My Sister’s Secret (19 page)

‘I found a photo of you with Mum, Faith and Niall too. Were you all friends?’

‘I wouldn’t call Niall a
friend
as such. He just turned up one day and we couldn’t quite get rid of him.’ She sighs. ‘Willow, I hope you’re not trying to find him. I’m certain he isn’t your father.’

‘Wouldn’t you want to know who your father was if there was a chance the one you grew up with wasn’t?’

‘I suppose,’ she says begrudgingly. ‘But Dan was a good man, Willow. Niall…well, put it this way, you’re better off not having someone like him as your father.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

There’s a pause. ‘Niall Lane killed my sister Faith.’

I sit up in my chair, nearly dropping my beer. ‘What?’

‘He was driving the car that hit her.’

‘Jesus. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I’ve told you already, I don’t see any sense dredging up the past.’

‘I Googled him though, it didn’t come up in any searches.’

‘He was young and it was before the internet was used the way it is today.’

I look at Niall’s sullen young face in the photo, then at Faith’s beautiful one. Then I think of what I’ve just read on the map. ‘Did he mean to do it?’ I ask Aunt Hope.

‘No. Why would you ask that?’

I explain what I’ve just read.

‘Scared?’ Aunt Hope says after, voice trembling. ‘I don’t understand. I want to see her writing.’

‘I don’t understand either. But you’re saying Niall Lane was responsible for her death.’

‘It was an accident. I hate him for it but it was an accident. He wouldn’t have done it on purpose. He adored Faith, just like we all did.’

Aunt Hope is quiet for a moment. Then I hear the quiet sound of her sobbing.

‘Oh, Aunt Hope,’ I say, my heart going out to her.

‘It’s just bringing it all back, that’s all,’ she says, sniffing. ‘Faith didn’t seem herself before she died. But she had just started university. Oh, I don’t know. Clearly something was upsetting her. But to be frightened? That makes no sense.’

I continue staring at the photograph of Niall. ‘I need to meet Niall Lane, ask him about all this.’

‘He doesn’t know any more than we do.’

‘How will we know until I ask him? It’s not just Faith,’ I say. ‘I need to do it for me, too. I need to look him in the face and ask him if he’s my father.’

‘You won’t be able to find him. He’s here, there and everywhere.’

‘Actually,’ I say, looking at the outline of Kazakhstan on the map and thinking of what the woman at the gallery in Austria had told me, ‘I think I know where he’ll be.’

Charity

Busby-on-Sea, UK

May 1988

Charity swept her cloth across the table then paused, looking out at the grey sea. Hard to believe she was here, summer chasing her tail again. At least it was different this time. She’d be leaving soon.

She peered at her sister who looked thoroughly bored as some tourists tried to make conversation with her. She just wished Hope was coming with her. The sale of the café had fallen through after the survey revealed some problems, and no other buyers had come forward since. In the meantime, another opportunity had come up for Charity, this time a permanent job as a student counsellor at Southampton University – the university Faith had attended. She even got reduced rate accommodation, meaning she wouldn’t have to travel there and back. She and Hope agreed she’d do it for six months, giving them enough money to help sort some of the problems with the café and finally get it sold. But the fact it was a permanent contract felt strange to Charity, like maybe she’d never be back.

If she didn’t return, did that mean she’d never see Niall again? She thought back to the last time she’d seen him, the night of his gallery opening when he’d turned up outside the beach hut.

‘I feel like I don’t really know you,’ Charity had said to him.

‘I’m still the same man. You know me better than anyone!’

‘Do I? Maybe I’m just in love with the past, the
good
past, before Faith died,’ Charity said, repeating what Hope had said to her.

Niall’s face had dropped. ‘So what are you saying? You’re not in love with me?’

‘I – I don’t know. We’ve been living in a bubble for the past few months. Now reality has hit and I’m not sure I know what’s real and what’s just based on what I remember.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t believe you. You’re just upset about Lana.’

‘It’s not just about Lana, Niall. Dan and I nearly kissed too.’

Niall looked at her in disbelief. ‘When?’

‘In India, after we argued. Doesn’t that speak volumes?’

His blue eyes flashed with anger. ‘It tells me you’re a hypocrite. How can you be annoyed about what happened with Lana when you and Dan did what you did?’

‘But the difference is we didn’t actually do anything! Look,’ Charity said, putting her head in her hands. ‘I just need time away from the bubble. I need to figure out if what we have is real or if it’s just based on the past.’

‘You take your time, Charity,’ Niall said, standing. ‘But don’t take too long. The longer you take, the more I’ll start to believe you really don’t love me.’

Then he’d walked away.

Charity looked out at the sea now, wondering where Niall was. She hadn’t heard from him since that night. That was a good thing; she
did
need time to think. But what if she couldn’t get hold of him when she needed to? Truth was, her heart ached for him, her body missed his touch. But each time she thought of him, she also thought of Lana…and what Hope had said about Charity being in love with the past.

‘Hello, love!’ a man called from a table nearby. ‘Can we order some food, please?’

