Tally listens to the laughter coming from the other side of the door. It’s quiet and she has to strain to hear it, but she knows they’re all in there, having fun without her. She counts to five and then turns the handle, pushing the door open to reveal Mum, Dad and Auntie Tish all staring back at her.
“Oh, Tally,” sighs Mum. “What is it this time? You’ve already had a glass of water and I’ve been up three times. You need to go to bed.”
Tally frowns. “I can’t sleep,” she says accusingly. “You’re all being too loud.”
Dad opens his mouth to speak but Mum beats him to it.
“Then we’ll be a bit quieter,” she says. “Now up you go. It’s late.”
“Goodnight, Tally.” Auntie Tish raises an eyebrow. “Again.”
Dad pushes back his chair and gets up. “I’ll tuck you in,” he says, putting his hand gently on Tally’s back and guiding her out of the room. “There’ll be plenty of time to see Auntie Tish tomorrow. She’s staying the whole weekend.”
Tally knows this. She also knows that Mum and Dad spent last night arguing about the fact that Auntie Tish announced yesterday afternoon that her weekend plans had fallen through and so she’d be visiting with them. Mum said that it would have been nice to have been asked rather than told, which Tally thought was a bit ironic.
Anyway, she’s not that bothered about seeing Auntie Tish and it’s certainly not the reason that she keeps getting out of bed. There’s just something not right about having to go to sleep when everyone else is awake and having a good time. It makes Tally feel panicky inside as if life is whizzing past and she’s just wasting it in bed. Then again, the last thing she wants is to be the only person awake in the house. That’s a terrifying thought and it’s the reason she usually asks Mum or Dad to stay in her room until she’s fallen asleep. Tally thinks that being the only person awake at night is a bit like being the only person in the world – it’s lonely and empty and frightening.
“Will you stay here with me?” she asks Dad as he pulls the duvet over her and picks Billy up off the floor. “Just for a bit?”
Dad shakes his head. “I can’t leave your mother alone with Auntie Tish,” he tells her. “Who knows what she’ll end up saying? She’ll probably ask her when she’s going to get a proper grown-up name or something else equally offensive.”
“Please.” Tally’s voice is quiet and Dad groans before perching on the end of her bed.
“Fine. But just for a few minutes and you need to promise to go to sleep, OK?”
Tally snuggles down and for a few moments, the room is silent. Then Tally has a thought.
“What do you mean about Auntie Tish’s name? What’s wrong with it?”
Dad chuckles quietly. “Well, Tish is my big sister and it’s what I called her when I was little. Her real name is Patricia, but I couldn’t say that so I called her Tish and then it just stuck. Your mother says it sounds like a sneeze, not a name.”
Tally thinks about it.
Mum kind of has a point.
Tally opens her eyes to see Mum throwing back the curtains. She instantly closes her eyes again and pulls the duvet up over her head.
“I’m tired,” she groans. “I need to sleep.”
“You should have gone to bed earlier, then,” says Mum. “We’re going for a walk in the country park with Auntie Tish and you need to get up.”
“No.” Tally burrows deeper down. “I need to learn my Little Red lines for the school production.”
“Yes.” Mum flings back the covers. “Come on. Nell is already up and dressed. And the production isn’t for a month or so – you’ve got plenty of time to work on your star performance!”
Tally opens one eye and looks at Mum’s face. She knows that it’s pointless trying to argue with her when she’s in this kind of a mood. She also knows that Mum wants her to be less like her and more like her sister.
Mum probably wishes that she’d had two of Nell and none of Tally.
“Fine.” Tally swings her legs out of bed and sits up. “I’ll get up. Just like Nell.”
Mum looks confused for a moment and then she gives Tally a big smile. “Wonderful! I’ll see you downstairs for some breakfast in a few minutes.”
She sweeps out of the room and Tally flops back on to the mattress. She wants to please Mum, but she really is tired and going for a walk in the country park is definitely not what she wants to do today. And maybe she wasn’t entirely telling the truth when she told her family that she got the main part in the production, but she wasn’t lying when she said that she wanted to work on her lines. She needs to be ready to leap into the role of Little Red when Miss Balogun finally sees that Tally is the right choice and will do a far better job than Carrie ever could.
If she’s going to make everything right, though, then she has to do what they all want. If she’s going to show them that there’s nothing wrong with her, then she has to be “normal”, which apparently is being just like her sister.
