Friends with the ‘posh girls’
We grew up with our younger brother, Steve, in an ordinary suburban semi. Jess and I shared a room till she was 12 and, with just two years between us, we were close, playing “hairdressers” and putting on silly fashion shows for one another.
I looked up to Jess, and though she lorded it a bit (“you’re too little, you wouldn’t understand”), she was mostly kind to me and Steve. But when she was 11, she passed the exam for the local grammar school. That was when she began to pull away from our normal, lower-middle-class family. She made friends with “the posh girls” and would beg dad for riding lessons and “cool” clothes, so she could keep up.
By 14, she had an after-school job and saved all her money to buy the “right” outfits. She’d correct our pronunciation, and I could see she was beginning to look down on Mum and Dad and what she thought of as their ordinary aspirations.
Steve and I went to the local comprehensive, and were perfectly happy plodding along, but Jess was determined to ace her exams. We were all proud when she got into Imperial College to study business.
Since then, Jess’s life has been a non-stop climb to the top. Now, at 45, she’s so used to wealth, it’s hard to connect with her at all. We meet up every couple of months for family get-togethers and, occasionally, I’ll get the train to London to see her and Steve, who’s now in IT and earns about £35,000 a year. Partly, I go because it’s important to our parents that we stay connected as siblings, and because, despite our huge differences, I still love her.
But last time, I asked if I could stay at hers as usual, and she said, “Sorry Em, I’m having people over, so can we do breakfast the next day?”
Dumped in a budget hotel
I’d already bought the train ticket, and it staggered me that Jess thought nothing of forcing me to stay in a hotel I couldn’t afford. I stayed in a budget chain, burning with rage at her high-handed attitude, and when we met up (“Let’s do the Wolseley, I’ll pay!”) I sensed puzzlement from her that I wasn’t gushing with gratitude for my fancy pancakes. After an awkward exchange, she asked what was wrong and I told her I was hurt – she could have invited me, too, the previous night.
Jess said, “They just wouldn’t be your kind of people.” I knew what she meant: rich and successful. I didn’t want to fall out with her, so I shrugged it off. But that’s the problem – Jess gets away with her high-handed attitude because she’s “made it”.
Mum and Dad boast about her constantly, and she’s promised to buy them a flat in a very expensive sheltered housing complex when they’re ready to downsize. They won’t hear a word against her. Steve has never been close to Jess, but they have a bantering relationship, plus she gave him the deposit for his flat rental.
His small kids, Lola, 5, and Jimmy, 3, see her as Glamorous Auntie, who swoops in, showering gifts and taking them to Hamley’s. I’ve got my own family to worry about and I can only afford to spend around £20 on my niece and nephew’s Christmas presents.
She doesn’t see my children much as we’ve no spare room, and when she comes up for family events, she stays in a five-star hotel with Mark “to give you all some space”. We all know she just wants the comforts she’s used to, but nobody says so.
Snide comments and lack of empathy
When Jess comes to our parents’ house, I have to grit my teeth as she behaves as though she’s in a quaint museum of British life, commenting on the old flowery mugs – “can’t believe you’ve still got these” – and subtly criticising. Last time, she said, “Have you thought about getting a rain-shower?” to Dad, who joked we have enough rain. But I could see he felt a bit embarrassed about the creaky old bathroom.
Maybe I sound petty and jealous, and I suppose I am a bit. My husband just says, “You wouldn’t want her life”, and he’s right, I wouldn’t swap what we have for flying first class or having a home gym. I know what’s really valuable.
But I find being around her so difficult, particularly now that I have children. Her values don’t chime with mine, and her obsession with status and having the best of everything no matter the cost is so grating when I’m always looking for bargains and saving for a cheap summer holiday. I understand that she worked hard, and earned this life, but I really dislike her lofty assumptions and her lack of empathy.
We have nothing in common, but we’re tied together by duty and family. It pains me, but I know if we weren’t sisters, we wouldn’t be friends – and though we’ll never admit it to one another, I think Jess knows it, too.
– As told to Flic Everett
*All names have been changed
