A short drabble about exactly how Rose's sister sees her. Plot bunny that wouldn't get out of my head.
My name is Lily Anne Tyler and I am fifteen years old. I have long (dyed) blonde hair and bluey grey eyes. I'm five foot four and I wish I could be a bit taller. I like shopping and clothes and going to the cinema and all that teenage stuff. I don't have a boyfriend right now but I could if I wanted. I live with my mum and dad and little brother, in Surrey of all places. Small town where nothing happens. Far enough away from London for it to be the end of the world.
And I hate my big sister. I know most people will say how wicked I am but I don't care. I hate Rose. She's blonde too (again all out of a bottle) and she is thirty-six, although she could easily pass for twenty-five. She's beautiful and perfect and I hate her. Mum had a thing about flower names I guess. I mean Rose and Lily? It makes us sound like a pair of spinster grannies!
I think she's a nutter. Walking around with a mobile phone so old it's practically an antique and a Yale key round her neck on a chain. I know she has some top secret job that I'm not supposed to know about but do they really think I believe she's a P.A in a London advertising firm when she comes home covered in blood or worse?
Mum nags me. She doesn't nag Rose. She nags me about when I'll be home and what I'm up to. I bet she didn't bug Rose this much. She tells me Rose can handle herself. Well so can I. I know what's out there, they think I don't. They think I'm a child and I'm not.
And what's with Norway? Once a year Rose vanishes on holiday there. For as long as I can remember. No one goes on holiday to the same place on the same day every year. Especially not some windswept beach. She took me once. I was eleven. And for three days all she did was cry. What do you do when your sister cries non-stop for three days and stares out to sea sitting on a freezing beach? There is only so much Norwegian TV you can watch. Like I said before, nutter.
Everyone thinks she is so special. She is everyone's favourite. Uncle Mickey. Uncle Jake. Mum. Even Dad. And she's not even his. They think I don't know, I overheard them talking one night. Even my little brother James loves her and he's only six. She got to name him and all. Told mum that she's couldn't use John, and that once He – always He with a capital H – once called himself James. Whoever the hell He is. He is like this secret; they never mention his real name. I wonder what He looked like.
She never talks about Him. The mystery man who made damn sure she would never love anyone else. Uncle Mickey got married to Hannah, someone he worked with. He works with Rose too and its obvious he adores her. I wonder why they never got together? But it's too late now. Mickey has a baby, well she's three now, so not so much a baby anymore. Sarah Jane. Sarah Jane Smith. Stupid name, sounds like something out of Little House on the Prairie. And Rose Tyler is in love with someone else. I think he died. I searched her room once, looking for photos. But she hasn't got any. Not old ones. Nothing before I was born. Only family and friends and Mickey. None of the mystery lover. I wonder what he looks like. I think he'd be taller than her. Older definitely. Sometimes I think he'd be serious and quiet, and other times I think he would be the talkative laughing type. Darker than her. Why no photographs? Maybe she burnt them. Maybe he broke her heart. I think she should get over herself. He isn't coming back. Or he would have done it by now. Fifteen years is a long time. No one loves someone and leaves them broken. You fight for what you love. Maybe Rose didn't fight hard enough but inside I don't believe that. Something so terrible happened with that man that he broke her. Made it so no one can mention his name. I think he must have died in Norway. Maybe at sea. That's why there is no grave for her to visit.
Mum gets all over protective about Rose though. She's the favourite. Always will be. She's got her own flat in London but she's here as much as she is there. Thirty-six and she's still practically living at home with mum. How sad. I'm getting out as soon as I can. I want to travel. I want to see the world. Mum looks sad when I tell her that, and tells me I'm more like Rose than I think. Rose never went anywhere. She left school without any a-levels and just happened to get lucky. Mum once said she lost Rose but I don't understand what she means, Rose is fine, not lost. Then she let it slip that Rose went missing for a year. My straight laced big sister a runaway? I try to probe a bit more but mum will only say that she didn't have a clue where Rose was or who with until she turned up on the doorstep out of the blue twelve months later. I asked Uncle Mickey about it and he pulled a face and said the police thought he had murdered her. Five times they questioned him. Uncle Mickey wouldn't hurt a fly! I can't believe they thought he would kill her. Why him? It's normally the boyfriend they pull in first. And Rose and Mickey never…did they? No they would still be together if that was the case. But someone ruined her. And no one else can see it. Only me. Everyone else sees this woman who they think can do everything. Who they think can save the world. I think she's a nutter. I think she needs a doctor.