Ladybug

To be taken in the context of the 1980’s when social attitudes were different, but human nature not so much.

1981

    Put me next to my sister Charmaine and I fade into the background. It’s a twist on ugly duckling/ beautiful swan syndrome. 

     The fact I’m two years older only makes matters worse. I’m eighteen and Charmaine is sixteen. She’s everything I’m not. She has brilliant green eyes to my hazel ones, golden hair to my light brown, and a cheerleader figure. Oozing sexuality and confidence, it seems she only has to crook her finger, and the boys come running. 

     The last straw came when one of her admirers tried to befriend me in order to get close to her.

    Our family live in a modest private house on the edge of a sprawling estate. “The wrong side of the tracks,” dad calls it.  But he turns a blind eye to my sister’s frequent trips there. As far as he’s concerned, Charmaine is “an angel” who can do no wrong. 

     Built in the 60’s, the estate is a sprawling affair consisting of white blocks of polygonal courtyards. Covering around fifteen acres and connected by a series of ramps, I’ve often wondered how long it would take to walk from one end to the other, but I have no desire to try it. Instead, I bypass it taking the longer route to avoid crossing its pathways.

    It wasn’t always bad with my sister. Not so long ago, we used to link arms and laugh about silly stuff the way sisters do. It was the pair of us against the world.

    But that was before her hormones kicked in. The last time I stepped out with her on the estate was sheer punishment; before long, the air was thick with whistles and shouts of “Can you get out tonight, Charmie?” No one gave me a second glance making me feel like I didn’t exist.

***

EGBDF: Every good boy deserves favour. 

     A mnemonic to show the five lines of the treble clef starting from lowest to highest. 

     Every Sunday I attend the “mission” for young people at a boy’s school, of which dad is in charge. The words are chalked up on the blackboard of the music room where the service is held. I wonder if someone will dare to erase them. But then, a boy might get a beating for that. 

     It’s 3 o’clock on Sunday and I’m cringing in one of the brown plastic seats that have been set up for the “young people’s fellowship group” as it’s officially called.  I dread dad will say something embarrassing. There’s no point asking him to tone things down because he’ll just tell me I should be supporting him in his “missionary work.” To avoid trouble, I say as little as possible

     It’s a different story when it comes to my sister Charmaine. She only has to work her magic on him to get what she wants. For weeks now, she’s managed to get out of going to the meeting.

     “Charmaine needs to spend more time on her homework,” dad said when I questioned it. It was difficult to argue with that.

     Fat chance of her spending time on her homework though! How little he knows her. At the first opportunity, she’ll slip out of the house to be with her mates from the estate. I’ve seen her staring dreamily at one of the boys from the bedroom window. It’s only a matter of time before he succumbs.

     It may be unfair, but I don’t complain.

     But then I have my own reasons for not making a fuss. 

    His name is Greg. For some reason, he’s selected me as his friend. About six months ago, the music room door opened and there he was. Dark and mysterious, and clad in motorbike leathers, he immediately came and sat next to me. Every time I’m with him I long to run my fingers through that thick brown hair, have those deep blue eyes gaze into mine and hear that amazing voice soothe away my troubles. I’d happily hear him talk for hours, but he’s more of a listener. We hang out together in different parts of the boy’s school playground before, during and after the meeting. 

     In the last few weeks, a group of teenagers who I think of as The Gang of Five, have been showing up. Four boys and one girl, all smirking and giggling through dad’s talk. The slightest thing sets them off, but he continues doggedly. If anything, their presence fires him up; he regards this intake of “fresh blood” as a chance to spread the word. 

     Whereas I just feel sick.

      It’s the half hour break and I’m waiting to catch up with Greg outside. We’ve got into the habit of going out separately so as not to rouse suspicion on dad’s part. Not that he’s got anything to be suspicious about!

      This time Greg’s a little later than usual to arrive at our designated spot. I distract myself by focusing on the lines marking out the football pitch. Self-conscious to a fault, I dread encountering any of the gang members. I know they’ll be about somewhere. 

     Too late! I feel myself tense as Shaz, the girl member, saunters over. 

     “Got a fag?”

     “No, sorry.” 

     “Na, you don’t look the type. Daddy’s good girl and all that.”

     “Actually, I don’t get on with him. I did smoke but then I got caught. Sorry, I haven’t got anything on me.” 

     “So, your old man caught you? I’d liked to have seen that!” Her opinion of me shifts a little.

     “Yeah.”

     “He’s sumfing else, inhe?” Can’t be easy having to put up with all that preaching.”

