Envy on the Verge
Yes, exactly right! Hell never realise its not his fiancée standing before him
Eleanor gazed into the oval mirror, scrutinising her reflection as if it were a peculiar stranger shed met on a train. She slowly lifted her hand and tucked a rebellious lock of chestnut hair behind her ear. Her heart pattered oddlywhat she saw exceeded even her wildest hopes. The make-up, the hair, the expressionshe had mimicked her sister Charlottes face with unnerving precision, as if in the crystal stillness of the mirror glass she could catch the faintest slip. Even the way she stoodone shoulder bent, head cockedwas copied from memory. If she donned Charlottes favourite sea-green dress, she reckoned even their mother would hesitate to tell them apart.
She allowed herself a fleeting smilea quick, thin-lipped thing that vanished as fast as it had appearedwhen her glance fell on the clock atop her book-laden shelf. The hands spun onward, insistent: twenty minutes to go before George was due. Eleanor felt a tremor roil inside her; everything had to be seamless, her lines perfect, each gesture timed with the delicacy of a swallows swoop. If George suspected for even a blink, her elaborate plan would be squashed, folded away like so many failed attempts before. And then, just as ever, Charlotte would triumph.
Breathing deeply, Eleanor pressed back the shudder in her fingers and strode to the door. As if on cue, the bell tolleda thin, metallic tinkleand there she was, already at the threshold: a hopeful performer, ready to play a borrowed part.
She flung the door wide, and as George stood framed by the lamplight on her porch, she let a soft, barely-there smile float to her lips, her eyes crinkling just so.
George, hello! Her voice, lower and tender, was crafted as an echo of Charlotteseach vowel meticulously shined, rehearsed in the early blue glow of exhausted mornings.
Not waiting for a reply, she stretched up on tiptoe and brushed his cheek with her lipsa gesture neither too much nor too little, copied exactly from those times shed watched them in the garden at dusk. No slips, no extra movements. Only the performance.
Come infancy a coffee? she said, stepping aside and waving him in with a casualness pulled from hours of study. Her voice lilted with the effortless concern of a thousand easy eveningsnothing but the comforting ordinariness of sisters and houses and warm kitchens.
For half a second, Georges brow furrowedas if sensing a ripple in the air, a glass of water tilted just so. Yet, just as quickly, his face relaxed, a smirk teasing his mouth. He understood far more than he showed, Eleanor realised; glimmers of amusement and curiosity flickered in his eyes. What on earth was her game? And why this careful imitation of Charlotte? He let it belet Eleanor lead him onward, up the two shallow steps into her kitchen.
Eleanor busied herself, fussing about the countertop. Her cheeks shrieked with strain from the unfamiliar smile, that gentle angelic curve Charlotte wore effortlessly. She clattered cups, ferrying saucers and teaspoons onto the battered oak table, side-eyeing a fine French wine bottle lurking on the shelf, waiting for her signalto ease George into comfort, to press a blush to his cheeks and lull his suspicions. With a little wine, just a glass, perhaps hed relaxjust enough, it could all fall into place.
George settled at the table, arms folded, watched with a mixture of wry amusement and mild suspicioneyes tracing her every strange step, half-trying not to laugh.
So, Eleanorwhats all this about? he asked, quiet and silky. And wheres Charlotte? If its meant to be a joke, its not your best work.
She froze, just a flicker. Her mind reeled for the right words. Her nerves prickled, a shiver of shame, but she forced her mouth into a smile that barely stretched across her teeth. Her voice remained even, as if the whole day had unfolded exactly as planned.
And how did you guess? she managed, mindless of the softness that crept in despite her. Its not a prank Call it an experiment. Charlotte has no idea.
George cocked an eyebrow, rolling the cup gently between his hands. Curiosity danced in his eyes, but he hid his intrigue beneath studied boredom, waiting for Eleanor to show her hand.
Youre not really alike at all, you knownot even as twins, he mused, tilting his head. How could anyone really confuse you?
He fished his phone out, tapping off a text to Charlottewhere are you?letting the screens cold glow light his thoughts, then returning it to the deep pocket of his navy blazer.
And whats this experiment for? he pressed, eyes narrowed with a careful smile.
Eleanor shifted, eyes fixed on her tea as she nursed a sip. Her words rushed suddenly, gaining a strange, gleaming enthusiasm.
You see, people are always mixing us up. You say were different, but even Mum cant tell when were dressed the same. Imaginewe put on matching dresses, do up our hair identically, and poof: two peas in a pod.
