My Friend His Sister Ch 01

Another story based on some real events and real people, although there's at least three different 'real stories' joined together to create this one. The horrible sister is actually the worst bits of TWO people, and yes, they WERE that nasty.

This story is purposely a comedy, because the best way to deal with people like that is to laugh at them...

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Claire and I had been friends since secondary school, OK perhaps 'friends' was too strong a term for it, I'm not sure she ever had what I would call a 'friend', more like she hung around with a group of us that were; most of the time she was OK with 'most of us'.

I left school, went to the local college and got my A' levels, then went to Uni' and got my degree, sat the qualified teacher status year and became a schoolteacher.

Claire didn't; she went to college, got some A' levels and, as my Mum had put it 'waited for the world to come to her' adding 'like she always bloody has done'.

The world didn't come to her, and never has done; when our story started she worked in a nursery school as a 'Nursery Assistant' although I found out she listed her job as 'School Teacher (Nursery').

But that was Claire all over.

If she decided to cook you microwave TV dinner, she'd add 'Chef' to her CV.

Since we'd first met at the try-outs for our school Girls' football team, we'd been on first name terms.

I was the youngest of three siblings, and my two older brothers, and my Dad as well, were all football mad, and I'd grown up playing 'the beautiful game', and still do. Training almost every Tuesday evening from September to May, then Sunday morning matches within sixty miles of my home town pretty much every other weekend, and even though I say so myself I'm still a pretty useful winger, with the second highest goal count on our team.

To my Dad's pride, I have a bit of a reputation on the touchline (where, after all these years, he STILL stands whenever he possibly can) as being someone 'not to mess around with'.

Claire turned up for the school try-outs and because there was only 13 of us, she got into the team. She played a few times, wasn't that good and really didn't want to get 'stuck in' as my Dad put it.

Claire didn't get picked to be centre-forward or team captain, so told the teacher/coach that 'her boots hurt' and stopped coming.

When I was awarded the Girls Team 'player of the year' for the next two years, she got a bit snarky about it, worse when I was awarded my school colours after three consecutive good seasons (the first girl EVER to do so) then suddenly 'football was a game for chavs and idiots'.

Somehow, she still decided that she would sit with me at lunchtimes and breaks, her arm tucked into mine and strolling along with the group of girls that hung around together, neither the 'pretty/mean girls' nor 'the nerds'; somewhere in the rather boring middle.

I'd go to her house, and she would come to mine; Mum grudgingly put up with her because she was, in her words, 'an opinionated little madam', but she was one of the few mates I brought home that didn't talk about football, so Mum put up with it.

Our house was nice, and quite large, while her house was palatial; it turned out her Dad was something in the IT industry and had made a fortune with a particular hardware development, and the profits just kept rolling in.

Their house had a TV room, a games room and a heated pool in the huge garden, and Claire's bedroom was the size of mine and my two brothers rooms put together, with tonnes of closet space.

She came to our house quite often for tea, and it's fair to say no one 'warmed to her'.

She didn't play football, so was of little interest to my Dad. My middle brother was five years our senior, and she tried to flirt with him, until Mum pointed out to the fourteen year old girl that nineteen year old Steve was probably flattered, he already had a girlfriend.

My oldest brother John had graduated already and had a very serious girlfriend and didn't see that much of her or show any kind of interest, which made her more interested in him.

That interest finished as soon as he announced his engagement to his girlfriend Holly, so then she decided her attention was back to Steve, but the more he was disinterested in her, the more she became almost infatuated with him, his acceptance to study medicine at university had him safely away from her from then on.

She never seemed to be interested in any boys at our school, and as soon as one tried to speak to her, she instantly 'hated' them.

I'd had a bit of an innocent kissy-huggy thing going on with a boy I liked but he was a little intense for me, so I finished with him very gently, and we stayed friends until after college.

Claire and I both went to our rather sedate English school 'prom' and it was cute. I had a nice, stylish, grown-up but pretty gown. I would never have used the term 'sexy' anywhere near my Mum of course, but it was; I had a cleavage and showed some thigh, while Claire looked 'overdone' in the vast lacy thing she'd insisted her Mum buy her.

