The Stand-In Page 2

  “Okay. So, your schedules,” Milly was saying. “We’re going to be meeting every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for the next four weeks, then every afternoon in Week Ten. We have decorations to sort, posters to make, tickets to sell, final donation drives, it’s all go from now people. I need one hundred per cent commitment–”

  “In which case, I vote Eli out now,” Govi chuckled, throwing his hand straight up in the air, and Elijah smirked.

  Milly glared at them, only just managing to act like she didn’t care one whit that they were semi-rock royalty. “He can’t be out. You’re playing and he agreed as front man to be your spokesperson. You, on the other hand, Gabriel, can leave anytime you wish.”

  I had the distinct impression Milly would prefer that option even as I had the distinct impression she wasn’t letting Elijah out of any commitment that put them in the same room if his life depended on it.

  “I’d be happy to stand-in for him,” Govi replied, throwing me a wink like stand-ins were suddenly a thing and possibly cool.

  I jumped in my seat as Lindy nudged me again and I glared at her while Milly and Govi kept up what I’m sure was witty banter.

  “Are you quite right?” I hissed, knowing full well the answer was no but not quite having the heart to tell her; unlike my sister, I did try not to be a bitch.

  “Gabriel Costa is the drummer for Quicksilver!” Lindy whispered, far too up close and personal.

  I leant away from her as far as humanly possible and nodded. “Yes, Lindy. I’m aware.”

  But she just kept on coming. She grabbed the front of my jumper. “And he knows your name.”

  I was this close to slapping her out of whatever crazy land she’d fallen into. Maybe she’d found Narnia after all… I was a little jealous.

  “Okay. Did we take our meds today?” I asked, trying to pull her hands off me. There was a momentary pause in my head as I stopped to remember if I’d taken mine.

  “Ella’s sister!” Milly snapped and I whirled around.

  “That is me!” I yelped, still trying to dislodge Lindy. I finally got her death grip off my jumper and cleared my throat. “Yes?” I squeaked, throwing Lindy one more look to check she wasn’t about to grab hold of me again.

  “If the two of you are quite finished?”

  “Oh, I wish…” I muttered and I was sure I heard Govi laugh.

  I looked up at him but my eyes found Elijah instead. Not that Elijah was looking at me, because I was so far beneath Elijah Sweet’s notice that it was unnecessary. Which was good. Because by all accounts, if you were in his notice, then you were getting your heart broken. Not that I’d give him anything to notice knowing my luck. But my brain still melted into a puddle on the floor and I was sure I blushed just thinking about the possibility of having to talk to him.

  Well, this is a great start… I thought to myself as Milly droned on about the expectations on our time.

  The Ass in Assistant

  “No. No, Norb. You stay, buddy. I’ll see you later,” I said to the white and brown ball of floof desperate to come with me as I locked up the house and hoiked the bag up my shoulder.

  “Chloe!” Ella screeched and I rolled my eyes.

  “Coming. Coming!” I answered as I hurried around to the car and slid into the back seat.

  Mum was already in the front with Ella.

  “Your father will pick you up from Dance and drop you off at Piano, then I’ll get you from there, and we’ll go to the hairdresser. What time’s the party?” Mum asked as she backed out of the garage.

  Ella looked over her planner with a huff. “It starts at seven–”

  “So by the time we’re fashionably late to make an entrance… That will make it eight.” You wonder where Ella learnt how to treat people so well? Just take a look at our mother. “Your father and I need to be at dinner with the Petersons by half-seven, so Chloe will take you–”

  “Actually,” I interjected, leaning forward, “Chloe has plans.”

  Mum waved away my trivial concerns, like I was interrupting her speech to NATO, or I was a particularly annoying fly or something. I was starkly reminded of Ruby Rhod from Fifth Element. And her outfit wasn’t helping the image either.

  “Chloe will take you, then wait for you to let her know when you’re ready to come home. I have to put my face mask on tonight and your father’s getting up early in the morning for golf with Hector.”

