In Sarah’s Shadow
Sisters – one of the closest relationships in the world? Megan and Sarah wouldn’t agree…MEGAN'S STORY: Megan is constantly in her big sister's shadow. Prettier, smarter, funnier, Sarah has it all; the adoration of their parents, a great group of friends, talent, and – of course – Conor. Megan struggles to retain her identity as she tries to turn the tables on her lucky, gifted sibling. But is the pecking order ever going to change?SARAH'S STORY: Now we see the sisterly relationship from Sarah's point of view, and slowly, it begins to dawn on the reader that things are not quite as they seem. Could it be that Megan’s perspective is not quite as accurate as originally perceived?
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In Sarah’s Shadow
Karen McCombie
For the four girls at Coombe Girls’ School
who helped inspire a plot twist. (You know who you are!)
Table of Contents
PART ONE Out from the Shadows Megan’s story
Chapter 2 Wonderful things happen…to other people
Chapter 3 Good deeds = good luck?
Chapter 6 The surprise – make that shock – party
Chapter 9 Take a chance on me…
Chapter 10 Luck…but which kind?
PART TWO Life in the light Sarah’s story
Chapter 1 Walking on eggshells
Chapter 2 Good times, bad vibes
Chapter 3 Twitterings and warnings
Chapter 5 The many faces of Megan
Chapter 8 The end of a beautiful friendship…or two
There’s always a flip side to everything, isn’t there?
For every good bit of news, there’s bad. For every amazing piece of luck, there’s a dog poo waiting to be stepped in. For every silver lining, there’s a big, fat cloud. For everyone who’s charmed, someone’s jinxed. For every Sarah, there’s a Megan…
“Hey, Sweetpea, what’s with you?” Dad beams as Sarah bounces through the living room doorway. “You look pleased with yourself!”
Ah, yes…and for every Sweetpea, there’s a Pumpkin. ‘Cause in our family, my sister Sarah is the bringer of good news; the one who has amazing luck; the girl with her own in-built silver lining; the charmed eldest child with the pretty pet name to go with her pretty self.
Then there’s Megan (ie, me): the bringer of bad news; the one destined to tread in the dog poo; the girl lurking under the big, fat cloud; the jinxed younger sister with the pet name as round and lumpen as—
“Put your legs down, Pumpkin!” Mum orders me, practically shooing me off the sofa I’ve been curled up on since I got home from school. “Let your sister sit down!”
All praise Princess Sarah! She hath arrived and we must all bow low to Her Loveliness. Wonder if I should wipe away any grime left behind from my trainers before she graces the sofa with her wondrous bottom?
Nah. I won’t bother.
Oh, God – I know how bad that sounds. I’m coming over like a total bitch, aren’t I? But I’m not…honest I’m not. Just ask anyone who feels like they’re the least loved kid when it comes to their parents and they’ll know exactly what I’m going through. After fourteen years of watching my parents and Sarah indulge in this mutual appreciation society, it’s like I’m this invisible member of my own family, somehow surplus to requirements. Think of it that way and you’ll see it’s hard not to sound bitter and twisted sometimes, but all I really am is hurt, hurt, hurt.
Specially when I spot those snidey, sideways looks Sarah sometimes throws my way when she thinks I don’t notice…
“Come on then, Sarah! What’s put that smile on your face?” says Dad excitedly, setting aside his newspaper and giving his favourite child his full attention. Mum’s the same, turning the sound down on the local news she’s been watching on TV and gazing at my sister expectantly.
Sarah shrugs her fluffy-collared coat off her shoulders and shakes free her sheeny-shiny chestnut hair. Where does she think she is? At an audition for a shampoo ad? The steps outside the Met Bar, with the whirr of cameras and catcalls of the paparazzi all around? Doesn’t she realise that this is just our normal front room, with its normal floral wallpaper border and a normal family sitting around on our extremely normal sofa and chairs? Ah, but maybe that’s it; maybe that hair-tossing business is for my benefit. You know, just to remind me that my dull, brown fuzz of a hairdo can never compete with hers.
Oh yeah, Sarah likes to let me know my place, but it’s in these subtle, paper-cut sharp ways that can only be seen by the trained eye. And believe me, I’m trained. After a lifetime of being related to Princess Perfect sitting here next to me, you get wise.
Sarah is just about to speak, when Mum starts fluttering and clucking around her as usual.
“Oh, don’t crush your new coat, darling!” she frowns in concern, indicating Sarah’s long, fawn, sheepskin coat. “Pumpkin – go and hang it up for your sister!”
I’m about to say something – like, why doesn’t Sarah hang up her own coat? – but there’s no point. Instead of Mum realising how unfair that is, she’ll just think I’m being unhelpful and grumpy, instead of bright and smiley, like you-know-who. So instead, I put my magazine down on the floor, wordlessly hold my hand out and wait for Sarah to pass me her stupid coat, like I’m her handmaiden or something.
“Stop fussing, Angela!” I hear Dad jovially tell my mum off as I head out into the hall. “Let the girl talk!”
What a joke, eh? Dad tells Mum off for the heinous crime of stalling Sarah’s latest piece of good news, in her never-ending stream of amazing luck. He doesn’t nark at Mum for ordering me about; it’s as if I came as a package deal with the house (‘1930s semi with garage; servant included’).
