The mother clung to her little one, planting kisses on her head, and wondered, “Who on earth does she take after?” This thought almost became a new hobby. Friends popped round, peered at the baby, and inevitably asked the same question. Whether George, her husband, had a mate stir up trouble, or Mary herself started doubting things, or perhaps George just let his imagination run riot, one day he came home from work looking like a thundercloud.
“George, what are we going to do?” Mary sighed dramatically. “It’s far too soon. Emily’s not yet three, shes only just ditched the nappiesand I havent had a minute to breathe!”
“It’s from one maternity leave to the next,” Mary continued. “Emily still wants to be carried everywhere. How am I supposed to lug her around with a bun in the oven?”
“There’ll be four of us soon, and youre the only one working. Maybe we should wait with the second baby?” Mary asked, startling herself with the suggestion.
George glared. “Don’t be ridiculous. Forget that idea.” Then, softening a tad, he added, “Sorry, it’s my fault, but we’ll manage. I’ll pick up a side job or two.”
“If its another girl, its easy. Weve still got bagfuls of Emilys old clothes. Might not even need to buy a new pram,” George added pragmatically.
“The age gap’s small, they’ll be thick as thieves. And if its a boy” George paused for comic effect, “Ill file an application for a bigger flat,” and he gave Mary a wink.
So that was that. Mary doted on Emily. She was, after all, the long-awaited eldest. Mary spoiled her rotten, using the pregnancy as no excuse not to cuddle and kiss her firstborn, even with her own tummy growing by the day.
Truth be told, Mary caught herself hoping she wouldnt carry the second baby to term. In her heart, she felt guilty about it, but the thought popped up whenever the exhaustion crept in.
But fate, being contrary as usual, had its own plans. The pregnancy went swimmingly, and, right on schedule, another girl joined the Taylor family.
The first time Mary held her, she was a bit taken aback by the little tuft of light hair on the baby’s crown. Both she and George were dark-haired.
Emily had sported jet-black hair as a newborn, which later turned brown. Maybe this one would do the opposite, Mary reasoned.
The fair-skinned, blue-eyed baby drew gasps of delight from all who visited. Naming her wasnt a big palaverthey went with Beatrice. Uncommon, yes, and now both girls would have matching initials. There was a weird sense of satisfaction in that.
No one could quite explain how two such different-looking girls came from the same parents. Beatrice stood outnot just from her sister, but from mum and dad as well.
The older Beatrice got, the more obvious it became. She looked as though some wild northern wind had dropped her in their living room by mistake.
Her hair eventually darkened to a sort of light brown. Calm and chubby, she stared out at the world with eyes the colour of a summer sky.
Mary would hug her close and wonder all over again, “Who does she look like?” Friends repeated her questions, which didnt help.
Maybe Georges mates had planted suspicions, maybe Mary had made some off-hand remark, or maybe George just got in a twist by himself. Either way, he eventually came home wearing a look of misery and asked for “a word.”
He sat in grim silence, which set Marys hair on end, then demanded an explanation, and accused Mary of cheating.
He reminded her that, long ago, a rather dashing blond had fancied Mary, and what if shed strayed? Or what ifhorror of horrorsthe hospital had swapped their babies? It happens, doesnt it?
“I never cheated on you. Shes our daughter, nobody switched her,” Mary sobbed, angry at the unfair accusation.
The rows became relentless and divorce was firmly on the table. Mary packed her bags, determined to leave. Then George panicked.
He realised he loved his wife. If she left, shed take the girls and hed be left with an echoing house and a takeaway menu for company. All hed ever wanted was the truth, really.
It was mortifying constantly hearing, “Wow, shes so fair! Nothing like you or George, is she?”
George imagined the world could see metaphorical horns on his head. He persuaded Mary to stay but insisted on a paternity test. More tears were shed.
“If you dont trust me, whats the point? Go ahead, test Emily too, maybe you think shes not yours either. Maybe we should just call it quits,” Mary retorted.
George personally collected a saliva sample from Beatrice and a hair from Emily, hand-delivering them to the lab.
He harassed the lab techs with endless questions: could samples get mixed up, were mistakes likely, could anyone swap the results on purpose?