  I flopped back in the seat, knowing it was pointless to argue. I could – of course I could – and I had been known to on many occasions. But today I did not have the energy for the guilt trip speech; “but, the things we do for you, Chloe!” “Your sister is very good to you, Chloe.” “It’s the least you could do, Chloe.” At least they remembered my name…most days. It was all just easier and life went quicker when I just went along with the madness.

  Less than twelve months. Big neon lights. I reminded myself like a mantra.

  Because in less than twelve months I would finally be eighteen. I could do what I wanted, when I wanted and I was counting down the days like my birthday would be water to my previously parched existence. Not long now. I’d lived like this for over seventeen years, I’d been the understudy to my sister’s life for seventeen years. What was one more? One more and I’d be free; the idea alone made it all worth it. It made anything worth–

  “Chloe, stop daydreaming!” Mum practically shrieked.

  I jumped. “Sorry. What did you say?”

  “You need to run to the pharmacy for me while your sister and I are at the hairdresser. We just won’t have time to get there.”

  I nodded as I looked out the window. “Sure, Mum. No worries.”

  I ignored them for the rest of the trip, with thankfully no more screeching of my name at dog-attuned heights, with my nose stuck in my book. Well, one of the eBooks on my phone because then I wouldn’t have to hear about how nerdy I was.

  We finally pulled into the dance school carpark and I dropped out of the car, waving to Akira as I dragged the bags after me. As Ella passed, she held her hand out and I seamlessly put her bag into it with the three seconds I had to do so; practise makes perfect, and I was a well-practised assistant.

  I fell into step with Akira as Mum tooted to Ella, who was flouncing up the stairs like she owned the place.

  “How was your week?” Akira asked.

  I shrugged. “It went. I’m on the formal committee now apparently.”

  Akira looked at me in surprise. “Oh good, because you don’t have enough to do with your life.”

  I shrugged. “You know me. Give, give, give.”

  “You are a paragon of charity.”

  We both snorted. “Yep, that’s totally me.”

  We went in and stretched while the previous class was finishing up. Ella was, as usual, the centre of attention and I was quite happy totally out of the spotlight. A couple of people tried to get my attention before realising I was in fact not Ella Cowan, then went running over to join the Evil Queen’s groupies.

  Akira chuckled. “I’m looking forward to the day people realise they’ve been fawning over the wrong Cowan sister all these years.”

  I grinned ruefully and blew my hair out of my face. “That day will never come, Akira. I am perfectly happy fading into obscurity as soon as I turn eighteen. I’ll be one of those cold cases. In thirty years, the world will still wonder what happened to Chloe Cowan.”

  She sighed, but it was only fake annoyance. “But you’re such a good dancer.”

  I shrugged. “Tough.”

  We shared a grin.

  “Tell me about your week,” I said as we changed positions.

  She shrugged. “It was a week. Graham sat next to me in German.”

  I smiled. “Oh, progress!”

  Her face went a slight tinge of pink as she shook her head. “He just forgot his book, so the teacher said he should share with someone.”

  “Yeah, but he picked you!”
I said, nudging her with my foot.

  “I’m sure it was just–”

  “All right, guys,” Miss Tara said as she clapped her hands. I gave Akira a supportive eyebrow waggle and she laughed. “We warm?”

  “But nothing. Progress.” I smiled to Akira and we helped each other off the floor to get in position.

  Dance class went much the same as it did every week; we practised our choreographed pieces and we added to the ones we were still learning. As usual, Ella took front and centre, parading around and acting like a queen. I shared a few humoured smirks with Akira, the only person in class to see through Ella – Akira and I had been friends at my old school, before Ella and I had moved to Winters, after we’d found ourselves in the same extra-curricular dance class. Although, that had been back before we were in the same class as Ella.