And how hard can that be? Nell isn’t that special.
In the kitchen, Auntie Tish is sitting at the table clasping a large mug of coffee.
“Sit by me,” she says, patting the chair next to her. Tally hates the smell of coffee so even though she’s working hard to be like Nell, she pretends not to notice and instead slides into a seat on the opposite side of the table.
“Here’s your toast,” says Mum, putting a plate down in front of her.
Tally stares at the toast and then up at Mum.
“But it’s Saturday,” she says. “I always have a croissant on Saturday.”
Mum shakes her head. “Not today, I’m afraid. I didn’t get a chance to go to the bakery yesterday, so it’ll have to be toast this morning.”
Tally’s shoulders slump. She knows why Mum couldn’t go to the bakery because she heard her moaning at Dad and telling him that she’d spent the entire day cleaning the house so that it would meet his sister’s high standards.
“I only got up because I thought it was a croissant,” she says quietly. “I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”
“Ooh, who’s a little princess?” croons Auntie Tish, in a singsong kind of voice. “Only getting out of bed for a croissant, hey? Your mum and dad will have to pay you to get up before too long!”
Tally frowns. She would never ask her parents to give her money just for getting out of bed. And she didn’t ask for the croissant, actually. Mum started it as a Saturday tradition for them all. It’s not like Tally goes around demanding stuff all the time.
“We’ll have croissants next week,” says Mum, ignoring Auntie Tish’s comment. “Would you like peanut butter or strawberry jam on your toast?”
“Marmalade,” answers Tally.
Marmalade is what Nell always chooses.
Auntie Tish makes a huffing sound and the rest of breakfast takes place in silence.
Things don’t improve once the breakfast things are all put away. Dad strides into the room with Nell just behind him and claps his hands.
“Is everyone ready to go? Because we need to hurry up if we’re going to get in a walk before lunch. I’ve booked us a table at the restaurant for one o’clock.”
“Give me five minutes,” says Auntie Tish. “I’ve just got to get my boots from my car.”
“Good idea,” says Dad. “Girls – you need to put on your wellies. It’s probably going to be pretty muddy.”
Tally stays where she is.
Nell takes her wellington boots from by the back door and grabs her old coat.
Tally doesn’t move.
Mum finds her wallet and phone and then the three of them head out into the hallway.
Tally remains very, very still.
“Everyone ready?” calls Dad.
Three voices confirm that they are.
One voice is silent.
“Tally?” Mum walks back into the kitchen. “Come on! Dad’s got your boots ready on the front porch.”
“I’m not wearing wellies,” Tally tells her. “They feel wrong on my feet.”
Mum laughs but it isn’t a real laugh. It sounds brittle, like something is about to snap.
“Don’t be silly,” she says. “You don’t want to get your trainers muddy, do you? It’ll make a complete mess of them.”
“No,” agrees Tally. “But I won’t, because I’m not going in any mud. And I’m not silly.”
“What’s going on?” asks Dad, marching into the room. “We’re going to be late.”
“Tally doesn’t want to wear her wellies,” Mum informs him. “Apparently they feel wrong.”
“It’s the first I’ve heard of it,” says Dad, frowning. “You wore them a few weeks ago when we went down to the beach.”
“That was on sand,” Tally explains. “They feel OK on sand.”
“That really isn’t a logical argument to make,” Dad tells her.
Tally shrugs. She doesn’t know what else to say. She just knows that she can’t wear the boots and she can’t walk in mud – not unless she wants to feel absolutely horrible for the rest of the day, and that is not an option because she’s trying to show them that she can be normal and good and she can’t possibly do that if she’s feeling awful inside.
“Just wear your trainers, then,” sighs Mum, glancing at the clock. “We’ll deal with the mess later.”
“No!” Tally stands up and faces them. “And stop saying that word!”
Mum and Dad look at each other like they haven’t got a clue what she’s talking about, like the word mess doesn’t make them feel gross and squirmy and itchy inside.
“What’s the problem?” Auntie Tish is standing in the doorway. “Are we going or not?”
“We’ll be with you in a minute,” says Mum. “Just give us a second.”
Auntie Tish doesn’t move.
“Are you letting this one rule the roost again?” she asks, her voice as slippery as an eel. “I’d have thought you’d have put your foot down by now, Kevin.”
“Just leave it, Tish,” says Dad, turning to face her. “You’re not helping.”
