long to get to this point in my career. Why did I have to give everything up and not Mark? He was her husband. They were his children. Stuff his stupid prize. He’d have to put his foot down and tell Fiona she came first, not work. I’d help as much as I could. He needed to understand that my presenting job was a one-in-a-million opportunity and as important to me as his Goldwin Prize was to him.

  I called him back and told him as much. There was a deathly silence at the other end of the line.

  ‘What you don’t seem to be grasping here,’ he said coldly, ‘is that your sister has begged me to continue with the prize paper. Of course I’d give it up if I thought it would help, but she made me promise not to. I realize your job means a lot to you, but you’re young, you’ll pick up another job as soon as all this is over. Right now, you need to focus on Fiona.’

  ‘I can’t give it up. It’s my life! I don’t have a husband or kids – this job is it for me. I’m sorry, but giving it up just isn’t possible. I’ll talk to my producer and see if I can come back for two days a week or something.’

  ‘Do you have any idea what’s been going on here while you’ve been chasing your career in London? For the last eight years Fiona’s nursed your father every time he’s had the flu or a cold and she’s the one who always boosts Derek’s confidence when he gets yet another knock-back for his music. She’s spent her life looking after your family but she can’t do it anymore. She’s sick and it’s your turn now. It’s time for you to step up and be responsible. She needs to concentrate on getting better. You owe her, Kate.’

  I really wish he’d stop saying that. It had got to me because he was right – I owed Fiona a lot and she had never asked me for anything.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  ‘I can’t decide now. I need time to think about it. I can’t give up my job and move home. I’ll see if I can work round it.’

  ‘Your sister has cancer, the same cancer your mother died from at the same age. How can you put your job first? She never put herself first when it came to you. She gave up everything to make sure you and Derek had a happy childhood. Do you have any idea how difficult that was for her? You have to come home and help her with the boys.’

  ‘Why can’t you look after her? To hell with your stupid maths prize! Your wife and children are more important,’ I snapped, panicking as reality hit me. I knew now I’d have to move back. I couldn’t leave her.

  ‘How eloquently put. I can see why you appeal so much to the dumped-down television generation. Much as I’d love to sit here and argue with you, I have to sort out care for my wife and children. If you’re not going to help, I need to start calling agencies.’

  ‘Wait!’ I said, and my heart sank. ‘Don’t call anyone else. I’ll come back.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mark, sounding relieved.

  When I hung up I realized I was shaking, with shock about Fiona and fury with Mark for having forced my hand. Why was it up to me to look after his wife and kids? Hadn’t he married Fiona in sickness and in health? Why did responsibility for his family fall on my shoulders? How long would it be for? Would I ever work again?

  How would we get on living in each other’s pockets? Fiona and I were very different. She was responsible, über-organized and happy for her career to take second place to Mark and the twins. I was restless, ambitious and impulsive. Fiona craved a secure family unit, while the thought of settling down made me feel claustrophobic. She had been a child genius and member of Mensa, while I had struggled to pass exams of any kind.

  Fiona had spent her life being my surrogate mother, worrying about me, fussing over me, but as I got older and she continued to mother me it had become a bit suffocating. Moving to London had been incredibly liberating. How would Fiona react to me taking care of her and her children? It wouldn’t be easy.

  I took a few deep breaths and tried to process the information: Fiona had cancer, the same cancer Mum had died from.

  Mum had only lived eight months after she was diagnosed. If Fiona only had eight months to live, how could I not be there for her? On the other hand, she might get better and live to be ninety. But could I take that chance? In my heart I knew I only had one choice. My sister needed me and Mark was right: I did owe her.

  I had twenty-four hours to tape the new show and beg my producer, Donna, for leave of absence. I was doing the right thing, the only thing, but I was terrified. I had left Dublin eight years ago in search of fame and fortune and had just reached D-list fame, with the fortune yet to come – but at least I was free, anonymous, away from the goldfish bowl of Dublin and Fiona’s lifelong habit of trying to fix me. I dreaded going back. I knew it would be as if the last eight years had never happened. I’d have to try and persuade Donna to keep my position open. I had to be able to come back. It was the only thing that’d get me through.

  4

  I got through to Fiona later that day.

  ‘Hi, Kate,’ said my sister, sounding tired.

  ‘Fiona, Mark told me about the result, I’m so sorry. I’m coming home tomorrow to help. I’ll stay as long as you need me. I’ll look after the twins and you and… Oh, Fiona, I can’t believe it’s happened to you,’ I said, and began to sob.

  ‘Don’t do that. No tears, it’ll be fine. The lump is there and it has to come out, and then I’ll have the chemo and it’ll all be over. You don’t have to come back. I’m fine,’ said Fiona, sounding hollow.

  ‘I’m coming home and that’s the end of it. I’m catching a flight tomorrow night. What time is the lump-thingy?’

  ‘It’s a lumpectomy and it’s scheduled for Thursday morning. It’s unnecessary for you to be here, Kate.’

  ‘Look, I’m coming and it’s non-negotiable. Have you told Dad?’

  ‘No,’ said Fiona, her voice catching. ‘I can’t seem to find the right time,’ she said, and broke down.

  ‘You’re going to be fine,’ I said, as much to reassure myself as her. ‘Do you want me to tell Dad?’

  �
��Yes,’ said Fiona, regaining her composure. ‘I have to go now. It’s time for the twins’ bedtime story.’

  ‘What are you reading them?’

  ‘Mark found a book called Inventors and Inventions, which they love.’

  ‘But they’re only five!’

  ‘It’s never too early to stimulate the brain.’

  Those poor boys, I thought, having to listen to some boring story about inventions. I’d rather boil my head! For once, though, I decided to bite my tongue. Fiona didn’t need me to stick my oar in. Besides, what did I know about kids? I had little or no interest in them. Although I was fond of the twins, I found that after an hour with them I’d had enough and so had they. Fiona, on the other hand, had the patience of a saint.

  ‘Fiona?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Just, you know, it’ll be OK and–’

  ‘Goodbye, Kate,’ she said, cutting me off before I could get soppy on her.

  After hanging up I decided to call someone and go out for a drink. I needed to talk. I thought about all the friends I’d made over the last eight years. I’d met some lovely people but none of them was a friend I could offload to about this kind of personal problem. The only person I could really talk to was Tara, my best friend from home.

  Tara knew me inside-out and upside-down. Our mothers discovered we were the same age when Tara’s family, the Dennis, had bought the house across from ours and we’d been inseparable from the age of six. When Mum died, Mrs Denny had been really good to me. I spent more time in the Dennis’ house than I did in ours. It was fun over there, cosy and homely. Our house was run like an army camp, with Fiona constantly making charts that Derek and I had to fill in after each chore we’d completed.

  I think the reason Tara and I got on so well was because we were fundamentally different. She had never felt the urge to run away from Dublin. She loved it. She liked the fact that everyone knew everyone: it was nice, safe and familiar. I found it small and claustrophobic. Tara was comfortable with who she was, and I’d always envied her that. She had always been happy with her lot, while I was always searching for something better.