Assured that errors were impossible, George managed to relax a fraction.
The girls, meanwhile, heard every blazing row. Even Beatrice, only four, cottoned on that mum and dad fought about her.
Emily, more direct, announced, “Youre not my sister. Someone dropped you at our door. Mum and dad fight because of you and now theyre splitting up.”
Beatrice burst into tears. Mary scooped her up but found it impossible to soothe her.
Emily, deep in thought, decided the only way to keep her parents together was to get rid of her sister. No Beatrice, no drama.
One day, with mum out shopping and dad at work, Emily dressed up Beatrice and took her for a walkstraight in the opposite direction from home.
When Mary returned and found both girls missing, panic set in. Even the lady on the first floor had seen them leave but was too busy catching EastEnders to intervene.
George joined in the hunt; evening crept up and still no sign of the girls. At last, the police were called.
An hour later both girls turned up. Someone had phoned in about a sobbing, abandoned child. Beatrice was soon reunited with her parents; Emily, having gotten herself lost, was found soon after.
Their parents were so relieved they didnt even scold them. Of course, Emily kept mum about her plan to strand her sister far from home.
But the fighting between Mary and George began anew. Mary blamed George for being always at work; George blamed her for leaving the girls unsupervised.
“What if a car had hit them, or theyd been kidnapped for bits and bobs?” Mary wailed.
Eventually, the paternity results arrived: George was, without a shadow of a doubt, the biological father of both girls. Not a whiff of scandal, apparently.
The doctor explained: hidden genes sometimes pop up out of the blue. Even the fairest mums can have unusually dark-skinned babies (or vice versa). Its just the madness of ancestry.
Family peace was restored. But Beatrice still felt an outsider.
Emily and Beatrice never really bonded. Emily clung to her distaste for her sister like an old teddy bear, always reminding Beatrice, “Youre not really my sister! Nobody loves you!”
“I get the new dresses, you get my hand-me-downs. Because youre not real family,” was her go-to retort.
Beatrice would cry but never grumbled to Mary. Emily was forever up to mischief and loved blaming her younger sister for everything.
“Who are you taking after, Beatrice? Look at Emilycalm, well-behaved,” Mary sighed.
So Beatrice decided there was no point in complaining. Obviously, mum only had eyes for Emily.
Shed sneak off into a corner and shut her eyes, convinced that if she couldnt see the room, the room couldnt see her. It was her way of escaping from Emilys barbs and Marys side-eyes.
Emily finished school first, but saw no point in uniwhy should pretty girls waste time on education?
At a dance, Emily met a guy, married him almost instantly, and landed herself a flat of her own. He worked with his dad selling used German hatchbacks.
Of course, Mary loved Beatrice too. But she still, almost accidentally, set Emily up as the role model.
All her life Beatrice felt she was always being compared to her big sister, and never favourably.
As a teen, a line Emily had spat out stuck with her no matter what: “Youre the one in my old cardigans.”
When Beatrice was in her final year of school, a boy finally paid attention to her, and she fell for him hard. At last, someone loved her, or so she hoped.
A while later, it dawned on her she was expecting. Terrified, she confided in the boy.
He liked her, genuinely, and decided to tell his parents. Their secret, inevitably, unravelled.
The boys mother showed up at the Taylors to talk them into not “ruining” her only sons life, and begged Beatrice to have a termination.
But, in a rare plot twist, George stood up for his daughtermaking up for past mistakes, perhaps, or just feeling sorry for her.
“Shes having this baby,” said George. “I wont let her ruin her life, shes been through enough. If you dont like it, well manage without you.”
The boy was quickly shipped off to finish his A-levels in another city. Beatrice switched to home tuition.
The school did their best to hush up the whole affair before it hit the education board. In the end, Beatrice had private, proctored exams at home. The school thought it best that no one see her at the school gates, so visibly pregnant.
Her English teacher took pity on her and whispered the answers to a few tricky questions. Beatrice got a cracking grade in English.
Not that it mattered; soon shed have a baby to raise and little time for study.
Then, fate being the joker it is, George suddenly died. Hed always worked too hard, and the stress caught up with him. He lay down for a quick rest after work and never woke up.