  Dad was there waiting when the class was let out in his flashy Merc. Unlike Mum, he didn’t try to plan every second of our lives to the nanosecond. Instead, his Bluetooth earpiece was in and he was talking shop with someone in what I thought might have been Greek – the literal kind here.

  As we drove to our piano tutor’s house, Ella sat scrolling through her phone or taking stupid selfies and I got a few minutes of blessed peace where I could put my headphones in and imagined what it would have been like to be an only child. Again, there almost wasn’t quite enough time to pull out my book, but I took every second I could and a few pages were better than nothing.

  I would have been happy to give up all the extra-curriculars when we got into Winters – I already spent too many hours during the week dancing and practising music, I didn’t need to do it on my Saturday too. But the one time I’d felt brave enough to subtlety mention that maybe it would be better if I dropped dancing and piano, I was told in no uncertain terms I should feel privileged that I did the things I did.

  Sitting in our piano lesson, I made sure I hit a few too many wrong notes so as not to show Ella up – not that I got all that much time at the piano. Because my sister might have walked around like she was God’s gift, but she wasn’t nearly as skilled at anything as she should have been for the amount of flattering people did around her.

  Was I bitter about that?

  Sometimes.

  Most of the time, I was just amused by the proof that if you walked the walk then people didn’t really stop to care if you talked the talk. (Or, was that the other way around?) Mind you, she did do a lot of talking…

  From Piano, I was dragged to Mum’s and Ella’s hairdresser. When I got back after my run to the pharmacy and I’d not forgotten anything on the three page list, I sat down and waited for them. I distinctly heard Ella say, “I don’t know, can you just make it look more, like, natural?” as I swung around in my chair and read my book. Because, you know, strawberry blonde – I’d inherited all the strawberry and none of the blonde – isn’t actually a natural colour. But the blonde highlights and darker red shades through strawberry blonde? Totes natural.

  Anyway!

  On I was dragged.

  Back home; where I was required to run around after Ella while she lounged in the bath and Norbert and I made faces behind her back. Well I made faces at Norbert and I chose to believe he was smiling back at me. I ferried drinks and food back and forth, I found Ella’s new razor, I got her the soft face washer, I found a way to charge her phone without electrocuting her, and I put her hair in the warm curlers while she nattered about Elijah’s dreamy eyes and how he’d talked to her the day before.

  Needless to say, by the time I was back to an empty house after dropping her off, I was looking forward to some me, my book and Norbert time. Ella even managed to get herself a ride home from some poor, unfortunate guy – quite possibly even the Elijah himself – and didn’t deign to speak to me on her return.

  So I actually had a pretty good Saturday night for once.

  ****

  The door burst open on Sunday afternoon and the Super-G was waiting with her arms wide open. “My loves! How are we?” she cried, beaming.

  She was wearing a bright purple and green poncho, which matched wonderfully with her orange glasses, and pale yellow shorts. Her feet were bare as they usually were when she was home and she had a smudge of dirt on her cheek the way she usually did after a day in the garden.

  “Hey, Grandma,” I said with a smile and let her wrap me up in her warm embrace.

  “Hi, Mum,” Dad said as I walked in and he deigned to let his mother hug him.

  “Aunt Bow?” I called as Norbert barked and I let go of his collar.

  He went running off towards the back garden so I followed him as the rest of the family trooped into the house behind us. I could hear Ella prattling on about all her ‘accomplishments’ for that week and her plans for the next. The garden, like Grandma, was a mess of colour and excitement; everywhere you looked was something new and different, a muddle of plants both edible and decorative coming together to form something truly amazing.

  “Hiya, Norbie! Gin?” I heard Aunt Bow call and found her peeking out from among the holly hocks. She grinned at me widely.

  Like Grandma, Aunt Bow was a free spirit, evidenced by the eclectic ensemble I couldn’t even begin to break down. I knew for a fact that Aunt Bow had probably made everything she had on, or adapted it from op shop finds.