She paused, as if recalling silent grievances from distant days.
Its not pleasant sometimes. Especially with someone you care about. Its led to awkwardness. Once, a boyfriend invited me out, but ended up bringing Charlotte, who happened to be waiting at the meeting spot. Or the other way roundCharlotte wanted to talk to your mate, and he thought she was me, and started oversharing all sorts.
Why not just cut your hair, or dye it? George asked quietly, tilting his head. He remembered Charlotte describing how Eleanor fiercely resisted any change of style, almost as though she loved the confusion, and Charlotte just played along.
Eleanor wrinkled her nose with theatrical disgust, as if someone had offered her lemonade turned sour.
No fun in that, she said, head shaking. We promised not to change our looks, not until after university. Its our unspoken rule. Besides,a sly smile crept insometimes its quite useful. Even the lecturers cant always tell!
She laughed, a sharp, bright laugh, relishing their small, shared victories over rules and grown-ups.
Makes sense, George mused, with a long, appraising glance. Then his phone piped up. He glanced at the messageCharlotte, cheerful: Meet you at our café! She had no inkling where he was.
He looked at Eleanor; something flickered on his facesympathy? Kindness?
Dont worry, I wont breathe a word about your experiment. I get ityoure just looking out for your sister. No need for trouble on my account.
Eleanors tension dissolved. She let out a sigh, almost collapsing into gratitude.
Thanks, George. Honestly, you really are one of the good ones.
He stood, straightening his cuffs, a polite smile stitched onto his lips. Right, best be off, or shell have my guts for garters!
The door clicked shut, and suddenly the flat was an echoing chamber, pulsating with quiet so dense it buzzed in Eleanors ears. She crept back to her chair, gripping the edge until her knuckles blanched. How had it failed so spectacularly? Why did he see through her at once, undoing her careful plans as easily as brushing autumn leaves from a step? Had all her late-night plotting and practice just blown away on the wind?
Thoughts circled and pecked at her mind, cruel and restless, pulling her back to the very beginning: back to the day George first appeared on the scene. That boyish smile, his playful ease, his sturdy strideEleanors heart had danced at his every word. Shed rehearsed their conversations in sighs and shadows, shaped their laughs in daydreams. But every time, the moment withered, stopped by the old achefear of rejection, fear of spoiling the delicate, shifting bond with her sister.
And Charlotte Charlotte was always braver, lighter. One bright afternoon she simply brought George homea breezy, matter-of-fact introduction. Everyone, this is George, shed chimed, and in a blink, their parents beamed, grateful that Charlotte had attracted such a catch.
Eleanor remembered every detail: how shed lingered in the doorway, watching George fit so smoothly into their lives, joking with Dad, answering Mums million questions with gentle patience. Inside, Eleanor boiled. On the surface, she forced herself to appear calm and friendly, all English reservewhile the storm threw chairs about behind her eyes.
He should have been hers. She had spotted him first, brooded on him, built him into a quiet castle of thoughts and what-ifs. But Charlotte had claimed him, never pausing to wonder what hidden corners Eleanor held.
Eleanor gripped the table tighter, fighting the rumble of anger and jealousy. She mustnt surrender to these thoughts. But how, truly, was she supposed to remain composed, balanced, when her heart screamed like foxes in the night?
Charlotte had always been a magnet for attention, especially from men. She was the bright window after rain: easy, funny, her smile like a sing-song skipping-stone across a pond. Crowds, partiesshe thrived on them, gossiping through the night and still, somehow, getting top marks at university without so much as ruffling her hair.
By contrast, Eleanor was different. She was the quiet shadow in the library, the thoughtful, ponderous one, finding comfort in books or the slow warmth of conversation with a single friend. Whenever Charlotte invited her along to drinks or a gig, Eleanor refused: Thats not for me, shed say with self-importance, tucking into her textbook instead.
Now, glancing back, she wonderedhad she made a mistake? Maybe if shed just gone out, danced once, chatted in the garden, shed have caught Georges eye firsthed have seen how steady she was, how quietly determined. Instead, he fell for Charlottemercurial, impulsive, but impossibly charming.
In her bones, Eleanor knew it wasnt only about different lives. Charlottes power wasnt effortit was simply being herself, open and glowing. Eleanor, always anxiously aware, so afraid of mistakes, faded into the background again and again.