Annoyed that she wasn't chosen as prom queen or chatted up by any of the better-looking boys, (quite a few of which she had announced she 'hated' over previous years) she stomped about in the ridiculous heels she'd insisted on, trying to gain my attention, while I danced with three of the boy footballers and had a giggle, while she didn't dance with anyone and seemed angry that I had.

We had similar exam results, with mine marginally higher than hers, and it was suddenly time we 'grew up', and I knew what I wanted to do, and started to set up for my career.

We went to the same college; no great surprise there, it was the only one, and it was the same kind of thing as we'd had at school. We were doing roughly the same courses, even though she didn't have any kind of career plan.

At the end of the first year we all dropped a subject, but Claire dropped two, blaming the lecturer for the fact she never understood what was being talked about in the second; everyone else did, but then we'd spent more time listening to what the lecturer said, and not looking at our phones while pretending to take notes.

One of the other girls in the class that hadn't been to school with us, Mellie, pointed this out to her in the canteen, suggesting she might learn something if she actually bothered to listen. Claire had one of her 'melt-downs'.

With the benefit of a big audience, she started her well practiced shouting and screaming, calling the Mellie all the F's and C's she could call her mind to, before storming out of the refectory to the huge round of applause that Mellie had started, to phone her Mum and demand she come and collect her.

Her Mum rang the college the next day to say that Claire was 'rather distressed' and wouldn't be coming to college, until 'the other girl Melanie had been suitably punished'.

The college had a bit of an investigation and some of us in the class were asked about the incident. Claire's tutor notes included a section on 'requests that Claire switch off her mobile device while in class, to enable her to concentrate and not disturb the other learners'.

Sandra, who taught us psychology and was the lecturer of the offending class, said that she had asked Miss Goodall to switch of her mobile three times in that first half-term, but had decided not to bother again, seeing as she just ignored her anyway; and at least if she was staring at her phone and carried on sitting at the back, she didn't bother the other learners.

A letter was written to Claire's Mum explaining that while the college was saddened that Claire had suffered some distress at the falling out, the other girl was actually pointing out what at least two lecturers and her tutor had all said, at least six times, in as many different instances.

Claire binned psychology during that half-term break, and it was an easier class to sit through, although I did end up seeing less of Mellie as Claire would glower at her psychotically. Mellie would smile and walk away; Claire's company obviously not that much of a loss.

While Claire may have looked a bit scary, she was a physical lightweight, and with my football experience, I knew one strong hand would have put her on her arse and out of the way.

For the second year we chose the fourth subject we wanted to lose based on our first-year results and I binned history so I could continue with maths, English and psychology.

Based on our expected results, and with advice from the college we all started to seek out the degree courses, apprenticeships or diplomas we would start when we were eighteen.

I went to Cardiff to study English with the option of a 'Qualified Teacher Status' year, while Claire announced she was having 'a year out to get over college' and would decide on what she wanted to do next. I was to find out later that she was awarded a C and a D's for her A' levels.

According to Facebook, she spent the year going on at least three holidays, one of which involved her spending the rest of the summer working in a creche in a Canary Islands resort, then the winter as a chalet girl in a Ski lodge in Courchevel.

Sat in my Mum's kitchen over my first Christmas break, Claire raved across social media about what a great time she was having, and how cool and funky the whole thing was with photographs of her in tanned and pretty in her expensive bikini, then in her culottes and designer sunglasses enjoying some 'Après Ski'.

"Yeah," said Mum reading over my shoulder, "being a full-time childminder, and changing other peoples' babies shitty nappies, while they eat, drink and play in the pool, then being a bloody housemaid and cleaner for people who spend all day skiing; sounds AAA-MAZING!"

My sedate and generally peaceful Mum even made 'quotation marks' in the air with her fingers, "that'll be great training if she envisages a career of being a professional babysitter or a cleaner," Mum closed her eyes, "Not something I can see Claire Anita EVER doing."

That did actually make my fresher year seem that much easier.

