The Santiago Sisters. Victoria Fox
like me,’ said Teresita, on cue. She put a hand over Daniel’s.
Mud filled Calida’s mouth and lungs. Heat prickled her fingertips.
‘I really like you, Daniel.’ Teresita’s beauty was amazing in this light, her huge, soulful eyes glittering. ‘I’ve never kissed anyone before. Will you teach me?’
Calida could hear no more. Without knowing how, she stumbled to the outhouse door, her vision splintering and a roar in her throat, and knocked.
‘I need Teresita at the house,’ said Calida, when Daniel answered. She was stunned at how steady she sounded. She even smiled for her sister. ‘It’s important.’
Teresita shot Daniel a lingering look before slipping out into the night.
‘You can’t control me for ever, you know,’ she slammed, striding ahead through the dark. Calida didn’t respond. She was mute with hurt and fury.
She watched the back of her sister’s head and for the first time ever, hated it. Calida had disliked her in the past, envied her, coveted her, but she’d never hated her.
Only when they were in their bedroom, and Calida shut the door behind her, did she cough up the rope that was strangling her. ‘How dare you?’ she spat.
‘What?’
‘I heard everything. The lies you told Daniel.’
‘So?’
‘How could you?’ Calida choked. ‘I know you like him. I know you don’t care that I do as well. I might not understand it, but I know it. But how could you lie?’
Teresita turned away, started fumbling pointlessly with her belongings.
‘Don’t you dare turn your back on me,’ Calida seethed.
Her twin whirled round. ‘Don’t you dare tell me what to do! I’ve had enough of you telling me what to do!’
‘You knew how I felt,’ Calida said, her voice shaking, ‘how I feel.’
‘Am I not allowed to have feelings?’ Teresita lashed. ‘Have you got first dibs on those too? Tell me something, Calida: just what do I have that wasn’t yours first?’
Calida blinked. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I’m sick of it.’ Teresita’s voice skidded, a flicker of vulnerability, but she caught it. ‘I’m sick of playing second. I’m sick of you deciding what my life should be. Can’t I have a little fun? Can’t I be my own person? Or do I have to ask your permission every time?’
‘It isn’t like that.’
‘It’s always been like that. And I thought you knew every little thing about me, Calida. You know me better than I know myself, right? That’s what you always say. Have you ever stopped to think about how that makes me feel? Like I don’t even have that. I don’t even have me, because you got there first!’
‘How can you say this? After everything I’ve done—’
‘I didn’t ask you for any of it! Just because you chose to hold my hand doesn’t mean I have to be grateful for it. You thought you were helping but all you were doing was holding me back. So, what, I’m supposed to kiss your feet for the rest of my life? Thank you for stifling my dreams? Carry a debt I never even wanted?’
‘I thought I was looking after you.’ Calida tried to understand, to see things from another point of view, but her thoughts jammed. ‘I’m your sister—’
‘No.’ Teresita looked deep into her eyes, that steely resolve the last remnant of the twin Calida recognised. ‘Let me tell you who you are, for a change. You’re someone I’m not sure I even like any more. You’re someone I’ve already left behind. You’re someone I don’t have anything in common with except the misfortune of a birthday.’
Calida opened her mouth but no words came out.
‘Daniel’s not interested in you, Calida. I was doing you a favour. The longer you carry around this pointless torch, the more embarrassing it’s going to get.’
Calida’s eyes filled with tears but she kept them from falling.
‘But he’s interested in you … right?’
‘He was an experiment,’ said Teresita. ‘To see if I could.’
That was the worst part. At least if she cared, it might have made sense.
Calida’s face burned. ‘So all this was for nothing.’
‘Not for nothing: he was a decent enough distraction.’
‘You don’t know a thing about him.’
‘I know more than you. I know he likes pretty girls—like me.’
It was the first time their physical difference had been acknowledged: even at this hour, a cheap, callous shot. The words hit Calida like a punch.
‘Shut up,’ she whispered.
‘Why should I?’ Teresita threw back. Now the flame had been lit, an inferno galloped in its wake. All the suffocated hurt, the petty jealousies, the spite, all the hidden scars and buried grudges and smothered indignations, it all came tumbling out. ‘For once I won’t shut up when you tell me to—I won’t do a thing you say. I’m tired of doing what you say! And do you know what, Calida? If you’d given Daniel five more minutes, he’d have kissed me—and he’d have liked it. I’d have told you and loved every second, because finally I’d have something you didn’t have—I’d be the winner, not trailing behind, being told she’s too small or too precious or whatever you use to tie me down. I hate it here! I hate it! Can’t you see that?’
Calida felt herself disintegrating, like a pillar of salt in the wind.
There may have been a moment when Teresita could have reached out, like a hand over a cliff edge, and hauled them both to safety; a point at which it was still salvageable, the damage could be explained, taken back, remedied with trust and confidence and time.
The moment never came.
Calida saw red, then. She thought of all she had done for this person, loved and cared for her, put her first and kissed away her tears—and this was how she was repaid? Suddenly she was across the room, she didn’t know how, and her arm was in the air. She struck her twin round the face, sharp and clean, pushing her into the wall with a loud, sickening thump. Calida hit her again, and again, this perfect princess who had turned into a monster, her blows carrying the weight of a thousand soldiers.
‘I wish you’d just disappear,’ said Calida, when she was done.
The words hung between them, growing in the silence, and the longer they hung there, unrescued, untempered by an antidote, the huger they became.
‘Simone Geddes is going to choose me,’ hissed Teresita. ‘You do realise that, don’t you? And when she does, and when I’m gone, I hope I never come back. I hope I never see you or this dying shit-hole ever again. I’m going to make it, Calida. Do you understand? I’m going to make it, far away, without your help or any fucking thing you do for me. I’m going to make it on my own.’
Calida didn’t stay to hear any more.
She turned on her heel and slammed the door behind her.
A week later, Teresa left for England.
Simone Geddes organised her travel, starting with the glimmering car that collected her from the estancia, and a suited driver who touched his cap when she climbed in. It was cool inside; a citrusy fan that came from vents in the front. The seats were made of leather, polished and