Kitabı oxu: «My Sister’s Lies: A gripping novel of love, loss and dark family secrets»

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for S.D. Robertson

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1: Twelve days earlier

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Client Session Transcript: HCOOK290719

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

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Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

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Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

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Chapter 24

Chapter 25: October 2008

Chapter 26: Now

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue: Several days later

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by S.D. Robertson

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

She waves goodbye to him through the windscreen of her car and congratulates herself on a fine acting performance. She’s fairly certain she managed not to give anything away while driving the short journey to the station. It wasn’t as hard as it might have been with another person. Things were bound to be awkward between them anyway, particularly after last night and everything they discussed. But still. She could easily have said or done something to raise his suspicions – to signal her intentions – yet she didn’t. Now she’s confident he’ll be almost as shocked as everyone else by her death.

Not long to go, but first things first. She drives the car a short distance until she spots a post box. Then she parks at the side of the road, unzips her handbag and pulls out the small padded envelope she placed in there earlier. She holds it in her hands for a moment, her eyes briefly scanning the name and address plus the postage label she printed off in the early hours, then lets out a slow sigh and feels a couple of tears trickle down either cheek. This little package looks like so many others she’s posted out, selling bits and bobs on eBay, but it couldn’t be more different. And by posting it, she will be sealing her fate. There will be no going back after that.

She gets out of the car and stands in front of the red pillar box. Hesitates for a moment. Looks at the name and address one more time, checking again that they’re right, and shoves it through the open slot before she can change her mind.

It’s done.

She returns to the car, looks at her pale face in the mirror and then drives on, one step closer to the end.

She arrives at Costa a few minutes later. It’s the coffee shop branch they always used to go to together before doing the shopping on a Saturday morning; it’s much quieter this early on a weekday. She orders the same as they always did – a latte and a hot chocolate – even though it’s only her now. She’s tempted to order a biscuit or cake too but decides she probably won’t be able to manage it.

She sips the latte and pretends she’s not alone. Trawls her memory for an image of another hot chocolate in a pair of hands on one of those glorious Saturdays, which she never properly appreciated until they were over. It’s the same with so much in life, she thinks. You take wonderful things for granted, only realising how amazing they are when they’re no longer there. It’s incredible what imminent death does for your sense of perspective.

She doesn’t actually drink much of her coffee, fearful the caffeine might upset her stomach. Ordering a decaf would have been more sensible, or drinking the hot chocolate instead, but she wants to experience the taste exactly as it was in the days she remembers so fondly.

That and the smell certainly do the trick. When she closes her eyes, she’s hurtled headfirst into the past. She stays there as long as she can, revelling in its warm glow, until the cup her hand circles grows cold, and wearily she returns to the present: her last morning on earth.

‘Goodbye,’ a chirpy staff member, barely more than a girl, says to her as she gets up to leave. ‘Have a nice day.’

‘Thanks. You too,’ she replies with a smile, conscious of the fact that this could be the last thing she ever says to another person.

Before she starts the car, she has a moment of panic. For a second it feels like she can’t breathe as a voice in her head tells her she’s handling everything wrong. That she shouldn’t go ahead with it.

It certainly wasn’t her first choice of how to proceed, but it’s the only option she has left now. Isn’t it?

She stares at a tree in the distance and tries to focus her mind on it, counting the number of branches and watching its leaves flutter in the light breeze as she fights to slow down her breathing and take back control. Eventually it starts to work and, as she feels herself calming down, she speaks out loud in a bid to continue the process: ‘You’re doing the right thing. It’s hard, but ultimately it will be best for everyone. Doubts are normal, but you mustn’t give in to them. You’re doing the right thing. You’re doing the right thing …’

A few minutes later she starts the car and, still regulating her breathing, finds some classical music on the radio. It sounds like something from an epic film; she draws strength from its sweeping strings and triumphant trumpets.

Her final destination isn’t too far away, but she’s chosen it carefully. It’s an unremarkable residential street with a mix of terraced and semi-detached houses on both sides. There are plenty of parking spaces at this time on a weekday morning, presumably due to many of the residents having left for work. She pulls into an empty spot outside one of the street’s smarter properties, with neatly trimmed ivy nuzzling its red bricks and a colourful array of shrubs, pots and hanging baskets making the most of the small front yard.

Methodically, she removes her watch, rings, necklace and ear studs, placing them into the glovebox after first looking around to check no one’s watching. She had intended to do this at home before leaving, but it slipped her mind.