During most of our two years at college, Claire would talk about how she played her now-divorced parents off against each other. They were both comfortably off, her Mum in her third relationship, her Dad single.

As she put it, she was 'two by two', the second child for both parents, both in their second relationship. She would tell one that the other was 'paying for this-and-that' and watch as they each tried to out-spend the other.

OR she would tell both that the other one WASN'T buying something for her; that way she seemed to have everything she wanted...

Not that she'd ever wanted for much before of course.

She had an older maternal half-sister that I'd never met, who lived with her Mum's first husband. She also had an older paternal half-brother Kev, that I'd met from a distance quite a few times and she referred to as 'that ignorant fucking cave troll', or 'K...K...Kevan' in ridicule of his stammer.

Kev was broad across the shoulders and, according to Claire 'covered in fucking hair', and she never said anything nice to him or about him, even when both of her parents were in the room.

I would often smile at him in apology for his younger sister, to disassociate myself from her nastiness. Claire would then say something else twice as mean, but I still smiled at him.

If he smiled back to me, Claire would howl at him,

"Eeeeeewwwwww K...K...Kevan! Laura is thirteen you fucking perv! MUUUUUM! K...K...Kevan's being a pervert!"

As her Mum rolled her eyes at her daughter's outburst, Claire would drag me away to her perfect bedroom full of toys she never played with, and clothes she never wore, but wanted anyway.

If she was told 'no' then it was tantrum time and nasty words to whoever was responsible, but she rarely said anything nice about anyone, I was to find out later I was included in that list.

I stayed at University, graduated and my parents and brothers came to watch, and it was great, probably the best day of my life, so far of course.

I spent another year getting my teaching certification, and started to look for primary school teaching jobs, finding one at the Ofsted-graded 'outstanding' AND also very cute primary school on the outskirts of the town I grew up in.

I applied, was accepted and given the choice of a year one or year two class. I went for year one and had a great time, and it was a very stiff and steep learning curve, but I did it.

I worked through my 'newly qualified' period, and the teacher supervising me was Sue who taught the foundation class and was 'head of infants' for our primary school.

She was totally the best and saw me through all the complicated bits. When I qualified for that, she was the first to know and we both cried, and I took her and her husband Pete out to dinner by way of thanks. It was around about that time that she fell pregnant, and we both joke it was that celebration night that was responsible.

The following spring, she asked me to take the tinies for the next foundation year, to provide her maternity cover, and I took an hour out of my morning to go for the visit of a group of kiddies that would be coming to join me in September.

There were seven pre-schoolers, most immaculately dressed with a pair of painfully pale twins in their perfected unkemptness, with unbrushed hair that hinted at young sixties fashion models, the slightly pushier of the two in a linen dress and tiny Hunter boots, her sister in a cambric blouse and a denim skirt and tiny Ugg boots, all watched over by the bespectacled lady who's seriousness of purpose and demeanour suggested she was the boss, in pale slacks and an embroidered bottle green polo shirt announcing the name of the nursery that for the moment I couldn't read.

And there at the back, holding the hand of a tearful blonde boy looking perfect in his Osh Kosh dungarees and kicker boots that had probably cost more than my whole outfit, was Claire.

I stepped back while my pregnant colleague talked to the kiddies that would be joining me in three months' time, and Claire descended.

"Hiiiiiiiiiiii!" she purred in a just-too-loud voice and started to prattle on as Sue explained to the kiddies what was going on in her class, and to show them round.

Claire just wanted to talk loudly to me and wouldn't let go of the little blonde boy that had stopped crying and wanted to see what all his friends were being shown.

"Err... Claire?" I said pointed to the departing group and teacher Sue looking back at us with raised eyebrows.

Claire rolled her eyes at me, pursed her lips and pushed the little boy after the group heading over to the book-bag trays and coat pegs that each of them would get in September.

"Soooooo Laura..." she said folding her arms and adopting that superior 'so this is really the best you could do' look of hers, indicating that she would be kind of interested in what I might have to say, and she'd listen to me for as long as she felt was absolutely necessary, before she started on what was happening with her, it would be far more interesting of course.