Auntie Tish makes a noise in the back of her throat. “It’s the two of you who aren’t helping yourselves,” she says. “Honestly, I just think you need to lay down the law with this girl.”
Mum’s face flushes a deep red colour. “You don’t understand,” she murmurs, almost as if she’s talking to herself.
Auntie Tish sighs. “I’m just concerned that this is all getting out of hand,” she says, her voice all sweetness now. It reminds Tally of the time she ate too many sherbet Dib-Dabs and made herself feel sick. “This friction can’t be healthy for any of you. If you don’t stop letting her get away with this behaviour then you’re going to have a real problem on your hands. She’s turning into a nightmare.”
Tally grips the edge of the table as hard as she can.
She has nightmares all the time and they’re terrifying, dark, unsettling things. How can Auntie Tish say that about her?
“She’s our daughter,” says Mum and when Tally looks at her, Mum’s eyes are as steely as her voice. “And I don’t appreciate your comments.”
“And your name sounds like a sneeze,” murmurs Tally, backing her mother up. “Mum thinks so too.”
“It just makes me so worried for you all.” Auntie Tish shakes her head sadly. “You love those children too much, Kevin.”
“Hey!” Dad frowns at Auntie Tish. “Don’t bring Nell into this. She’s done nothing wrong.”
Tally isn’t sure what to think about this comment, but the conversation is moving too quickly for her to give it much thought.
“Of course not.” Auntie Tish gives him a wary smile. “But just imagine what their grandparents would think if they could see them now. They’d be horrified at the way you let the children make the rules.”
“Because they clearly did such a good parenting job with you?” snarls Mum. “And don’t you dare tell us that we love our children too much.”
Dad steps in between them.
“OK, let’s all calm down,” he says, holding his hands in the air like he’s stopping traffic.
“I’m completely calm.” Auntie Tish shrugs her shoulders. “I’m just saying that if Tally spent two days in my house living under my rules, then she wouldn’t behave like this.”
The rushing noise is so loud in Tally’s ears that for a second she thinks that there must be a storm brewing. Then she blinks and realizes that there is a storm on the way but it’s not outside. It’s inside her head and it’s trying to escape.
“You have no right to say something like that.” Mum steps forward and pulls Tally close to her. “You have no idea what the situation is like here – you’ve been in this house for less than twenty-four hours and suddenly you’re an expert on my child? You don’t understand what we’re going through here.”
The wind picks up and the thunder-clouds gather. Anyone with any sense would run for cover.
Auntie Tish sniffs loudly. “I didn’t say that I was an expert, but the situation is quite obvious. Tally clearly has no barriers and you both give in to her every demand.”
Lightning flashes like a warning signal. Tally plants her feet on the ground and tries to remember how to breathe. She just has to ignore the words and remember her plan.
Be good. Be good. Be good.
“I’m merely trying to help,” explains Auntie Tish. “This overparenting is creating a monster.”
The sky rips itself in two and there is nothing that Tally can do about it except let the storm break.
I am not a nightmare.
Chairs fly through the air.
I am not a monster.
Nell appears in the doorway and clings on to the doorframe while the hurricane hurls itself around the kitchen.
I am me I am me I am me I am me.
Tally doesn’t see when Auntie Tish leaves the room and she doesn’t hear the sound of the front door slamming as she stomps off to her car, her hastily packed bag held in one hand. She doesn’t notice Nell righting the chairs or Dad picking up the pieces of broken crockery and putting them in the bin.
She only knows that Mum is holding her tightly, both of them sitting on the kitchen floor with Mum’s arms wrapped around her, waiting for the storm to blow itself out.
“I tried really hard to do what you wanted,” she whispers eventually, once the shaking has stopped. “Did you see me trying?”
Mum squeezes her a bit tighter. “I did,” she tells her.
“It’s just really hard,” Tally murmurs. “And when Auntie Tish said those things, it made me forget that I was supposed to be like Nell today.”
Mum shifts a little so that she can look at Tally’s face. “I don’t want you to be like Nell,” she says. “I want you to be you.”
Tally closes her eyes as a wave of exhaustion washes over her. She wants to believe Mum, she really does. But if it was OK to be her then they wouldn’t be trying so hard to fix her, would they? If it was OK to be her, everyone wouldn’t keep getting so mad at her all the time.
I am not a nightmare.
I am not a monster.
But I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.