     “Something like that.” Actually, it was mum who caught me smoking and I made her promise not to tell dad, but I’m not going to tell Shaz that.

     “We only come ‘ere for a laugh, you know.”

     “Right.”

     “Ah, don’t take it badly: we don’t mean no ‘arm.... Sumfing to do, innit?”

     “Yeah.”

     “Anyway, it’s my last time here. Mum’s moving away so I won’t be coming again.” She studies me intently. “You’ve got a soft spot for that Greg fella, haven’t ya?”

     I say nothing.

     “Yeah, you do. I can tell. No skin off my nose, mate. He’s not my type.” She scrabbles in her bag. “Here, ‘ave this.” She hands me a charm of a ladybug hanging from an elastic necklace strap. “It’s supposed to be lucky. If you wear it, you get the boy or girl you want. But a word if warning; don’t go and lose it like I did. Even when I found it, it stopped working. It’s no use to me now. But maybe you’ll ‘ave better luck.”

    “Thanks.” I’ve never believed in the power of charms, but I’m touched by the gesture.

     Greg strides over nonchalantly. “Hmmm,” she says. “I’ve a feeling you’re gunna need that charm.” 

    When I get home, mum is in the kitchen slaving over a roast with all the trimmings.

     “Give me a hand, Beth. Carry the plates in, can you?” I’m about to object that it’s always me who gets called on to help but think better of it when I see how tired she looks. I once asked her why dad favoured Charmaine over me. Her face clouded and I thought she was going to deny it, but she just said, “Don’t make a fuss, Beth. He loves you too. In his own way.”

     At the table, my sister looks like butter wouldn’t melt. Doing her usual charm act on dad, he says nothing about the telltale smudge of makeup she hasn’t quite wiped off.

     While everyone is tucking into the meal, I’m thinking about the words chalked up on the music room blackboard. Doesn’t a girl deserve favour too? If only I could find a way to capture Greg’s heart and make dad love me the way he does Charmaine!

     I keep going over what Greg said to me a few weeks ago.

     “You’re such a good mate, Beth. A bit like being with another bloke – only better.”

      Bittersweet words. Can there ever be anything other then friendship between us? Is there a spark for me? It seems unlikely. I must do something!

     After washing up, I try the necklace on in my room. The fake diamonds seem to light up my face in their flash. At least, I assume they’re fake. If anyone asks, I’ll say I got it from a car boot sale.       

    I’m worried dad will forbid me from wearing it, but when he sees it, he says, “That’s a nice necklace, Beth. It suits you.” I’m amazed by his reaction.  I can’t remember the last time he complimented me. Is my luck about to change?

***

The following Sunday Greg and I meet in our usual spot during the break. 

     “You seem different today, Beth.” It’s as if he’s seeing me for the first time. “What’s that you’re wearing?”

     “Just a necklace.”

     “That’s so pretty.” He draws close enough for me to catch aftershave laced with a hint of patchouli.  There’s an electricity as he briefly touches the charm. 

     “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

     “Erm, I I was wondering if you’d like to go to the cinema with me next week?”

     “What?” I exclaim.

     “Only if you want to.”

     I think of my sister. How would she respond in my shoes? “Sounds like fun,” I say, at last.

     “Great. When?”

      “It will have to be when dad’s not around. You know how he is.” 

     Between us, we work out the best time is next Sunday when dad is preaching. “I’ll tell him I’m not feeling well. My sister gets away with it all the time, so why shouldn’t I?”

     “You don’t speak about her much,” Greg says curiously.

     “Maybe she’s not worth speaking about.” 

    In the cinema, Greg puts his arm round me. The warmth of his body makes me dizzy. I have no idea what the film is about and when he kisses me, I feel faint. All I can think of is getting him alone.

     Like Juliet, desire changes me, makes me bold. When my parents decide to take Charmaine to London as a birthday treat, I point out I’m going to need extra time to revise for my exams. Normally that would be true. Now, I seize the chance to spend time with Greg.

     After spending the day with him, I get what all the fuss is about. The charm is starting to irritate my neck, but I keep it on. Greg seems fascinated by it, so any discomfort is a small price to pay. He touches it even during our most intimate moments. I only I take it off in the bathroom. And even then, I keep it close.

     I don’t want to tempt fate.

     Inevitably Greg will get to meet my sister because dad has invited him round for Sunday lunch. I can almost hear her intake of breath when he’s introduced. Maybe she sees him a challenge because she spends the entire meal flirting. But it’s all to no avail: it seems he only has eyes for me.