Mary found him while calling everyone for tea. He was still warm.
Grief hit the household like a tidal wave. The flat rang with sobs and hurried ambulances. Stress sent Beatrice into early labour.
On the very day her father passed, she brought a little boy into the worldone with the same downy fair hair and sky-blue eyes as she had.
Beatrice missed Georges funeral, lying in the maternity ward.
Mary, hollow-eyed with grief, showed up for the discharge, and couldn’t resist remarking that Beatrice had “driven her father to his grave”.
“Nothing good has ever come from you,” Mary muttered, but she took a shine to her grandson, as people often do when little angels are around, regardless of the inconvenient circumstances. But Mary worried that now nobody would ever marry Beatrice.
“I dont care,” Beatrice retorted. “If my own dad doubted me, some strangers hardly going to adore my son.”
The boySamuelgrew into a clever, gentle soul. When he turned five, Emily reappeared in their lives.
Unlike her younger sister, Emily couldnt even dream of children. Her in-laws yearned for a grandchild, and started telling her husband to “trade her in for a model that worked”.
Soon enough, Emilys husband took their advice. She wasnt ready to leavewhere would she go? Back to her mother? Nobody dreams of trading in comfort for hard times.
Especially since shed have to see Beatrice and Samuel all the time. Now, Beatrice was working as a hairdresser, and Samuel had a spot at a local nursery.
Time to get rid of Beatrice yet again, Emily decided. Only now she was growncouldnt exactly march her off to the park and leave her. The next best thing: find Beatrice a husband.
There was this fellowBenwho often called round to sort out their computer. Young, single, and not half bad. Emily fancied him herself, mostly out of spite, but Ben wasn’t interested.
If she couldnt have him, why not introduce him to Beatrice (her “foolish” sister with a kid in tow)? So Emily sent Ben a message asking to meet, and told Beatrice she wanted to introduce her to a nice blokecouldnt have her dying an old maid after all.
Emily was certain Ben wouldnt like Beatrice. If, by some miracle, he did, at least shed have the flat to herself again.
Beatrice wore her best dress and did her hair, but didnt bother with makeup. Better to be herself.
She found Ben sitting alone, glued to his phone. “Are you Ben?” she asked.
“Yeah. And you are?”
“Im BeatriceEmily’s sister.”
He looked up, a little surprised, but invited her to join him for a coffee. “They do great cakes here, well worth a try,” he said.
“How do you know?” Beatrice asked.
“I have a lot of meetings here with clients,” Ben replied, making another attempt to call Emily.
Beatrice sized him uptired eyes, stubble, hair desperately in need of a cut. Her fingers itched to get out her scissors. He seemed not to notice her at all.
“Am I disturbing you?” she asked eventually.
“Not at all. Is your sister coming?” he checked, trying to piece things together.
“Im not sure whats going on. Emily said youd be waiting for me Maybe I should just go.”
Just then, the coffee arrived.
“Well, youre here, might as well enjoy a cuppa.”
“Im not hungry,” said Beatrice, nudging the cake away.
“Afraid of putting on a few? Honestly, you look great. It suits you,” Ben replied.
“But men usually want slim girls.”
“Says who? What do you know about men?”
“Nothing, really,” Beatrice admitted. “I have a son. Hes five. Emily didnt tell you, did she?”
“Should she have?”
Despite Beatrices embarrassment (the set-up now obvious), Ben insisted on seeing her home.
They talked all the way back. Ben did most of the talking, Beatrice did most of the listening. Near her house, Ben asked for her number.
“Why?” Beatrice asked, startled.
“Because Id like to see you again. Ive been rambling on about myselfI want to know about you. Ill call you.”
A week later, he did.
“Sorry, work’s been mental. Free tonightfancy meeting up?”
Beatrice hesitated. Life revolved around Samuel. But she decided to give Ben a chance.
Over coffee, she began telling her storyher birth, her pains and struggles. As she talked, things became clearer. It was as though she saw her life the way Ben might.
As they left, a stray dog started following them. Ben popped into a shop, bought some bread and sausages for the mutt, and at the till, paid for an old ladys shopping too (throwing in a chocolate bar, some sausages, and even an ice cream).
