SCARLETT: Summer and I were never pushed into the theatre. It’s just that there didn’t seem to be another option. Both our parents are dancers, my mum’s sisters are dancers [Petrina and Bonnie Langford] and we went to the Arts Educational School. Summer and I used to go to bed every night watching MGM musicals, and we spent all our time copying the routines and putting on shows. It was hard to see what else there was. In fact, anything outside of dance and the theatre seemed quite frightening.
When Summer was born, our parents both got jobs in West End musicals. They were in Cats together for years. Actors still come up to me and say: “I remember you and Summer coming into Cats in little white dresses with bells on the petticoats.” But although we were always dressed identically, the difference between Summer and me was huge even then. I was always the passive one, the one who would wear the pretty dress and the ribbons and not moan. Summer was the most stubborn brute and remains so. It was fine when we were very little, less so as we got older.
Because she was so stroppy and our parents weren’t around a lot, I had to be sensible. My grandma ran a dance school and we did endless charity reviews. I was always good, always agreeable. I’d sigh and go, “Okay, Nanny, I’ll do the number,” while Summer was having a huge screaming fit, yelling: “I’m not doing that! I’m not wearing that!” By the time we were teenagers Summer’s stubbornness was at full throttle — she rebelled completely and became a goth, which was ghastly. She wasn’t even a true goth, she just wanted to appear more grown up than me. What’s curious is, despite her need to go in the opposite direction, she’s ended up following in my footsteps. I went to college early and started work at 16. Summer did the same thing. Then we ended up in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang together. I played Trudy and she was my understudy, which was extraordinary. I’ve never minded that she’s been so close on my heels. I did Regent’s Park last year and she did it this year, so I’m wondering if she’ll audition for Mary Poppins.
Summer’s so outgoing and rebellious, a real good-time girl, and I’m very homey and settled. It’s only recently that we’ve really connected again. She’s a nightmare to get hold of. She never answers her phone; she hates being tied down with responsibilities. But then the thing I love most about her is how carefree she is. I am such a worrier. Playing Mary Poppins is a huge responsibility and I’m such a perfectionist, I get really stressed. I’ll always ring Summer if I need lightening up, because she puts things into perspective. She’s my bedrock. She just says: “Leave it alone, Scarly. Don’t worry about it.” She’s ridiculously laid-back.
As we get older, it’s history, rather than similarities, that bonds us. She gives me a huge amount of support. In fact, she’s there for me much more than I am for her. I don’t think she’s missed a first night. The year we did Chitty together was very bonding — although, I’m not kidding, I wanted to kill her at times. She shared a dressing room with 10 other girls and she’d walk in and pass her crap mood on to everyone else. I’d be going: “Sum, just calm down.” But there’s no point in arguing with her, because she doesn’t listen. At least that’s how it appears. She’s so free-spirited; she seems not to care what anyone thinks. Being five minutes late makes me unbelievably uptight. Sum is invariably late and arrives dressed for maximum attention. The other night she met me after the show dressed in a tiny frilled skirt, a tiny bikini top, high heels, lashes, glitter… And it made me feel like the biggest prude.
She used to be concerned that I was too serious and too sensible. My partner is older than me and she found our relationship hard to understand. Whenever I asked her to call she’d say: “You’re not getting married? You’re not pregnant?” We’re beginning to accept each other’s differences now and I think she does respect me and my values; but I have bouts of worry about her.
Summer’s base is still at my grandma’s, which I find totally weird. I’ll ring and she’ll say: “Summer didn’t come home last night.” The wild child was always in her, but it’s really come out recently. Our parents splitting up tore our family apart. It felt like the ground was made of sand. Neither Summer nor I took it well, but while I’ve since regained a stable relationship with both our parents, Summer, in her stubbornness, hasn’t. There’s been lots of discussion about who will and who won’t come to my wedding, which has been very upsetting. It makes you realise that although she’s done so much, she’s still very young. She’s just spent her whole life acting older.
SUMMER: By the time we were 18 months old, Scarly and I were going on a Monday and a Thursday to my grandmother’s dance school. Scarly was sensible and always did as she was told, and I did the opposite. She’d put her hair up and wear the clothes, I’d sit in the corner with my arms folded saying: “I am not doing it.” I didn’t want us to be dressed alike, I didn’t feel like dancing, I wanted to be a vet — anything but a dancer. I don’t remember Scarly getting cross with me: the clash was always between me and my nan. Scarly is exactly the same now. I open my mouth and say whatever is on my mind; she just wants to keep the peace.
By the time Scarly was 10 and I could see what a fantastic dancer she was becoming, I’d made up my mind to try a bit harder. I thought: “I’ve got an all-right voice, good body, nice legs — why not?” While we were still at prep school we did commercials, and I did The Sound of Music, Scarly did Annie Get Your Gun. We were always being taken out of school for something — we got used to ducking when we went past in the car.
Scarly has always worked hard; it’s in her genes. When she was only 15 she started going to the London Studio Centre, a performing-arts college in King’s Cross, which meant leaving the house at 7am to travel across London. She had ballet every day and was stick-thin, she worked so hard. She must have been putting in 12-hour days. When I was at college I’d wake five minutes before registration, get up, walk over the road in my pyjamas, say “Present” when my name was called, then go back to bed.
When we were both in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Scarly would go straight home after the show every night, while I went to the pub. She can get quite impatient with that kind of thing, and because she’s such a perfectionist, Scarly gets in a state very easily. I don’t want to say neurotic, because she’s not, but she’s a worrier. When she got Mary Poppins she was in agony. She phoned and said: “I don’t understand why they want me.” She needs so much reassurance. I had to sit her down and say: “You’re fantastic, you’re talented, you work harder than anyone I know...” And I mean it: she’s my idol; she just doesn’t seem to want to believe it.
Scarly’s never been a party animal or one for having lots of boyfriends. When you’re doing shows like Mary Poppins you can’t go out much, because you’re too worried about waking up the next day without a voice. She’s a lot more sensible than I am in that way, and because she’s happily settled with her partner, I don’t think she feels she’s missing out. She has a lot of responsibility. She has two stepchildren and is running a house as well as playing a lead role, and she’s only 24. I’d find that way too much, but she’s a nurturer — it’s what she’s always wanted.
I’ve seen the show three times now and I cry every time. The overture starts and I burst into tears. By the time she comes on, I’m in floods. I’m so happy for her, so proud of her. She’s so generous and kind, I know she’d feel the same if it was me. I can’t help turning to the person sitting next to me and saying: “Isn’t she wonderful? That’s my sister.”