    One day I leave the charm in my bedroom while I take a shower. When I return for my necklace, I find it’s gone. I completely freak out. Greg is due any minute!

     In the dining room, my sister is wearing my necklace, her fingers encircling the charm, looking like the cat that got the cream.

     “Give me back my necklace,” I shout.

     “Surely you don’t mind if I borrow it, Beth. Just for today.”

     “I never said you could.”

     Dad looks up from his bible. “Don’t be churlish, Beth,” he says. “Let your sister wear it.”

     “Mum?” I plead.

     “You really shouldn’t take what doesn’t belong to you Charmaine. Just make sure you give it back to your sister by the end the day.” Mum says, meekly serving out the vegetables.

     I must be in a horror movie. Greg suddenly reacts to my sister the way all the other boys do. After the meal, eyes glinting, she offers to give him a tour of the neighbourhood. I feel paralysed, unable to act while all the time, the charm glitters on my sister’s neck. Without a second glance, Greg follows her out of the house.

    “Greg… Please… don’t go.” My throat constricts. I can’t even get the words out properly.

     “We won’t be long,” Charmaine purrs. “I know how much you hate wandering round the estate.”

***

       In Charmaine’s room, I watch the gentle rise and fall of my sleeping sister’s breath. Having a fear of the dark, she keeps the curtains partly open. The moon’s cold glare reveals the charm lying attached to its necklace on her bedside table. Charmaine stirs but does not wake. Lying there, she seems vulnerable and exposed without the necklace. An image flashes of when we were kids dressing up in mum’s clothes and wobbling round in her shoes. Like magpies, we used to love trying on her jewellery.

     Charmaine’s just playing at being grownup. At heart, she’s still a child, snatching at adult things. Seeing her like this reminds me of how she used to snuggle up while I read her stories in bed. Nothing too scary because she was easily frightened. 

     For a few seconds, my anger evaporates, but then returns as my head plays out the jealous torment of “If I can’t have him, neither can you.” Sibling rivalry is primal; a pulse running deep. It’s the human urge not to be replaced. Wanting to preserve what’s mine at all costs. Wanting to matter.

     Anger peaking, I slip the necklace into my dressing gown pocket, feet tiptoeing across soft carpet and gently close the door.

    The upstairs hallway is eerily silent. I press my ear to my parent’s bedroom wall but hear nothing. Padding downstairs, I open the front door. Through smoky, rain drenched air I make my way to the outside drain. I release the necklace, and it hits the water below with a sight plop.

     The following morning, Charmaine bursts into my bedroom. 

     “You complete bitch! What have you done with the necklace?”

     I turn to her looking like butter wouldn’t melt. 

     “I don’t know what you’re talking about. After all, you took it off me, remember?”

     It comes as no surprise when not long after ‘losing’ the charm, my sister splits up with Greg. It’s the first time a boy has rejected her and she takes it badly.

     At night, I hear Charmaine’s bitter crying on the other side of the bedroom wall. Not only has she had to deal with the ignominy of being dumped, but Dad has been clamping down. There’s to be no more rearing off and she’s been banned from mixing with boys from the estate. He’s also insisted she attends all the Sunday meetings from now on, no excuses accepted.

     The only comfort is knowing Greg won’t be there. He hasn’t attended the meeting for weeks now. Probably not surprising seeing I told him I never want to see his face again.

2024

    While a waste disposal worker’s life can hardly be described as glamorous, it has its compensations. For the past twenty years, Greg Winsmore has been helping keep some of London’s finest Victorian sewers, running smoothly. There’s a satisfaction in providing a crucial service to the public, whether they realise it or not.

    Today is one of the days when Greg is working alone. In this strange subterranean world with the river Thames flowing above the bricked tunnel, he finds himself reflecting on the past with a certain nostalgia.

    Probably one of the most stomach-churning parts of Greg’s work is dealing with the dreaded fatbergs that block the system, a result of people not disposing of waste correctly. Working stoically, he becomes aware of something sparkling in the ankle-deep water. Picking it up, he discovers a charm hanging from a necklace and old memories are reignited. How long has it been here?

    After finishing his shift, Greg carefully cleans the item until the tiny jewels gleam. Discarding the tarnished necklace, he attaches the charm to his wrist chain. The ladybug reminds him of the girl he once loved; the way things never felt right after she refused to see him when he foolishly allowed himself to get entangled with her sister. So often he’s regretted his actions, even if it was a long time ago. After showering, shaving, and finding something smart to wear, Greg sprays on aftershave with the hint of patchouli Beth always liked. Finally, touching the charm, he heads towards her last known address.

                                        🐞