I smelled him, heard his heartbeat and tried to imprint every second into my memory, so I could think back to it later as I lay alone in my bed.
Did Lydia ever notice anything? Did she see how I looked at Raoul when I thought I was unobserved? Did it ever occur to her that Raoul and I were drawn to each other at birthday parties or nights out with friends? Did she suspect anything when Raoul sent job after job my way when I started work as a photographer?
I never acted on my feelings, but ran headlong into a series of relationships that had nothing to offer, could never have anything to offer. I never broached the subject with Raoul and he’s never said anything to me. But those feeling are there…still.
15.
Wouldn’t I like to go home with him for a bit? We could eat together, perhaps even go to a restaurant. The house is so quiet and there’s no one to talk to.
It doesn’t seem like a sensible thing to do. I can’t help Raoul with his loneliness and I don’t want to. I’m not afraid of the silence of my own home, perhaps because I’m used to it, perhaps because I don’t really feel like I’m alone. Lydia tells me what to do, still. Every time I make a decision I know what she would have said about it, and nine times out of ten I hear her saying it. In a way she interferes as much in my life from beyond the grave as she used to when she was alive.
Only now do I realise how tightly Lydia and I were bound together, though our whole lives we tried to be individuals.
When Lydia decided she liked jewellery, I refused to have my ears pierced. If Lydia wanted to go somewhere hot and sunny for our holidays, I got travel brochures for Scandinavia. Once when I was about fourteen I had my hair cut so shortmy scalp shone through the stubble.
However much I emphasised our differences, there were always many similarities. I quite liked skirts and beach holidays, but after a while I found myself trapped in a pattern of behaviour I’d chosen and from which there was no escape.
When we were ten, Lydia got appendicitis and had to go to hospital. When my father brought her home after the operation, it was raining hard and he carried her inside from the car with great tenderness and concern, covered in his new suede jacket.
That evening I had a sore stomach too. My parents called the doctor, but it turned out there was nothing wrong. The doctor said it was solidarity pain, common in twins. I cried when he went away again without sending me to hospital.
‘Why are you crying now?’ my father asked.
‘Probably from relief,’ my mother said, stroking my hair. ‘She was scared she might need an operation too, of course.’
I let them console me, pulled on my father’s suede jacket and refused to take it off for the rest of the evening.
Lydia took charge from a very early age. I remember playing ball with her in between the parked cars on our street. Finally we’d had enough and I had to cross the street back to our side of the road, where Lydia was, only I couldn’t see between the parked cars very well. Lydia couldn’t either, but she still beckoned to me. Trusting her blindly, I ran into the road and found myself in front of the screeching tyres of a car. The car managed to stop just in time – the skid marks stayed on the road for at least a year afterwards. I ran home in shock and threw myself crying into my father’s arms.
‘Why didn’t you look?!’ he cried out.
‘Lydia said it was all right,’ I sobbed.
My father sighed and stroked my hair. ‘You’re going to have to learn to think for yourself.’
We both liked music. I had piano lessons and Lydia played the violin. I was talented and enjoyed performing for otherpeople, but the applause was never for me alone – Lydia was just as good at playing the violin.
Sometimes I fantasised about being an only child. I was jealous of friends who could be completely themselves.
My wish came true. I’m on my own now.
Lydia
16.
It’s almost impossible
Did Lydia ever notice anything? Did she see how I looked at Raoul when I thought I was unobserved? Did it ever occur to her that Raoul and I were drawn to each other at birthday parties or nights out with friends? Did she suspect anything when Raoul sent job after job my way when I started work as a photographer?
I never acted on my feelings, but ran headlong into a series of relationships that had nothing to offer, could never have anything to offer. I never broached the subject with Raoul and he’s never said anything to me. But those feeling are there…still.
15.
Wouldn’t I like to go home with him for a bit? We could eat together, perhaps even go to a restaurant. The house is so quiet and there’s no one to talk to.
It doesn’t seem like a sensible thing to do. I can’t help Raoul with his loneliness and I don’t want to. I’m not afraid of the silence of my own home, perhaps because I’m used to it, perhaps because I don’t really feel like I’m alone. Lydia tells me what to do, still. Every time I make a decision I know what she would have said about it, and nine times out of ten I hear her saying it. In a way she interferes as much in my life from beyond the grave as she used to when she was alive.
Only now do I realise how tightly Lydia and I were bound together, though our whole lives we tried to be individuals.
When Lydia decided she liked jewellery, I refused to have my ears pierced. If Lydia wanted to go somewhere hot and sunny for our holidays, I got travel brochures for Scandinavia. Once when I was about fourteen I had my hair cut so shortmy scalp shone through the stubble.
However much I emphasised our differences, there were always many similarities. I quite liked skirts and beach holidays, but after a while I found myself trapped in a pattern of behaviour I’d chosen and from which there was no escape.
When we were ten, Lydia got appendicitis and had to go to hospital. When my father brought her home after the operation, it was raining hard and he carried her inside from the car with great tenderness and concern, covered in his new suede jacket.
That evening I had a sore stomach too. My parents called the doctor, but it turned out there was nothing wrong. The doctor said it was solidarity pain, common in twins. I cried when he went away again without sending me to hospital.
‘Why are you crying now?’ my father asked.
‘Probably from relief,’ my mother said, stroking my hair. ‘She was scared she might need an operation too, of course.’
I let them console me, pulled on my father’s suede jacket and refused to take it off for the rest of the evening.
Lydia took charge from a very early age. I remember playing ball with her in between the parked cars on our street. Finally we’d had enough and I had to cross the street back to our side of the road, where Lydia was, only I couldn’t see between the parked cars very well. Lydia couldn’t either, but she still beckoned to me. Trusting her blindly, I ran into the road and found myself in front of the screeching tyres of a car. The car managed to stop just in time – the skid marks stayed on the road for at least a year afterwards. I ran home in shock and threw myself crying into my father’s arms.
‘Why didn’t you look?!’ he cried out.
‘Lydia said it was all right,’ I sobbed.
My father sighed and stroked my hair. ‘You’re going to have to learn to think for yourself.’
We both liked music. I had piano lessons and Lydia played the violin. I was talented and enjoyed performing for otherpeople, but the applause was never for me alone – Lydia was just as good at playing the violin.
Sometimes I fantasised about being an only child. I was jealous of friends who could be completely themselves.
My wish came true. I’m on my own now.
Lydia
16.
It’s almost impossible
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