‘Of course, sorry! Was in my own little world there!’ She rushed over and took an order from the couple. As she walked away, something caught her eye in the distance: a man standing at the end of the promenade in a long grey wool coat, shoulders hunched as he huddled against the cold. Something about the blond of his hair and the tanned curve of his neck sparked a flicker of recognition. He turned as though sensing her eyes on him.

Dan.

Even from where she was standing, Charity could tell he looked terrible. His blond hair was longer, messy, his face specked with stubble. There were circles under his eyes, a pained expression on his face.

She’d heard he had gone to the States on business since she’d seen him in Norfolk. She reached her hand up to wave at him. He did the same and stepped forward, then paused, brow creasing. Maybe he felt awkward? She beckoned him over, not wanting him to feel like that around her. It wasn’t his fault what had happened between Niall and Lana, was it?

He seemed to relax and strolled towards her. When he got to her, she quickly leant in, pressing her lips against his cheek in greeting. His skin felt stubbled beneath her lips, a soft hint of citrus rising from his neck. She breathed it in, felt her heart begin to race. She quickly moved away from him and they stood looking at each other, awkwardness swelling around them.

She opened her mouth. ‘So how—’

‘When did you—’ Dan said at the same time.

They both laughed.

‘I was going to ask,’ Dan said, ‘when did you return to Busby?’

‘Over a month ago. But I’ll be leaving again soon. I’m moving to Southampton.’

His face flickered. ‘My office is based there.’

Charity smiled. ‘I had no idea. We could meet up!’

‘I’m afraid I’m selling the mansion then moving to the States.’

‘The States?’

He nodded. ‘I’m interested in learning more about the world of cruise ships. They seem to know how to do it out there.’

‘And they don’t know it in Southampton?’

‘Not at the grand scale I’m aiming for.’

Her heart sank. ‘That sounds exciting.’

‘So does your new job, Charity. You’ll be wonderful there.’ He paused a moment. ‘You’re going alone?’ he asked carefully.

‘Yes. Niall and I are taking a break.’ That felt strange to say out loud.

Dan sighed. ‘Snap. Lana and I are having a break too.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ The bin nearby shuddered as a large seagull landed on it, pecking at a half-eaten sandwich. ‘I won’t miss those things,’ Charity said, shooing it away. Dan watched her, eyes hooded. ‘Are you coming in for a cuppa? It’s quiet. I might even be able to grab a drink with you, I’m due a break.’

He shook his head, his blond hair falling into his tired eyes. ‘No, sorry, I need to head back. I’m meeting with an estate agent.’

‘Maybe before we both disappear, we can grab a coffee? I’m working here every day until I leave.’

Hesitation registered in his eyes. ‘I’ll try. It’s pretty hectic at the moment. Take care, Charity.’ He looked into her eyes, the emotion that she saw in his almost took her breath away. Then he turned and strode down the promenade, the wind whipping up the tails of his coat.

Charity put her hand to her beating heart. Why was she reacting like this?

She turned around and caught her sister watching her with a smile on her face. She shushed her away, hurrying into the café.

When Dan didn’t turn up at the café the next day, Charity impulsively decided to drive to his house. As she turned into his drive, she was surprised to see the once immaculate lawns were now messy with weeds, the hedges misshapen and overgrown. Surely with Dan’s money he had gardeners to keep the place tidy when he was away? Even the ruby gates were open, the marble stairs leading to the front door filthy with mud and leaves.

When she rang the doorbell, nobody answered. But just as she went to walk away, the door swung open and Dan appeared. He was wearing jeans and a loose black jumper, his face creased as though he’d been sleeping.

He frowned. ‘Charity?’

‘I wanted to say goodbye. I was at work yesterday so couldn’t talk properly, and it just doesn’t feel right, that being the last time we might ever speak.’ She realised she was talking in a garble. ‘Bit of an impulsive decision really. Just as well you’re in,’ she joked.

He didn’t invite her in, just stood staring at her, blinking. She thrust her hands into the pockets of her coat.

‘Sorry, where are my manners,’ he said, seeming to suddenly wake up. ‘Please, do come in.’

She stepped inside. There were cardboard boxes strewn all over the huge hallway and the tropical heat that had greeted her the first time she’d been there was replaced by a draught.

Dan closed the door then smoothed his messy hair down. He still hadn’t shaved. ‘Come through,’ he said, leading Charity past the dining room they’d had dinner in over a year ago. Charity glanced inside, noticing the explicit murals had been scraped off the wall. Had Dan done that, or Lana? She’d seen patients do this in the past too, strip away the wallpaper they’d carefully put up with their ex-partner; taking new sofas they’d bought together to the dump. She didn’t have much of Niall’s to throw away.

They entered a large all-white kitchen at the back of the house.

‘Sorry for the mess,’ Dan said as he pulled some newspapers off a stool so Charity could sit down at the marble bar table. ‘Been pretty busy sorting out my move over to the States. Cup of tea?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

Dan made the tea then handed her a mug, taking the stool next to her, brow creased as he looked into his tea.

