The Sister Who Was Easier

Everybody knew what Tia was like.

Tia ate her food. All of it, including the corners of the toast and the last spoon of rice. Tia went to sleep at eight o’clock, on her own, in the dark, without one single glass of water.

“She’s the easy one,” said Nani, every time she came.

And everybody knew what Rhea was like, too.

Rhea did not eat the corners. Rhea needed the door open exactly this much, not that much. Rhea had opinions about socks. There is a line across the toes. Some socks have it and some socks don’t, and if you are the one wearing them, it matters.

“This one,” Nani said, “is the difficult one.”

She said it in a nice voice. It was still the thing she said.

On Saturday they went to the doctor’s, both of them, for the needle.

The waiting room had six chairs in a row, all joined together, so that when somebody stood up everybody else went boing. The floor was shiny and squeaked under everybody’s shoes. On a low table there was a pile of books with the covers gone. There was a fish tank in the corner with a bubbling pipe and one fish that mostly hid. There was a number on a paper ticket, and the number was 31, and the wall said 27. The clock over the door was two minutes slow.

The whole room smelled of soap.

Rhea did not want to be there. Rhea said so, twice, quite loudly, and got the look. Her shoes did not reach the floor.

Tia sat down with her feet straight out in front of her, the way she always sat, like a doll that had been put somewhere.

“See?” said Nani, to nobody. “Look at Tia.”

The wall said 28.

Rhea counted the ceiling. There were forty-one squares, and one square with a wet brown ring on it, right over the door.

She looked at the fish tank. The hiding fish came out from behind its stone, thought better of it, and went back in.

A bell went somewhere behind the desk.

And then something pulled on her sleeve.

It was Tia’s hand. It had got hold of the cuff of Rhea’s sleeve. It was holding on so hard that the cloth had gone long and thin and completely the wrong shape.

Tia’s feet were still straight out in front of her. Her face was still doing nothing at all.

But her hand was white round the knuckles.

Rhea looked at the hand for a moment.

Then she got up, and the whole row of chairs went boing. She sat down again on Tia’s chair, in the little bit of space at the side. Now they were both on one chair, and neither of them fitted.

She did not say anything about it. Neither did Tia.

They went in together, holding on. The sleeve stayed stretched out of shape for the rest of the day, and nobody said one word about the sleeve.

At home, at the kitchen table, with the plate of toast between them, Nani asked how it went. Rhea said it was fine.

Then she said, “Tia was brave.”

Nani said yes, Tia was always good at these things.

And Rhea, the difficult one, did not say anything at all to that. She gave Tia the corner of her toast. Tia ate it, because Tia eats everything.