A Member of My Family
by Clementine Darcy

My sister, Sophie Margaret Barbara Darcy, is perfect.

Her hair is just like the hair in shampoo ads: all swishy, as if it’s made from dark satin. Her eyes are huge and her nose is small and elegant and her teeth are blindingly white and as straight as fence palings. She has clear, smooth olive skin. Her waist is tiny. She has never been bigger than a size eight. Ever.

Sophie is clever, too. I know I’m not stupid, but I am good at some things and rubbish at others. For instance, I do well at English and art, but put a quadratic equation in front of me and I hyperventilate.

Sophie, though, is every bit as clever at English as she is at science, and she can draw and play the flute. Oh, and she’s good at sport, too. She plays netball and hockey and she does Pilates.

She’s ridiculously bendy. To top it off, Soph is also a perfectly nice person. She’s generous and funny and sensitive. She is, basically, the best person in the whole world.

Except that she’s a bit grumpy lately. But I’m sure that will pass.

Once, Fergus asked if I minded having Soph as my sister. I knew what he meant. I knew he was asking if I minded being ‘the other sister’; the one who wasn’t Sophie. The chubby one. The ordinary one. The one who would always be okay, but never brilliant.

I said I didn’t mind, and it was true. I’m lucky to have Sophie. Cleo’s little sister is a right beast.

Sophie might be snappish at the moment, but she’s stressed, that’s all. Starting university must just be really full-on.

I asked Fergus if he minded having a sister like Sophie, and he said it was easier for him because he’s a boy. I elaborated that it was easy for him because he’s nothing like Soph in any way, not just gender. Fergus looks so different from both of us, with his blond hair, blue eyes and pale skin, whereas I’m brown-haired and olive-skinned like Soph.

‘Plus, you’ve never cared much about school,’ I pointed out, knowing Fergus wouldn’t be offended. He’s said as much himself, many times. It’s just a fact. ‘Nobody could compare you with our glorious sister.’

‘Nobody is like Sophie,’ he replied. ‘She’s the one person in the world who never has to try.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I joked. ‘She does spend forever in the bathroom of a morning.’

‘Yeah, and she looks just as pretty when she goes in as when she comes out,’ he said. ‘All that make-up rubbish is only for kicks. She’s just . . . a natural. She’s got it easy.’

I agreed with him, even though at the time it seemed as if Fergus didn’t have to try, either. He had a lovely girlfriend called Alyssa, and he had a good job, working as a sous-chef. Maybe he did have it easy, back then. Maybe that’s why, later, when things went bad, he found it so hard.