‘Are you okay, Dan?’ she asked him.

He peered up, his tired eyes looking into hers. ‘I’m fine.’ She raised an eyebrow at him and he smiled. ‘I suppose you’re not a qualified counsellor for nothing. Okay, here’s the truth. The reason I’m such a mess is I’m lonely and it scares the hell out of me.’

‘I understand, trust me.’

‘Hold on with the sympathy for a moment. It’s not Lana herself I miss, but the knowledge that someone’s always here when I get home. It really hit me after coming home from the States to this ridiculously huge house,’ he said, looking around him. ‘It feels impossibly empty with just me here. Is that selfish of me, not to miss Lana but the fact the house seemed less empty with her in it?’

Charity took a sip of her tea. ‘Of course not.’

Over the next couple of hours they drank more tea and Dan talked about how difficult things were with Lana and how devastated he’d been when she’d confessed that she’d slept with Niall. Soon darkness fell outside, the rain providing a soft rhythmic thrum against the kitchen’s vast windows. Charity knew she ought to head back home but she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay and listen to Dan’s low voice, watch the way his black lashes cast shadows across his tanned cheeks. If she left now, there’d only be one day left before she’d be miles away and there was every chance she might never see him again.

She didn’t like that feeling. She wasn’t quite sure what she could do about it but she knew she didn’t want to leave right now.

‘Are you hungry?’ Dan asked.

‘I am actually.’

‘We can order something in,’ he said, gesturing towards a pile of takeaway leaflets on the table.

‘I can cook something.’

He peered at the fridge. ‘Nothing here to cook.’

‘Then come to my house,’ Charity said impulsively. ‘Hope will be at one of her readings. I make a mean lasagne.’

Dan hesitated a moment then he took in a deep breath. ‘Alright. What the hell?’

Fifteen minutes later Charity was letting Dan into her family’s home. As she walked down the hallway towards the living room she was praying her sister had collected the bras they’d both been drying on the radiators and put them upstairs. As she turned the lights on, she saw that she hadn’t.

‘Sorry, bit of a mess,’ she said, grabbing the bras and shoving them into a drawer as Dan raised an eyebrow.

Dan glided his fingers over a cat ornament sitting on one of the tables in the narrow hallway. ‘Don’t worry. It’s nice to see somewhere that looks lived in.’

‘It’s lived in alright. Come through to the kitchen.’ She led him through to their kitchen with its huge pine table and old-fashioned units.

‘Take a seat, I’ll get you a glass of wine,’ Charity said, gesturing towards one of the chairs around the table. ‘You can have one glass of wine, right?’

‘Sure. But let me help cook.’

‘No, really.’

‘Please,’ Dan said, rolling up the sleeves of his jumper. ‘I insist.’

‘Fine then, you can chop the veg.’

Over the next few minutes, they worked together to make dinner, falling into a natural rhythm.

‘How do you feel about leaving the town behind again?’ Dan asked.

Charity stared out of the window at the scene she’d woken up to every morning as a child, the long wisps of grass fringing a stretch of pebbly beach; the grey turbulent sea beyond. ‘It’s strange, I’ve always been so desperate to leave Busby-on-Sea and my memories behind that I sometimes forget the good memories.’

‘But being away from here will help ease the grief, like you said it did when you went to London.’

‘
Ease
it,’ Charity said, turning the gas hob on. ‘But it’ll still be there.’ She peered behind her at Dan. ‘Is that why you’re going to the States, to leave the memories of your parents behind? And Lana?’

He smiled. ‘I thought I’d give it a go. It worked for you when you went to London years ago, didn’t it?’

‘Maybe. Maybe not.’

‘So tell me about your new job.’

‘I’ll be counselling students. I imagine a lot of what I’ll be dealing with will be exam-related stress. But there will also be new students struggling with being away from home and students who will come to me with historic problems. It’ll make a change from the stuff I’ve done in the past.’

‘You seem excited.’

She smiled. ‘I am.’

‘What would you say is the most important skill for a counsellor to have?’

Charity thought about it for a moment. ‘Sounds obvious really, but listening. My sister Faith used to tell me I talked too much and didn’t listen enough. She used to quote Winston Churchill: “Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen.”’

Dan smiled. ‘I like that.’

Charity threw some mince into a saucepan and watched it sizzle as she stirred it around. Dan carried the vegetables over, scraping them in with the meat as Charity poured chopped tomatoes and stock over the mixture. Once the dish was in the oven, cheese gratings and vegetable skins all over the floor, they both collapsed on to the old brown sofa with their half-empty glasses of wine.

‘Smells good,’ Dan said, twisting around to face Charity, his arm resting against hers. ‘Haven’t had a home-cooked meal in God knows how long.’

‘Hope and I cook together every night. I guess it’s a habit.’ Dan looked towards the book Hope was always scribbling in, open flat down on the table, its spine battered and creased. It was made from dark brown leather, an intricate floral pattern all over it. Faith had got it for her when she was just ten. ‘Has your sister ever been in love?’ Dan asked.