"Claire," I said stopping her just-opening mouth, "I... no WE need to follow them?"

There were some huffs and some more eye rolling, as we wandered across to where they kiddies were being shown what would be their new learning space, and my colleague Sue was getting the excitement of the whole new adventure across brilliantly, and I tried to memorise as much of it as I could because in a year's time it would be my turn.

"So, you're the class TA then?" said Claire loudly with a raised eyebrow, I guessed so the entire room could hear.

The look she got from the bespectacled older lady in the embroidered polo shirt suggested she was just as annoyed as I was.

"No Claire," I said whispering and hopefully indicating she should follow suit, "I teach year one, but I'll be class teacher for this little gang in September," I gave with all the confidence of my profession.

"Yes," said Sue hearing what I'd said, "Boys and girls, THIS is Miss Hardy, and she'll be your teacher next year!"

One of the tiny girlies at the front, cuteness leaching from every pore, stepped up to Sue and said,

"You're going to have a baby!"

"That's right!" said Sue, "and Miss Hardy will be here to look after you and make sure you get settled in. Everyone say hello to Miss Hardy?"

"Helloooooo Miss Haaaardy!" the seven tinies chimed.

"I'm really looking forward to meeting you all in September!" I said bending down to them all and giving it my happy teacher smile.

There were grins and happy smiles back.

Excellent.

The look on Claire's face was not so welcoming.

I thought about that.

Like I should give a fuck; this was the first time I'd spoken to the woman over birthday greetings or a 'like' on Facebook in almost six years.

In fact, although I remained 'friends', I'd long since stopped 'following her' and the almost daily diatribe of tragedies or dramas that befell her. The relationship triumphs that soon became disasters, all the fault of the man in question of course, and the inevitable break-up.

The comment would be something tragic in nature but limited in detail, suggesting she didn't want to talk about it, and would be followed up with half a page of hearts and hugs followed by individual 'PM me Babe' comments from her other friends.

The next morning her gentle broken-heart hesitancy would be past, and she would be in full flight, alleging all kinds of wrongs and infamies that her Ex had apparently gotten up to, and her mates would join in with the character assassination, even those that had initially pointed out that they'd never met the poor bloke.

One of her Ex's I knew quite well from college and was also FB friends with. His page simply had the 'in a relationship' bit missing, and some 'have you seen what that crazy bitch is saying about you?' comments from his mates.

He was wise enough to let it go, pass over and off into the distance that time allows. He's now engaged to another girl we both knew, and it seems a far nicer undertaking.

I read the last comment where she suggested that her upfront, outright and progressive femininity had challenged him, had even brought out what she had always considered his hidden but latent homosexuality, even at college.

I'm a twenty first century girl and really wouldn't have worried about any of my friends' sexualities, but that was just because she desperately wanted to stir the shit, if not hurt and be mean to him.

I was so cross about what my 'crazy friend' had said about a 'nice friend' that I wrote about a dozen angry replies, deleting each figuring it wouldn't be worth the fucking grief I'd get from her and she might turn her loose cannons on me.

I took the much simpler option and unfollowed her, and social media became that much more uncomplicated.

Sue took the tinies out through her own door into a small section of the playground that was closed off for first term, then opened up for the year ones and twos to join in before Christmas.

"Teacher then Laura?" she said.

I thought about it and responded.

"Yeah, two years since, got my QTS after I graduated, been teaching here since I finished."

I kind of hoped she wouldn't know what QTS was about, turned out I was right.

"I thought about University," she said with folded arms and a shake of the head, "But it was such a faff, and the COST!" She rolled her eyes and shook her head dismissively.

"Surely your Mum and Dad would have helped out with that?" I said, as I saw Sue showing the tinies how the small pieces of play equipment worked.

"Oh, don't talk to me about THEM!" she said.

Here we go, I thought.

"MY BLOODY PARENTS!" she snapped.

"Claire!" I hissed, "This is a classroom!" the current foundation class were sat around doing that morning's lesson overseen by Carly the Teaching Assistant.