  Aunt Bow clambered out of the garden and gave me a hug, neither of us caring if she got dirt all over me. Because, unlike my dad who had somehow managed to get a rod lodged so far up his arse he couldn’t see the parts of life worth living anymore, Aunt Bow and the Super-G were more like me – if I’d been as creative; they were original and they were themselves, completely comfortable in their own skin in a way I knew I’d get to be someday too.

  “How are you, my gorgeous Gin?” she said happily as she squeezed me then pushed me to arm’s length and looked over my fairly standard outfit. “No-nonsense bun, plain pale top, boring jeans, peach Converse.” Her eyes whipped up with endearing criticism. “My love, stop hiding away!” She let go of me a twirled around the garden.

  I got that weird giggly grin I always got around Aunt Bow. She had the ability to treat me like a misbehaving five-year-old and an adult all at the same time. It was a wonderful feeling, and one everyone needed more of in their lives.

  “We need some colour,” she laughed then leant towards me as she whirled past. “We need some men in our lives.” She gave me a wink and pulled me into her dance.

  “A couple of Toms for a Sunday afternoon?” I asked her.

  She gave me a cheeky grin.

  “Rainbow!” I heard Dad’s stern voice cut through our laughter.

  I never understood why he bothered trying to reprimand her with her full name. How authoritative can you make saying the name ‘Rainbow’ anyway?

  “Arlo,” Aunt Bow sang, a little breathless after our shenanigans.

  “I would appreciate it if you would keep some decorum around my children.”

  “Of course. We wouldn’t want them having any fun now, would we?” She winked at me again and I hid a snigger.

  “Mum is making drinks.” He turned on his finely polished heel and went back inside.

  Aunt Bow leant her arm on my shoulder. “So pleased he’s still as stiff and boring as always,” she huffed, only half sarcastically.

  I put my arm around her waist and we headed inside.

  “Now, tell me all about your week. Anything exciting?”

  “I’m on the formal committee.”

  Aunt Bow stopped, forcing me to as well. “Boring. Also, what?”

  I nodded. “It is literally my only news.”

  She turned me to face her, the blue eyes and bright ginger hair so like mine. “Honey, why?”

  “Ella needed me to go.”

  I could tell Aunt Bow was having a mini tantrum in her head – her nose always twitched and her eyebrows narrowed for a few seconds. “Ella needed you to go to her committee?”

  “It
’s not actually her committee…”

  Aunt Bow frowned for real this time. “Wasn’t she saying last week something about her committee?”

  I shrugged. “I try not to listen to the majority of what falls out of her mouth.”

  Aunt Bow tried hard to keep her smile under wraps. “How does that usually go?”

  “Fine.”

  And failed. “Lucky you. I’m sure she told Super-G she was running some committee for the dance?”

  I snorted. “That would require her showing up.”

  “Do I want to know why that means you have to go?”

  I grinned and waggled my eyebrows, and Aunt Bow settled into her gossip face.

  “Right. Ella’s got a date to the formal,” I said conspiratorially.

  Aunt Bow raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Really? And who might her date be?”

  “That guy who fronts that semi-famous band at school? Quicksilver?”

  “Elijah Sweet?” Aunt Bow went from conspiring aunt to semi-fan girl.

  I frowned in humoured confusion. “How do you know who Elijah Sweet is?”

  Aunt Bow grinned. “Honey, I’m older, not old.”

  “You read the newsletter, don’t you?”

  She nodded. “I read the newsletter. Religiously. There are surprisingly few mentions of my favourite niece.”

  “But plenty of the other.”

  “Too much of the other and not enough of it worthy.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Not this again.”

  “Gin, you have more talent in your whole body than Ella has in her little finger.”

  “Way to be original,” I muttered.

  “The cliché doesn’t make it any less true. You could star in every play. You could open any concert. You could beat Quicksilver to international stardom. And what do you do with all that?”

  “Nothing–”

  “Nothing. You do nothing with all that. You hide in books and maths.” She shuddered; Aunt Bow hated anything restrictive and structured.