Salt Sisters

gaze firmly ahead, not wanting distractions from the past. My thighs itched from the cold and my fingers were on icy fire despite the gloves. But something about it seemed right. This was what Amy had done. I could feel her in the clothes, the shape of her feet in her trainers, and I pressed myself against the empty outline of my sister. Tears blew across my cheeks.
I got part-way down the road before a stitch got the better of me, so I headed back, crossing over to walk beside the houses, in case that was any warmer than the beach side. At the third house, a man was standing at his garden gate, and as I approached, he called out to me.
‘Isabelle?’
He was about my age, but dressed like a much older man in a tank top and chequered wool trousers. I noticed his blue eyes. He looked familiar, but I struggled to place him.
‘I’m so sorry, but I saw you running by just now and I thought – just for a moment – the craziest thing, but you look just like your sister. I thought it was Amy.’ He wiped away a tear. ‘Gosh, I’m so stupid! Sorry, my goodness – what a thing to say. I’m Richard Pringle… Mr Pringle?’ He said it like the name should mean something to me, and offered me his hand to shake. When I looked confused, he elaborated: ‘The headteacher at North Sunderland Primary School? We met at the service… for your sister.’
That’s where I knew him from – Amy’s funeral. He had a kind, but tired face, and he seemed genuinely upset by the mistaken identity. He invited me in, and I found the prospect of getting warm and being able to talk about Amy was too tempting.
Richard’s house was just a few doors down from the house we had grown up in. It wasn’t as large as our old place, but it had identical sea views, and seeing them again from this vantage point was like hearing an old song. He brought in a tray with a pot of tea, two cups and a plate of biscuits.
It turned out that Richard had known Amy quite well – she had been chair of the PTA and had regularly organised fundraising events for the school. I’d seen pictures of these things on Facebook, but I hadn’t bothered to understand that Amy was actually organising them. How much did I not know about my sister?
‘So’, said Richard, leaning forward in his chair. ‘How are you coping?’
I thought about where to start, trying my hardest not to cry. ‘It’s been tough,’ I finally said in a small voice. I took a deep breath. ‘To be perfectly honest, it’s terrifying. Just the responsibility, you know?’
Richard smiled. ‘I know that feeling – every teacher does. It’s perfectly normal.’
‘All the questions they have, and all the things you need to think about – and the rules! My goodness, the rules… I seem to make them up as I go along.’
‘The key is to sound like you mean it,’ he said with a chuckle.
‘I don’t know,’ I sighed. ‘I hadn’t planned for this.’
‘You’ll find your stride. We all go through the same learning curve.’
We sat in silence, sipping our tea. I mulled over Richard’s words. Maybe I was being too hard on myself? After all, this was just like any new job – it was just a case of learning the ropes.
Richard set his cup down on the tray. ‘You know, Amy was a very dear friend of mine, and I was very fond of her. If there’s anything at all I can do - even if it’s just providing tea and biscuits, you only have to ask.’
He held out the plate and I gratefully took a custard cream. I glanced at my watch, suddenly realising that I’d been gone for almost an hour. Some guardian I was – I’d left Rachel to do the work and forgotten all about her. I reluctantly said goodbye to Richard, telling him to call at Puffin Cottage any time.
Mum had arrived by the time I got back and was cooking in the kitchen. She hugged me hello, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I let myself melt into her. Maybe running had been a good idea after all. I offered to help with dinner, and she showed me how to roll up the lentil and herb mix she was working on into little balls.
Rachel and the kids were in the living room, giving me a chance to speak to Mum privately.
‘Was Amy having any problems, Mum?’
‘Like what, dear?’
‘Was anything stressing her out? Was she anxious about something, before the accident?’
‘I don’t think so. If something was troubling her, she didn’t tell me.’ She stopped and put the spoon down. ‘Perhaps you’d be better off asking your Auntie Sue about things like that…’ Her bottom lip started to tremble.
I shifted my weight from foot to foot. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘I haven’t been much of a mother to you girls, I know that. I never got the chance to properly make up for it. And now I never will with Amy.’ She blew her nose with a tissue from her pocket.
I shrugged. ‘What’s done is done. And it was a long time ago. There’s no point dwelling on it.’
I wondered if I meant that.
‘If I’d been better, if I hadn’t messed up, you wouldn’t have moved to the other side of the world and you wouldn’t be in such a rush to get back there. You should be staying with me – not in a cottage down the road. We should be together now, as a family.’
I thought carefully about how to explain without hurting her feelings. ‘I just need my own space, Mum. It’s already a lot to deal with, and I need room to breathe.’
She gave a sad sigh. ‘I know what that’s like. I suppose if anyone can empathise,