These thoughts gnawed and gnawed. She tried to be proud of her seriousnesssurely, someday, that would be valued. But in the empty, blue-shadowed evenings, she wondered: could she be someone else, if only for a day?
And then, Charlotte announced the wedding over a Sunday roast, beaming, her cheeks pink as the salmon on the table. Something inside Eleanor fell through the floor. Smiling, she congratulated her, hugged her perfunctorily, but inside was hollowed out, empty as old paper.
For days after, Eleanor barely slept. She schemed, searching for a way out, rustling through options like dry autumn leaves. And at last she landed on her plana plan she thought flawless.
If George saw me instead of Charlotteif he gave in to me, just for one evening, and Charlotte caught us that would be it. Over and done, for everyone. Hed belong to no one. Fairs fair, isnt it?
Every detail was planned, from the wine George sometimes sippedto the lighting, to the gestures, to the precise timing. Eleanor rehearsed Charlotte’s mannerisms, every tilt of her head and dab of the finger. She even practiced how the shadows played across the sitting room at dusk.
The day came. Eleanor was so nervous her palms slicked and her mouth felt stuffed with wool. Everything unfolded as planneduntil George, barely through the door, saw right through her.
The plan collapsed. George, instead of falling under her charm, ended it gently but firmly and hurried away to find Charlotte.
Now Eleanor sat staring at the scratched tabletop, alone with humiliation, her clock ticking to the wedding with grim purpose. She had failedand no clever scheme would fix this.
“Have to devise something new,” she muttered, twisting the edge of the tablecloth, as wild half-ideas swarmed her mind. But this time, she’d need more finesseshe might not get another shot.
***
Weeks bled away, and Charlotte, luminous with joy, gathered the family round the big dining table and, in a trembling voice, announced she was expecting a baby. Her eyes glistened; her voice quivered in pleasant agony as she described how she’d dreamt of this moment. Parents laughed and cheered, clapping her backalready imagining the future.
Eleanor sat clutching a teacup, stone cold, mouth dry as if shed swallowed dust. She fought to hold a mask of bland happiness, praying for normalcy, for no one to ask what she was thinking. But inside, pain accumulatedsharp, pointy, and undeniable. Every flash of her sisters joy stabbed her anew.
She envisioned the unspooling yearsregular family dinners, George unshakably beside Charlotte, their hands clasped, their baby bump a badge of triumph. Picture after picture, the future scrolled by, each one unbearable. To witness it all, to see him forever out of reach, was agony.
Her thoughts hunted for a way out: there had to be something, a last desperate move before it was too late.
And then, as if flicked onto the screen of her mind, a new plan emergedterrible, but clear as morning. What greater wound could there be for a happy couple, than losing a baby? The very thought was monstrous, but in her fog of envy, it appeared as the only possible act.
Eleanor caught Charlottes gazea shining, trusting radiance. Her heart hesitated, but anger ruthlessly suppressed it. All she needed was to contact a certain doctor she knew, a quiet man who, for the right sum, could provide a little something. Nothing criminal, just a medicine that would cause complications.
She nearly laughed, a weird, ghostly sounda twisted sort of thrill. Charlotte turned to her, mistaking it for a shared chuckle; she smiled back, loving and bright.
Your happiness wont last, Eleanor whispered silently, watching the scene with eyes as cold as glass, already preparing to cross a line shed never dared even imagine before.
***
Would you like some juice? Eleanor asked, casual as the weather, as she set the table with Charlottes favourite mug. Her smile was gentle, so well-practiced. Its the apple one you love.
Ohthank you! Charlotte responded instantly, squeezing Eleanors hand, her face open with trust and gratitude. Youre simply the best sister ever!
Eleanor froze, a strange quaver in her chest, but kept moving.
Coming right up, she managed, fighting to steady her voice.
In the kitchen, she poured the golden juice into a tall glass. Her hand hovered over her coat pocket, where a fugitive white tablet pressed cool through the cloth. Wrapping her fingers around it, she hesitatedface reflected, unreal and wan, in the kettles chrome. What was she doing?
She stared at the glass, then at the pill, her thoughts spinning backwardsCharlottes laughter, their parents pride, Georges rough hand guiding his wife by the elbow. Was this really the limit of her heart? To ruin her own flesh and blood, her own blooded kin?
No. This was madness. Nightmare. It wasnt her. She never wished to go this far.
Her hand uncurledand the pill dropped, rattling quietly onto the counter. Eleanor exhaled, her whole body trembling.
