Master Of Maramba. Margaret Way
had the unenviable role of being the favourite. It had caused a lot of pain. On all sides.
Now that Carrie was a woman, Glenda hated her. Carrie felt almost positive Glenda felt no guilt because of it. Now that she wasn’t going overseas to continue her studies Glenda was coming more and more into the open. When her father wasn’t around Glenda didn’t hesitate to use a cutting tongue. She did it with an air of triumph, knowing Carrie would never complain to her father. It had always been so. Carrie, even on Glenda’s admission, had never used her unique position in her father’s life to gain the ascendency or come between husband and wife. But it hadn’t won her Glenda’s friendship. That was the irony.
Driving into the garage, Carrie reflected the position and delightful appearance of their beautiful old colonial riverside home that proclaimed her father’s affluence. The interior decoration was all Glenda. Glenda and the interior designer currently in favour. The spacious high-ceilinged rooms were choked with an overabundance of everything. Too much money gone mad, in Carrie’s opinion. She always felt trapped inside.
The splendid Steinway her father had brought for her when she was eleven years old and already showing signs of promise had been banished from the living room to the soundproof studio Glenda had convinced her father “darling little Carrie” must have. Her father hadn’t taken all that much persuasion for the good reason much as he loved her and was proud of her successes, he couldn’t bear to hear her practising. Her father, she had long since accepted, would never make a music lover. She had given up wondering how her mother and father had come together in the first place. “Sex appeal,” James maintained. “Jeff always was this great big handsome virile guy. They had little or nothing in common.”
Glenda and her father had a good deal in common; likes, dislikes, mutual interests. That didn’t prevent her father revealing on rare occasions the unique place Caroline, his first wife, had had in his life. To this day Carrie thought he was tormented by it. The sudden violent loss. The end of a golden period in his life. A golden period that had never really started for her. She was deprived and she knew it. No one should have to do without a mother. Her immersion in her studies, her preoccupations with succeeding as a pianist, could have been the result of too little bonding at home. Her music had shut her off from Glenda’s own unresolved resentments. She had poured out her own yearnings on a keyboard. Now she had the feeling of being profoundly at a disadvantage. At Glenda’s mercy unless she moved out. Ultimately though, it was her father she would have to confront. This was the father who had told her not so long ago if she left home it would break his heart.
She let herself into the house quietly, coming in through the rear door so she could escape to her bedroom. She couldn’t let these feelings of isolation get a hold on her. It was a tragedy her stepmother and her own sister offered her no support at this bad time, but she wasn’t alone. She had James and Liz, a whole lot of friends. The only thing was most of her friends were fellow musicians. Their careers went on. Hers had badly faltered.
Someone was in her room. She knew it before she opened the door. Melissa was standing in front of the mirrored wall of wardrobes, holding one of Carrie’s evening dresses to her body. The dress she had last performed in. It had a shell top, a beautiful full skirt, and was a rich orange, a difficult colour but it suited her.
“Hi, what are you doing?” Carrie tried not to show any irritation. Melissa was always borrowing her things when she had much more of her own. Items she wouldn’t have loaned under any circumstances. Melissa wasn’t a lender.
“We didn’t expect you home,” Melissa said, continuing to preen. “I’d like to wear this on Saturday. Can I?”
Carrie had to smile.
“Mel it won’t fit you,” she pointed out reasonably. “The skirt will be too long, for one thing.” Melissa was petite if well covered. “It won’t even suit you. We’re different sizes, different styles. I love you in red. It brings your colouring to life.” She said it naturally, helpfully, but it angered Melissa.
“That’s it! Go on, remind me. I need bringing to life.”
Carrie didn’t worsen the situation by saying she did. “We all benefit from wearing the colours that suit us. Don’t get cranky for no reason,” Carrie implored.
“Oh, and you aren’t?” Melissa turned around to throw the dress on the bed. “The tragedy queen with the little smashed finger. Who said you were going to be a concert pianist anyway? If you’d ever got there you’d have probably found plenty better than you. You were just a big fish in a little bowl. New York is the centre of the world.”
“Well, I’m not going, Mel. So settle down. I’m not a whinger, either, so don’t try pinning that on me.”
“Why, will you tell Dad?” Melissa looked back belligerently, her voice on the rise, a pretty girl, dark curly hair, hazel eyes, a little overweight, but the expression on her face made Carrie want to give up.
“We can’t talk, can we?” she said quietly, feeling pretty well numb inside. “We’re sisters. That’s wasting a valuable relationship.”
“Sisters?” Melissa shouted, her face energised by jealousy. She followed Carrie up closely, hands on hips, obviously spoiling for a fight. “Does that mean we’re supposed to love one another?”
“It happens in most families.” Carrie turned, picking up her dress and carrying it to the wardrobe.
“But you’re too good for us, Carrie. Too clever for Mum and me. Mum says having you around has ruined our lives.”
Though the sort of stuff Glenda fed her daughter made Carrie feel sick to the stomach, she faced her sister calmly. “How do you want me to react, Mel? Scream back? I was little more than a baby when my mother died. Three. I didn’t want to come between anyone. I’d have adored having my own mother. You might think of that.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, the gorgeous, the beautiful, the adorable Caroline.” Melissa’s pretty face was working.
“Who died when she was only a few years older than me,” Carrie retaliated. “Thank you, Melissa. Doesn’t that defuse your rage a little? She had her whole life in front of her.”
“But haven’t you ever thought she’s more glorious in death,” Melissa cried almost hysterically. “That’s what Mum says.”
“Then Mum has a lot to answer for.” Carrie felt her own temper rise.
“You hate her, don’t you? You hate me,” Melissa insisted, dragging at her curls roughly.
“Mel, that’s so unfair.” Carrie put her hand on her stepsister’s arm, grateful Melissa didn’t shake it off. “That’s some dreadful propaganda Glenda has fed you. It desperately hurt me to hear you say that. Glenda and I might never get on, but I wouldn’t like to lose you. We’re blood.” She could feel Melissa trembling.
“How dare you!” a voice shouted from the door. Glenda dressed to the nines was standing there quivering with outrage.
“For what it’s worth,” she fixed her greenish eyes on Carrie, “I’m your stepmother. I’ve looked after you and looked after you well for all these years, you ungrateful creature. Now you try to turn Melissa against me.”
“Oh, please, Mum, don’t start,” Melissa wailed, her eyes filling with tears.
“Look how you’ve upset her,” Glenda accused.
Carrie took a deep breath. “Why don’t you stop right now, Glenda,” she said. “I’m having a bad enough time without your starting.”
“Is it pity you want?” Glenda demanded, her expression distorted.
‘Understanding might say it,” Carrie answered briefly.
“You think yourself so extraordinary,” Glenda said. “Anyone would think you were the only one who has ever suffered a setback. Between ourselves I’ve had a lot to contend with.”
“You’ve never