Sadly, I didn’t get a choice.
And – to be fair – Salma and Harry don’t even know about the notes yet.
I don’t know why I haven’t told them; I guess I just like having a secret.
I march over to the kettle, refilling it and flicking the switch as Salma regards me with an amused look.
‘I thought you couldn’t drink caffeine after midday,’ she comments, slurping from my mug, and adding grudgingly, ‘I would’ve made you one.’
‘Clara brings out my need for stimulants,’ I comment dryly over the hissing kettle. ‘It’s so typical of her to fall on her feet like this. Mum’s never offered to paymyrent. Or forced others to help me. But of course, there’s always someone to catch Clara when she messes everything up.’
‘You’ve never needed it, though, have you?’ Salma points out unhelpfully.
‘You’remybest friend,’ I remind her. ‘You’re not allowed to tell me when I’m being unreasonable, just tell me I’m right.’
‘You’re absolutely right, completely reasonable, anddefinitely not being a bitter old hag,’ she confirms in a loud voice.
‘Thank you,’ I say sombrely, choosing not to hear any sarcasm. I turn to face her, staring at her fearfully over my steaming tea. In a mug I don’t like. ‘I know I’m being irrational, Salma, but can you… can you please promise me you won’t end up liking Clara more than you like me?’
She looks shocked. ‘What?’
I swallow, feeling vulnerable. ‘I know it sounds silly, but our whole lives, everyone always fussed over adorable, fun Clara. She was the pretty twin, the one who got invited to parties, the popular one with a constant string of boyfriends.’ I swallow again. ‘Meanwhile I was just the loser nerd, obsessed with her books, hiding away in fantasy worlds, with fictional friends and imaginary boyfriends. At school I barely had my own name, I was always justClara’s sister. That’s how people knew me – if they knew I existed at all. My name honestly felt like it was actuallyClara’s sisterfor years. I didn’t have an identity of my own.’ I pause and she waits patiently for me to continue. ‘You don’t know what it’s like growing up, always being compared to someone.’
‘I have sisters,’ she protests and I shake my head.
‘Nottwinsisters. Literally everyone you meet wants to compare you. They want to know who’s taller, who’s fatter, who’s prettier, whose nose is the straightest.’ I sigh. ‘Clara’s nose issostraight.’ Salma puts down her tea. I eye the mug moodily as she pulls me in for a cuddle.
‘You are a beautiful, brilliant, kind person, Jemma. You’reno longer in your sister’s shadow. You have a life, friends, a cool job working with the thing you love best – books – and who even wants a smelly boyfriend anyway? They only sweat and fart and leave semen stains everywhere.’ She pauses. ‘Actually, that’s only if you’re lucky. Mostly it’s food stains.’ I snort into her shoulder as she continues. ‘Just because Clara’s going to be living here for a few months doesn’t mean you’re going to end up being that lonely, rejected kid again.’ She squeezes me tighter and I try to listen; to let her words sink in.
But she didn’t know me at school. Salma and I only met a few years ago at a work party. I complimented her hair, and instead of saying the usual woman-stuff – ‘Oh it’s disgusting! I haven’t washed it in a month! Look at the split ends! I’m an ugly monsterrrrrr!’ – she replied, ‘I know, it’s amazing, isn’t it?’ Which was when I knew I had to make her my friend. Although obviously I don’t tell peoplethatorigin story; I say it’s because we both work in media. I’m a research assistant for an author and Salma’s a radio presenter. Just a local station, but still, she was instantly the coolest person I’d ever met and remains so.
But I knew even back then – just like I know now – that we wouldn’t have been mates if she’d met me as a loser teenager.
‘I love you,’ she says into my hair. ‘You’re my favourite person in the world, and if you need me to be mean to Clara I will, OK?’
I pull halfway out of the hug, a small smile on my face.
‘Thanks,’ I say quietly; sincerely. ‘But that’s OK, you don’t have to do that. I know I’m being a dick.’ I sigh. ‘There’s just something about Clara that turns me into a resentful kid again, I can’t help it.’ I sigh again, deeper this time.
‘Are you having a moment?’ Harry hovers awkwardly at the door. ‘Or can I join in for a hug, too?’
‘Get in here!’ Salma yells at him and we all laugh as we fall into each other’s arms.
‘Is Jemma drinkingcoffee?’ Harry squints at me. ‘At this hour?’ When he is shocked, Harry gets so much posher. He’s already the poshest person I know, but the vowels get even more exaggerated when he’s surprised by something.
‘She said she needed stimulants to cope with today,’ Salma shares solemnly. ‘She’s also just done a few lines of cocaine.’
‘Have you really?’ Harry blinks at me with concern and I laugh.
‘Harry, you’re always so gullible.’ I give him a playful shove. ‘You really should have worked out by now that Salma is a massive pathological liar.’
‘Oi!’ she protests, then adopts a thoughtful expression. ‘Actually there was a guy on my show this week who’s campaigning to get micro-dosing legalized and it sounded great. I might give it a go.’
‘Micro-dosing?’ Harry screws up his nose.
Salma snorts. She loves to shock the private school boy in him. ‘Small daily doses of psychedelic mushrooms,’ she explains, and he blinks hard.
‘I’ve never done drugs,’ I comment, a little embarrassed, and Salma looks amused.
