Читать книгу The Cows: The bold, brilliant and hilarious Sunday Times Top Ten bestseller - Dawn O’Porter - Страница 15

I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and force myself not to look away. There is a reason I don’t do this very often. It’s impossible to forget someone whose face you see every time you see your own. At times it seems cruel, at other times I’ve felt so lucky that when I need to see Alice, I can.

I scrunch my nose up and widen my mouth, but I can’t quite manage it the way she used to. It was the only way people could really tell us apart, by her smile. It was her own, even I couldn’t do it so sweetly.

Our mum used to say that she was the rose and I was the thorn. Part of the same flower, but with a totally different effect on the world. My spiky nature was hidden by her softness. Now I’m exposed, without the petals of her personality to hide behind. It’s a daily struggle not to prick anyone who comes near me.

‘Why are you wearing that?’ says Phil, coming into the bathroom.

‘You made me jump, I didn’t hear you get home,’ I say, snapping myself out of Alice mode. He puts a tube of toothpaste into the little cup by the sink, and starts unwrapping a new razor.

‘Did you get dinner? I was going to make tuna bake?’ I say, realising he’s been to the shop and wanting to distract him from his question.

‘I got chicken. Why are you wearing that, Stella?’

He is referring to the skirt I have on. A purple and blue vintage circle skirt with a bird print on it. It was Alice’s. Her favourite item of clothing. I can’t bring myself to chuck it out and I wear it all the time, even though it makes Phil really angry when I do.

‘It’s just a skirt, Phil,’ I say, walking huffily into the bedroom. Come on, Stella, don’t snap, I think to myself. What would Alice say? I try to be more like her. More reasonable, more kind, more happy. Even though I want to bite him, make him sting. There is a bomb inside me that is ready to explode. But if it goes off, I’m not sure anyone would survive the destruction. So I swallow hard, channel Alice, and try to put out the lit fuse.

‘Maybe it’s time to get rid of her clothes?’ he says, knowing he is on dangerous ground.

‘Sure,’ I say calmly. ‘And why don’t I just shave off my face while I’m at it?’

‘OK, Stella, don’t be like that. You need to let Alice go. It’s time.’

I walk calmly into the kitchen.

‘How would you like the chicken done?’ I ask him. He follows me in.

‘I don’t think it’s healthy for you to wear Alice’s clothes any more, OK?’

‘I could breadcrumb it? Or do a stir fry?’ I get the wok out of a cupboard.

‘Stella, for fuck’s sake, will you listen to me. Take that skirt off!’

‘Fine,’ I shout, slamming the wok on the work surface. I pull the waistband open and push the skirt to the ground. Stepping out of it, I pick it up and I screw it into a ball, then smash it into the bin. ‘There, OK? Happy now?’

Phil looks at me pitifully, and shakes his head.

‘Now, would you like breaded chicken, or a stir fry?’ I ask him, very calmly, standing in my knickers, holding a spatula.

‘You need help, Stella. You seriously need help.’

With that, he storms out of the flat, and slams the door. When I know he’s gone, I get the skirt out of the bin and put it back on.

I think I’ll do the stir fry.