“Why the ice cream?” Beatrice asked.
“My gran loved ice cream, but she rarely bought it. Too frugal.”
“Are you just pitying me, like you did the dog and that lady?” Beatrice asked with a smirk.
“No! I genuinely like you. Theres something about youthat light, that kindness. Yes, I pity the lonely and the lost, but youre completely different.”
The dog wolfed down his meal and wandered off, business concluded.
That evening, Emily phoned, full of curiosity.
“How was it?”
“Lovely,” Beatrice replied.
“Lovely? What on earth was so lovely?”
“Im seeing Ben now. Thanks for introducing us.”
“Youre seeing that rude so-and-so?!”
“Hes really nice, actually. Its fascinating to talk to him. He said he likes me.”
Emily grumbled something unintelligible and hung up. Shortly after, she turned up at the flat.
Beatrice put Samuel to bed and decided to join her mum and sister in the kitchen. But, on the way, she overheard them talking and froze behind the door.
“That cow always lands on her feet! I only introduced her to Ben to get back at him for snubbing me, and now he’s fallen for her!”
“What are you saying? Youre married, for goodness sake,” Mary scolded.
“Married. Ha! Hes looking to trade me inthe divorce is just a matter of time. What am I supposed to do, mum?”
“Are you sure youre not being paranoid?”
“Im not, mum. Why should Beatrice have everything? Shes fat, hopeless, snipping away at peoples heads. And she managed a kidwhile I cant conceive. He was supposed to fancy me! If only Id shoved her down a manhole when I was younger!”
“A manhole? What are you?”
“Mum, are you alright?” Emily suddenly cried, and Beatrice burst into the kitchen.
Mary was clutching her chest and gasping for air, her eyes rolling back. Beatrice called for an ambulance, which arrived in time. The stroke didnt do much lasting damage.
Two months later, Beatrice married Ben and moved in with him and Samuel.
But she was always round to see her mum, almost every day. Emily, meanwhile, had a final blazing row with them all and vanished, off to find her “happiness” elsewhere
Parents assume children dont notice grown-up arguments, but they see, they hear, and they draw their own conclusions.
The battle between sistersto be loved most, to win at lifeis often brutal. And vengeance has a way of biting back.
Children never listen to adults, but never make mistakes copying them.
J. Baldwin
The words a daughter hearswhether they are nurturing or woundingbecome her truths about herself and about how relationships work.Beatrice would sometimes walk Samuel down the same leafy road where Emily had once tried to lose her, years before. Samuel, clutching her hand and beaming up at her as he prattled about planets and ladybirds, never seemed to mind when she spaced out for a moment, lost in distant memories.
She wondered if Samuelbrilliant and gentlewould ever feel out of place, or if the love she poured into him would finally break the cycle. With Bens reassuring presence beside her, his laughter filling their small kitchen, she feltperhaps for the first timethat safety could outlast sorrow.
Mary grew old and frail, eyes dimmed at last by illness rather than disappointment. Yet in her final years, Mary found a kind of quiet forgiveness. She would watch Samuel draw with his tongue sticking out in concentration, and sometimes, unexpectedly, reach over to squeeze Beatrices hand.
One spring day, after a simple lunch, Mary surprised her daughter with a rare, trembling confession. You were always stronger than I thought. I should have told you sooner. It wasnt an apology, but Beatrice tucked it away as if it were gold.
Emily stayed gone. Christmas and birthdays slipped bycards arrived, unsigned or with scrawled, half-hearted sentiments. Sometimes Beatrice felt a sharp pang; other times, quiet relief.
Still, life did what it always did: it kept going. Samuel grew tall, Bens gruff kindness mellowed her sharper edges, and Beatrice discovered laughter more contagious than old sorrows.
On warm evenings, with Samuel spinning stories and Ben reading aloud from a battered book, Beatrice finally understood: family isnt some picture-perfect lineup. Its forged in scars and second chances, in the hands that help us up again and again. Love might not heal every wound, but it is what lets us keep living, all the same.
And so, as the sun slipped behind the rooftops and Samuel curled up in her lap, Beatrice closed her eyesnot to hide, but to savour the rare, hard-won contentment that, at last, was hers.
