Once, someone painted me from a hotel room, the party Bella and his friends insisted that he was thrown out of the hand. “Are you Bella’s sister?” He asked, and when I said that I was, he ordered me to help him clean him.
Even in literature, the order of birth is a common concern. When in the youngest sister pride and Prejudice Others are also engaged even before, threatening the entire structure of the family. The literary world is equally fascinated by rivalry between its two leading novelists, as the late byte and his sister, as Margaret Durbal. Recently I explain in Drabble – The Younger – In an interview how her sister never forgives her to be a temple to publish a novel, before she would give a chance to do so, not when she knew her sister’s ambition was always to write. Even when the BT Booker went to win the award, the bitterness between them was never completely dissolved.
Fortunately, my first novel, Hidden knot – Bella and I spent traveling with my mother to North Africa, when we were too young – was published the same year when Bella launched her Women’swear Collection, which won the Young Designer of the Year, while my book was given the option for a film. We were tied again, again, not only our challenging and peripatic from childhood-the need to protect each one-from the adventure of our self-made life.
In decades, we have seen each other closely, compared our failures in both our successes and work and love. Moving forward, falling back. Every new loss is an opportunity to discuss. Hours and hours of conversation, every final detail of our life investigated.
“I wish I had a sister,” my own daughter ever complained, sandwich because she is between two boys, and I thought who would have been if I had provided one. Other times also, when my daughter has looked at me, when she was surprised by Bella’s accuracy. “Or maybe,” he has accepted, “It’s good to be the only girl.”
“I don’t know how … hate … you,” I hum myself. No one can know, if they are not entangled, then the intoxicating pleasure of feeling themselves. Just last week i was crossing Hampstead Heath When a figure called out through the bushes: “Are you Bella’s sister?”
I felt proud and the familiar fusion of the concerned, and I shouted without a second stop: “Yes! I am.”
Esther Freud by my sister and other lover (Bloomsbury, £ 19) It has been published on 3 July.
