Stuck on Me (19 page)

‘Yes, go on.’

I giggle. ‘OK. You’re bonkers!’ I do as she says, recreating her profile in bright red lipstick on the mirror. It’s hard to get close enough without painting her actual
nose. When I’ve finished, she has three bright red spots on the bridge.

‘Cool. My turn now.’ She gives the mirror another wipe, a few centimetres away from my drawing. ‘Hold your face still.’

At that moment a woman comes out of one of the cubicles and gives us a funny look. We both collapse into giggles. She washes her hands, and dries them, pretending not to notice us.

‘Hold still, Sky. Otherwise you’ll have a squiggly nose.’

I let Katie draw around my profile – something I probably wouldn’t have let anyone do just a few weeks ago. It tickles. As she finishes, she paints a red spot on my nostril.

‘There you go – you’ve got a nose stud.’

‘I used to have one of those,’ I tell her. ‘Took it out.’

‘I bet it would suit you.’

‘Hmm.’

‘OK, stand back,’ says Katie. ‘Look at what we’ve drawn.’

I take a step backwards. This is probably the craziest, weirdest situation ever. Half an hour ago, I didn’t even know I had a sister. Now, here we are, comparing lipstick noses in a toilet
mirror. I can’t wait to tell Vix and Rosie about this.

‘Tell me what you see.’

‘Um . . .’ I have to admit it: our nose outlines are virtually identical, the same shape and size, with the same bump. Mirror images, on the mirror.

‘We have the same nose! Don’t we?’ says Katie.

‘I guess.’

‘Not bigger, not smaller, not straighter. Exactly the same.’

‘Yeah, but maybe my face is smaller.’

‘Bollocks,’ she says, grabbing my cheek. ‘If you don’t admit I’m right I’m going to paint red lipstick all over your face, got it?’

‘OK, OK!’

‘Good. Honestly Sky, believe me. You look great. And if you’re ugly, then so am I. Do you think I’m ugly?’

‘No, course not.’

‘Good. OK, let’s go back to the table.’

She takes my hand again, and starts leading me to the door.

‘What about our noses on the mirror? Aren’t you going to wipe them off?’

She turns and glances at our handiwork. ‘Nah, they can stay. Look at the state of the mirror, already. Call it a new type of graffiti – it’ll get people wondering. Better wipe
our noses though. We look like we’ve had a punch-up.’ She hands me a tissue.

Back at our table, we talk about boys, studying, our lives. I tell her about Rich, and she tells me about a relationship with a guy she really loved, which recently ended. Talking to her is so
much easier than talking to my full sisters, even though I’ve known them all my life. It feels like she’s one of my closest friends, already.

We’re both aware it’s late now. She picks my phone up from the table and enters her details straight into my address book. ‘Text me yours,’ she says. ‘And give me a
call and we’ll arrange for you to come round.’

‘I’d love to. Thanks. Are you sure?’

‘Yes, I’m not like our dad. I mean it. I’d really like to spend some time getting to know you better. Like I said, I’ve always wanted a sister. There was only me and Mum.
Hey, maybe you could bring your other sisters too.’

‘Oh,’ I say, and my expression must give my thoughts away.

‘Oh dear. They don’t know you’re here, do they?’

I look down, sheepish. ‘No. I haven’t told anyone in my family that I’ve met Dad. Only my best friends, Vix and Rosie know. My sisters, Ocean and Grass – I know,
we’ve all got bad names – aren’t exactly Dad’s biggest fans. My mum doesn’t even like talking about him.’

‘Hmm. Well, maybe you could bring your friends instead some time.’

‘Cool. I’m sure they’d love to meet you.’

‘But Sky, you really should talk to your mum about this. You need to tell her you’ve met your dad – and me. Really. It’s not good to have such a big secret. It will eat
away at you.’

I nod. ‘I know.’

‘If you want to talk about it, or just need a friendly ear, you can call me, anytime. OK?’

‘OK. Thank you.’

‘No problem.’ She gets up from the table. ‘Right, I’d better get you back or your mum will be sending out a search party. Get your coat and say goodbye to Dad. I’ll
walk you home.’

osie and Vix couldn’t believe it when I told them how I went to the gig to see my dad and came home a few
hours later with a sister I didn’t know I had. It does sound crazy when you put it like that. And that’s not all. When Katie walked me home that night, she seemed surprised and said she
recognised my street. It turns out she knows some of the people who live in the art collective – the one that Rosie sneaked into with Rufus Justice once. Katie’s even been to a party
there and stayed the night. Just think, I was tucked up in bed that night, totally unaware that my own sister was sleeping just a few doors away. It blows my mind.

My friends both said they were really keen to meet Katie as soon as they can, especially when they found out she DJs. I think they might even be a little jealous. Katie has been true to her
word, keeping in touch, making me her Facebook friend and sending me silly texts. I went round to her flat yesterday for lunch and met her flatmates. Her artwork is amazing: huge canvasses with
incredible colours and thick paint spattered everywhere. Next week, she’s going to give me a DJing lesson on her decks. I can’t wait.

