**February 14th, 1935**
“Don’t you dare touch my dolly!” shrieked Imogen, snatching the porcelain beauty with golden curls from her older sister’s grasp. “Mum! Nora’s taking my toys again!”
“Don’t be such a greedy thing!” retorted eight-year-old Nora, though she let go. “Who does she think she is, some princess?”
“Girls, what’s all this shouting so early?” Margaret emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. “Nora, leave your sister be. You’ve plenty of toys of your own.”
“Mine are all old, hers are new!” Nora protested hotly. “It’s not fair!”
“Because I’m the youngest,” Imogen declared smugly, hugging the doll close. “Mum said so herself.”
Nora clenched her teeth, silent. Yes, Mum had said it. So had Gran, and Aunt Lydia. Everyone constantly droned on: “Imogen’s little, make allowances,” “Imogen’s delicate, needs looking after,” “Imogen’s such a sweet girl.”
And Nora? Nora was big. Nora was strong. Nora was supposed to understand. Always understand and give way.
“Come for breakfast,” Mum said wearily. “And call your sister.”
At school, Nora tried forgetting the troubles at home, but even there, her sister’s shadow lingered. Miss Evans often inquired after Imogen’s health or when she’d start Year One.
“And you, Nora-love, helping your little sister prepare?” she asked once after lesson.
“Helping,” Nora lied.
Truthfully, she detested those sessions. Imogen would whinge, refuse to learn her letters, complain she was tired. Mum always chided, “Must you nag? Can’t you see the child’s exhausted?”
“Imogen, the letter ‘A’ isn’t drawn like that!” Nora would scold, erasing a crooked squiggle. “Look, properly!”
“Don’t want to!” her sister whined. “My hand aches!”
“It does not! You’re just lazy!”
“Mum! Nora’s calling me names!” Imogen would yell.
And Mum, inevitably, scolded Nora. Always scolded Nora.
When Imogen started school, Nora hoped she’d finally understand struggle – the work, the C-grades and D’s. But no. Imogen breezed through, straight A’s, teachers adored her.
“Your sister’s frightfully bright!” gushed Nora’s form tutor. “A natural scholar. Take a leaf from her book, Nora.”
Nora stayed silent, fists clenched. What could she say? That Imogen wasn’t clever, just jammy? That things fell into her lap while Nora sweated nightly for a mere B?
Home offered no peace either. Imogen bloomed into a true beauty—fair-haired, blue-eyed, skin like porcelain. Neighbours cooed, “Oh, what a picture! A proper angel!”
Nora? Just ordinary. Not a beauty, not plain—a common girl with mousy hair and grey eyes. One of millions.
“Our Imogen should be on the stage,” Mum mused dreamily, brushing her daughter’s hair. “Or model. A shame to waste such looks.”
Nora pretended not to hear, each word cutting deep. So, *she* wasn’t a waste? So, nothing much would come of her?
“I want to be a doctor,” she murmured once.
“A doctor?” Mum sounded surprised. “Well, if you can manage. You’d need good marks.”
*If you can manage*. Not “You’ll do it” or “course you will,” but “if.” As if Mum scarcely believed it possible.
Imogen only grew prettier. By sixth form, boys flocked. She flirted, batted eyelashes, collected gifts and flowers. Nora watched, bitter and envious.
“Look, Andrew gave me these earrings!” Imogen chirruped, twirling before the mirror. “Says they match my eyes!”
“Lovely,” Nora forced out.
She too craved gifts, compliments. But who’d notice a plain Jane when brilliant beauty shone beside her?
“Nora dear, why so glum?” Imogen inquired, noticing her mood. “Want me to buy you earrings?”
“No need,” Nora snapped. She didn’t want handouts or pity. She wanted to be seen, valued, loved. But where?
After school, Imogen got into RADA. Mum was over the moon. “Knew you’d be an actress! Such talent, such looks! Bound for fame!”
Nora meanwhile gnawed at medicine’s granite. Hard, desperately hard. Anatomy, physiology, chemistry – endless rote learning and grinding focus. But she persevered. A doctor, then. Not a blazing star like her sister, but needed. Practical.
“How’s uni?” Mum would ask, though clearly more interested in Imogen’s theatrical triumphs.
“Fine,” Nora replied shortly.
“Imogen rang last night! She’s got the lead in her academy showcase play! Imagine? First year, straight in!”
Yes. Nora could imagine. Imogen always led.
Years passed. Imogen became an actress, modestly known. Played in repertory theatre, occasional telly bits. Mum remained fiercely proud: her daughter, an actress! Nora became a GP at an NHS clinic, treated folk, helped them. Mum rarely seemed impressed.
“Imogen’s in a new serial,” she’d tell friends. “On the telly soon. Nora? Well, Nora works at the clinic.”
Nora listened, mute. What to say? That her work mattered just as much? That she saved lives, not just entertained? Who cared?
Imogen married first, naturally. A handsome actor from her troupe. A lavish wedding, guests galore, photographers. Mum beamed, telling everyone what a splendid son-in-law, what a handsome couple.
“And you, Nora dear? Planning to marry?” the aunts pressed. “Nearly thirty, always alone.”
Nora shrugged. Her romantic life truly faltered. No time, or the wrong sort of men. Or perhaps she’d simply lost faith in her own appeal, forever overshadowed.
Imogen had a daughter within the year. Fair and pretty, just like her. Mum went demented with joy. “My granddaughter! A proper beauty! Spitting image of her mum!”
Nora watched her niece and thought: Will the same shadow fall on her? If she ever had daughters, would they live eclipsed by this little princess too?
Life, it turned out, held surprises. Imogen’s marriage lasted three years. The actor husband proved handsome but flighty. Left her for a young student, a mother now alone.
“Can’t fathom it,” Mum wept. “Such a beautiful couple, both so gifted!”
Imogen sobbed, calling herself a fool, a failure. Left the theatre – the little one needed constant care; acting wages couldn’t cover rent.
“What now?” she wailed. “Where can I work? Theatre’s all I know!”
Nora listened,
The sisters finally laid aside their old rivalry, and from that day forward, they spent every Christmas and birthday together, cherishing the warmth of family they’d nearly lost forever.