Eleanor? Are you all right? Charlotte called from the jumble of the hallway, her presence at the kitchen door like a sunbeam. There was worry in her eyes, warm and real. Youre so pale. Shall I ring the doctor?
Eleanors gaze darted upand in that moment, she saw it: the very thing shed ignored for so long. Love, trust, the shared warmth of lazy weekends. It was so simple, so precioushow could she ever have forgotten?
Its nothing, I just felt dizzy for a sec, Eleanor lied, squeezing a passable smile onto her lips. All good. Heres your juice. Ill make myself some tea, we can have a natter.
She turned on the tap and filled her cup, moving like someone wading through fog. She held herself togetherevery movement an effort, every thought a battle.
Inside, the strife continued. She found herself returning to that fraught second with the pill in her hand. Shed been inches from a boundary she could never cross back over. How easy it wasif you fed on envy long enoughfor it to devour you whole.
Eleanor sprinkled tea leaves, waited for steam, stirred with care and watched the swirls settlea familiar, homey ritual. She glanced at Charlotte, already sipping, rambling about their summer holiday plans, carefree as a child should be.
How could I? Eleanor questioned herself, drowning beneath shame and relief. This is my sistermy own heart, my only true friend.
Suddenly she understoodso many years, swallowing resentment and unfairness, letting each small burn grow into something monstrous. Now, nearly lost, shed almost committed the unforgivable.
Eleanor drew a slow breath, calming the panic. Now was the time to admitshe needed help, not just solitude or introspection but something firmer, kinder. Maybe someone wise could help her untangle what lay twisted inside.
Lost in thought? Charlotte asked, head cocked with her easy smile. You seem awfully quiet today.
Oh, you know Eleanor forced a wider smile. I just have so much piling up. I ought to ask someone for advicesort things out properly, rather than muddling through myself.
It was half-true, and Charlotte seemed to accept it. She continued chattering, while Eleanor listened, replying here and there, letting a new sense settle insidenot relief, exactly, but resolution.
She would not let those old shadows rule her anymore. Not now, not ever. There was far too much at stakeher sister, their family, her very self. The first step was acceptanceshe needed help, and she would seek it without shame.
***
Charlotte gave birth to a bonny little girl on a rain-fresh morning in June, a bundle of wriggling delight already adored by the whole family. The baby pressed her face to the window of the maternity ward, cheeks round with promise, eyelashes dark as ravens wings, dozing softly as the world smiled in.
Those first days at home blurred together in a tapestry of small wonders: Charlotte and George took turns at the cradle, learning to change nappies, to rock and cuddle and croon. Charlottes parents arrived with hampers of soft blankets and rattles, her grandmother crafted tiny booties, her grandfather pronounced the news to the neighbours over tea.
But it was her auntEleanorwho seemed to cherish the baby most fervently of all. Having passed through her own night of anguish and rebirth, Eleanor devoted herself to her niece. At first, she simply came to helpholding the baby while Charlotte napped, cooking a shepherd’s pie, nipping out for groceries. But soon, her visits stretchedshe marvelled at tiny hands, at furrowed brows and toothless smiles, lost herself rocking the baby, humming songs shed made up in the quiet of her flat.
Eleanor soon grew adept at all things babyshe swaddled like a pro, soothed with gentle firmness, cooed strange tunes. She bought dear little outfitsrosy jumpers with daisies, soft blue overalls sporting dancing bearsand grinned with delight at the babys gurgling response.
Before long, Eleanor became more than an aunt; she became, in the moonlit quiet, a confidant. She hosted teddy bear picnics, flipped through brightly coloured books, coaxed first words. When the baby staggered up on unsteady legs, Eleanor was always therecheering each step, clapping, beaming with joy.
Charlotte saw this bond, and her heart swelled with thanks. One night, as Eleanor packed away blocks, Charlotte pressed her hand softly:
Thank you. I see how you love her. It means everything. Shes so lucky to have an auntie like you.
Eleanor just smiled, a little shy, realisingand for the first time believingthat caring for her niece brought a healing joy shed never known. In these modest treasuresthe babys laughter, her cuddles, her happinessEleanor found, at last, a sense of belonging, a peace shed never quite discovered alone.
And so, watching her niece sleep, Eleanor understood at last: sometimes, life hands you unlikely gifts. And its through loving others that we stumble, at long last, into our own happiness and calm.