But there’s something I have to do first. Something horrible and scary, but equally unavoidable. I have to tell Mum the truth. I’ve been putting it off for too long, scared of what
will happen, of how she’ll react. Most of all, I don’t want to hurt her. But, just as Katie warned, it’s beginning to eat away at me, making me feel less and less close to my
family, making it impossible for me to be myself around any of them. I’m short with them and snappy, and they think it’s because I’m still upset about Rich. It’s not:
it’s because I feel guilty. So, whatever happens, even if Mum never speaks to me again, or throws me out on the street, or confiscates my iPod, at least I’ll have got it off my
chest.

I’ve asked if I can speak to her alone tonight, after dinner. We’re in her bedroom, sitting on her bed. I’ve always liked this room, with its bright green Indian throw and gold
scatter cushions, and incense burning on the dresser. I feel comfortable in here, calm, relaxed.

‘I’ve been so worried about you lately, Sky,’ Mum says. ‘I’m so pleased you’ve finally decided to talk to me.’

Her sweetness makes me feel even more guilty about what I’m planning to tell her. I look down at my hands, weave my fingers in and out of each other. ‘I don’t know how to say
this. I don’t know where to begin.’

‘What is it, love? Whatever it is, I’m sure I can help.’

‘It isn’t . . . You won’t . . . I did something that I know you didn’t want me to do . . . I found Dad.’

She flinches, as if someone has slapped her. ‘How? When?’

‘Through the internet. A few weeks ago.’

She can’t look at me. ‘When you say
found
, do you mean tracked down, or
actually met
?’

‘Um . . .’ I suppose I need to tell her everything now. No point leaving out any details to soften it – apart from the bit about Reg, which will only worry her.
‘Both.’

‘Right,’ she says. ‘Right. When?’

‘About a month ago.’

‘I see. And how did you find him?’

‘With a bit of detective work, on the internet, mainly.’

In spite of herself, she seems amused. ‘No, I meant, how did he seem to you? Is he well?’

‘Um . . .’ I’m torn between not wanting to hurt Mum and not wanting to be disloyal to Dad. ‘He’s OK. Actually, he looks old and grey and fat, like he doesn’t
look after himself properly, if that makes you feel any better.’

‘I don’t wish him any ill, whatever you think. So what has he been doing?’

‘This and that,’ I say, echoing his own words. I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve learned so little. ‘Drifting around, I think.’

‘I see. And have you seen him just the once? Or have you kept in touch?’

‘Sort of. I’ve seen him a couple of times, at gigs. But he doesn’t really seem to want to spend much time with me.’ It’s hard to admit that she was right, hard to
admit to myself that Dad isn’t that interested in getting to know me again. It hurts.

Mum moves up closer to me and gives me a hug. She strokes my hair and, hard as it must be for her, smiles at me, a brave little smile. I was expecting her to be angrier – it might be
easier if she were – but she just seems sad. And it strikes me now that, if I strip away my excitement at the adventures I’ve had, underneath I feel sad too.

I pull away. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘Not sorry I found Dad, but sorry if I’ve upset you.’

‘You don’t have to be sorry. I think I knew you would, eventually. I was hoping you would wait until you were older. I was only trying to protect you. I didn’t want you to get
hurt. I guess you’re growing up faster than I’d like.’

I can’t stop now. ‘There’s something else.’ I try to meet her eyes, but she’s staring across the room, focusing on the paintwork. ‘I’ve met my sister
Katie too.’

‘Oh?’ She sounds far more surprised about this than about Dad. Or maybe it’s her turn to feel guilty; she knows she’s never told me about Katie.

‘She was at Dad’s gig. He introduced me to her. She only lives up the road, in Holloway. She’s a student here. Coincidence, huh?’

‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

‘Katie’s really nice. We get on really well. You’d like her, honest.’

‘I’m sure she is. No reason why she shouldn’t be. I have no truck with her.’

‘Why didn’t you ever mention her, then?’

‘I’m sorry. Maybe I should have. But there didn’t seem any point, not when your dad wasn’t in contact with any of us. I haven’t heard about her since she was a
baby.’

‘That makes sense, I guess.’ I hesitate, not sure how to end my confession. ‘So, Mum, that’s all of it. Are you going to punish me? Ground me? Because you can’t
stop me seeing Dad or Katie. I’ll run away if you do.’

She shakes her head. ‘Punish you? Now what would be the point of that? Of course I’m not happy with the way you’ve gone about things, but I understand why you needed to do it.
And I can’t deny you a relationship with your father, or your half-sister, if you want one. But no more sneaking around or lying. No more going behind my back. No more secrets. From now on,
you have to be honest with me.’

‘Really?’ I’m going to get off scot-free? She’s not even going to try to stop me meeting them? ‘I promise, Mum.’ Now it’s my turn to hug her. Despite
her hippy-dippy ways and her horrible vegetarian concoctions and her weird taste in music, she really is all right, my mum. I’m lucky, I guess.

‘Just understand this, Sky,’ she says, her voice muffled by my hair. ‘I do not want to see your dad. He’s not to come round here. OK?’

I can’t imagine a situation when that could ever happen. ‘Yes, of course. What about Ocean and Grass? Should I tell them?’

‘I don’t know. Let’s think about it. Play it by ear. Deal?’

‘Deal.’

‘Thanks, Mum,’ I say, as I climb off her bed. ‘I wish I’d told you weeks ago.’

verybody put your hands in the air!’