Scarlet and Ivy – The Lost Twin. Sophie Cleverly

threw the stupid letter on to the grass.

      Aunt Phoebe looked up, clutching a handful of straggly dandelions. I put my head in my hands and heard her walking back towards me down the gravel path.

      “Oh, Scarlet,” she said, looking over me with blank eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be all right going to this school. I’ll miss you terribly, of course, but you will be fine on your own, won’t you?”

      She didn’t even notice her mistake.

      I didn’t think I would ever be fine on my own.

      

      t was a bright day that followed, one of those where it feels so hot and hazy that you can’t believe the summer is coming to an end. I was lying flat on my back on the stone edge of the pond, reading a tattered copy of Jane Eyre and trying my best to forget about my impending Rookwood fate.

      Sometimes I would look into the water just to see my green-tinged reflection staring back at me. It was almost enough to pretend Scarlet was right there with me.

      Almost.

      “Ivy!” My aunt’s voice rang out from the back door.

      I sat up so quickly I almost dropped the book in the pond.

      “Ivy!” she called again, despite the fact that I was looking straight at her. She was wringing the ends of her apron in her pale hands.

      “Yes?” I answered.

      “You’ve got a … visitor. It’s a teacher from the school.”

      So soon? I wasn’t ready for this now. But then, maybe I never would be. I cautiously walked back to the cottage, curling my toes over the hard stones.

      “A lady,” she added, before gently pushing me into the kitchen.

      The lady was tall and skinny, and wore a long dress that looked several sizes too large. It was black and covered with pockets. Her face was sharp and pointed, and her brown hair was pulled into a tight bun that made it look like she had a row of clothes pegs on the back of her head, pinching her skin tighter. It was not a particularly pleasant face to look at, especially given that she was fixing me with the expression of someone who has just chewed a rotten wasp.

      “Ivy Grey?” she said.

      “Yes?” I replied, stunned.

      “Yes Miss. I trust that you have received our letter?”

      “Yes, Miss.” I nodded carefully, and watched as she stalked around the kitchen table. She ran a finger along the surface, then scrutinised it in a most unladylike manner. “Good. Then you will accompany me to the school.”

      I blinked. “Right now?”

      The woman lowered her eyebrows and folded her bony arms. “Yes, right now. It is the beginning of the term. Therefore, you are supposed to be at school.”

      I turned around, and saw my aunt standing there, wide-eyed.

      “Aunt Phoebe?” I said, giving her a pleading look.

      “Excuse us a moment,” she said to the teacher, gently pulling me back into the hallway. “Oh, my dear,” she said quietly. “She does seem strict, but it is a very good school, and they’re bound to be rather, um …”

      “But Aunt Phoebe …” I whispered, “I-I thought there’d be more time.” Truth be told, I was a bit worried about my aunt being all alone too. “And what about you?” I asked.

      My aunt smiled vacantly. “I’ll get along just fine.”

      I peered back through the door at the horrible sharp woman, who was tapping her foot and glaring at me with squinty eyes.

      “I haven’t got all day,” she said, haughtily. “Go and get your things.” She gestured upstairs, the contents of her pockets jangling as she moved.

      Scarlet would have stamped on that tapping foot. But me – well, I did as I was told.

      I climbed the stairs with a shudder. Everything about that ghastly woman in the kitchen made me nervous.

      My bedroom was through a little doorway off the landing, built for someone a great deal smaller than me. It had a low-beamed ceiling and a window with warped panes of glass. When I came to stay at Aunt Phoebe’s house, it had seemed so lonely at first; obvious that there was no room for a twin. But it had grown to feel like home, and I was sad to be leaving it.

      I reached under the bed to find my blue carpet bag. I filled it with my few possessions – a comb, toiletries, metal hair-curling clips, stationery and ink, some books, the half string of tiny pearls that I had inherited from our mother, Emmeline. She had died shortly after giving birth to Scarlet and I, so we never knew her. Maybe if she had been there to look after us, Scarlet would still be alive now.

      I threw in my underclothes and my best dress – all of which bore the strong scent of lavender from Aunt Phoebe’s drawer liners – even though I knew that I would be required to wear a uniform at Rookwood School. I took out my ballet clothes, the cream leotard and skirt, and the black set too. I wrapped the soft pink shoes in tissue paper before packing them. They were almost new, and I prayed they would last a few months at least.

      It had taken no time at all to pack the contents of my life. Now the little room looked bare and sad. As I laced up my leather shoes I stared at the floorboards, trying to convince myself everything was going to be all right.

       You’ll be fine. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s only a school.

      I shut my eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. And then I traipsed back downstairs with my bag.

      “Are you ready to go?” Aunt Phoebe asked. “I’m sure Mrs … Miss, I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

      “Miss Fox,” snapped the woman.

      “I-I’m sure Miss Fox will look after you,” Aunt Phoebe said, without raising her gaze to meet my eyes. She placed a hand on my shoulder, reassuringly. “I’ll see you soon, Ivy, my dear,” she added, planting a kiss on my forehead.

      “I hope so,” I said, managing a smile. “I’ll write.”

      Miss Fox’s foot began tapping even faster. “We haven’t got time for niceties. The driver is waiting.”

      I winced and clutched hold of my bag more tightly, then I followed Miss Fox into the lane, where the bright sunshine hit my eyes.

      “Goodbye, darling,” said my aunt.

      “Goodbye,” I mouthed back. And before I knew it, I was being bundled into the back of an expensive-looking motor car.

      The smell of leather seats and the smoke from the driver’s cigar hit my nose instantly.

      “Sit up,” snapped Miss Fox, as she climbed into the front.

      “I’m sorry, miss?”

      She turned and looked at me as if I were a sick sheep. “Sit up straight when you’re in my vehicle. And kindly avoid touching the seats.”

      I folded my hands in my lap and began to ask, “How long will it take to—”

      “Quiet!” she interrupted. “All this senseless chatter is giving me a headache.”

      The engine chugged into life as I leant back and tried to take some deep breaths, but the fumes made me cough. Miss Fox tutted loudly.

      All I could see of the driver was a flat tweed