PICTURE: GETTY IMAGESW
as that a thud I heard as
I ran more hot water into
my bath?I told myself
it was just air in the
plumbing. Ignoring the sound of
someone walking down the hallway
wasn’t so easy. Half an hour’s relaxation
was undone in an instant. Every muscle
in my body tensed. There was only one
person it could be...
I was annoyed,
but not at all
surprised my
sister Jo had
let herself into
my flat without
bothering to
knock and then
barged into the
bathroom as I’d
been trying to
enjoy a few quiet
minutes of “me
time”. She often
does stuff like
that, to be fair.
“What you
lazing about in
there for? Power
cut’s over; you’d
better get out
now or you’ll turn into a prune,” she
said, throwing me a candy-floss towel.
There’d been no power cut, of course:
I’d lit rose scented candles positioned
around my flat to help me relax. Next
time I buy something with that in
mind, I’ll make it a padlock.
“Wow, Susan! I just love what you’ve
done with this place!” Jo said as she
followed me into the bedroom.
I was so shocked I dropped my towel
and sank onto the paler, but toning
quilt. Retrieving the towel from the
raspberry crush rug, I began drying
my wrinkled skin. Maybe Jo was right
that I’d been soaking for long enough.
Annoyingly, she usuallyisright. As she
examined my attempts at brighteningmy living space, I studied her. Her hair
was as glossy as the deep mulberry
coloured vase, I’d filled with matching
flowers. Her shoes were polished to
a sheen my woven throw-covered
furniture would never know and, unlike
my rugs, her silk dress was wrinkle free.
I knew I’d never look as elegant
as my sister, but as she thought my
standard look was “minimum-effort
dishevelled”, other than the disadvantage
of being damp and naked, I probablymascara, op shop bargains and studio
flat. What was so amazing was my
sister saying something nice and not
even sounding sarcastic! A first!
“Glad you like it,” I muttered. I could
have told her the truth, but I didn’t
want to spoil the moment.
For years, Jo had belittled my taste
in just about anything. Actually, that’s
probably not quite fair; she had high
standards and wanted me to reach
them. Jo’s 14 years older and has always
tried to set a good
example. She wanted
what’s best for me;
unfortunately she
couldn’t see that wasn’t
the same as what
was best for her and
tended to bully me
into trying to improve.
I should’ve learned
there’s no pleasing her,
yet still I’d occasionally
made an effort to
win my big sister’s
approval. At last it
seemed I’d managed
toearnit–bysheer
incompetence!
It had started when
Jo (rightly) pointed
out that my hair was
a mess. It’s naturally a dull brown, but
the sun had lightened the ends, making
it look as though it’d been bleached and
was growing out, so I’d coloured it. I’d
used a lot of dye attempting to even out
the tone – too much – then panicked
and washed it out too soon. The result
was deep burgundy hair with pink ends.
In my haste, I’d got dye all over the
bathroom. I mopped up the mess with
atowelandthrewitinthewashalong
with the quilt cover, pillow cases
and cushions already in the machine.
Everything came out different shades
of pink! So did the dressing gown and
canvas rugs that I’d dripped dye onto...
I’ll know better next time – but Jo
never will.•BY PATSY COLLINS
didn’t look any worse than usual, really.
Pulling on my marshmallow-tinted
dressing gown, I began combing my
hair and braced myself for her reaction.
At least I’d kept my hair out the bath,
so didn’t have cold water dripping
down my back.
Jo took the comb from me and
inspected my head. “You’ve changed
your hair – it suits you.”
This second compliment had me
falling back onto the bed! Her noticing
wasn’t a shock; Jo notices everything.
If my nail varnish was chipped, or the
floor needed a polish, she didn’t hesitate
to mention it. Her tastefully made-up
face, designer clothes and four-bedroom
house were always immaculate. The
same couldn’t be said of my coat ofSusan leaves her sister in the shade...
In the pinkFAST FICTION
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