Next she steps out of the car, pats her hand gently on the roof to say goodbye, locks it and walks towards the footpath that will bring her close to the railway and the broken fence that will give her access to it.

She passes a couple of dog walkers along the way, beaming a broad smile at them so as not to raise any suspicions. This is ridiculous, she muses, because why would they be suspicious of her looking grumpy or upset? They might if they later spotted her near the track, she counters, if they lived in a house that overlooked it or something. So no harm in being careful. She needs this to go the right way. Well, as right as killing herself ever could. It would be a disaster if someone somehow managed to stop her.

This isn’t a cry for help. She absolutely wants it to work – one hundred per cent, first time, instantly, no messing about. That’s why she’s chosen such a brutal method. With the right conditions, the mortality rate is very high. It’s fast too. Even if she isn’t killed instantly, she should at least be knocked unconscious straight away. There’s still a small chance it could go wrong, of course, meaning survival with horrific injuries. But that’s why she’s done her homework, scoping out the optimal spot in advance; visiting several other possible locations before selecting this as the most suitable.

Fail to prepare, prepare to fail.

She originally intended to wait a few more days, to spend more time getting her affairs in order. However, the arrival of her unexpected house guest yesterday had forced her hand, since she’d told him enough to potentially put her plans at risk if he didn’t do as she asked. The fact that he arrived and departed by train also felt like a sign.

As she arrives at the broken fence, she breathes a sigh of relief to see it hasn’t been fixed. It was only a few days ago she was last here, and it looked like the fence had been that way for a while, but, in her experience, Sod’s Law could strike at any moment. Well, not this time, she thinks, checking no one is watching before squeezing through the gap, catching her jeans in the process, but managing to pull free. Next she runs for the cover of a nearby bush.

She crouches there for a few minutes, catching her breath and calming herself down once again. Then she continues to a better location, still sheltered from view by thick greenery but alongside the train track. ‘This is it,’ she whispers into the warm summer air.

Her heart’s racing and there’s little she can do to calm it now. No surprise really, considering where she is; what she’s about to do. Her hands are shaking and her right eye is twitching like it does when she’s stressed or tired.

It’s no good resisting, her mind tells her worthless body. It’s your fault we’re in this situation. You’ll do what you’re told. That’s the only choice.

It’s a waiting game now. She just needs a train to come along. Either direction will do. Another reason she picked this spot, besides the broken fence and good ground cover, is that it’s far enough away from the station for any passing train to be travelling at a decent speed. She can’t see too far in either direction, thanks to the curved route of the track, but that’s fine. It means no driver will spot her too soon and slow down. She’ll hear it coming and then all she has to do is step out. At that stage, it won’t matter about the driver seeing her. It’ll be way too late for them to do anything about it. A fast-moving train takes a very long time to stop, as she discovered while researching the matter online.

All she has to do is step out. That sounds so easy, doesn’t it? She knows in her heart that it won’t be. That there’s a chance she might chicken out. But she can’t. And she’s not going to let one train pass by first as a practice. That was her original plan, but she decided the sheer noise and power of it thundering by so close might shock her into changing her mind. No, she’ll have to fight her natural survival instinct to do this, and she’s convinced that will be easier without a dry run. Plus she could get spotted by that initial driver, who’d then be able to warn the next. So it has to be the first one.

She needs to do it without thinking. The time for rumination has passed. She’s weighed up her options over and over again in recent days. She’s made her final decision.

She’s afraid – of course she is. She’s scared death or unconsciousness won’t come as quickly as she hopes and the pain will be excruciating. So she reminds herself that the odds of success are heavily in her favour.

The idea that she’ll never see …

No, she can’t allow herself to even think that name. Not now. Tears start to pour down her face as multiple images of the two of them together flood her mind. But she grits her teeth, squeezes her eyes shut and fights to block them.

‘I can’t. Not now,’ she says under her breath. ‘I have to do this. I have to do this. It’s the only way.’

And then she hears a rumbling in the distance. This is it. She knows it is, without question. A train is fast approaching from her left. She can’t see it yet, but it’s definitely coming, so as late as she dares she moves from a crouch into a standing position. The sound quickly gets louder and, as she stares in that direction, hunched, waiting, her heart is like a jackhammer, her breaths tight and shallow, her whole body trembling.

After a fleeting hesitation, she steps on to the track, her determination pushing her forward despite the continued resistance of her body.

Time crawls until the front of the train reveals itself, the noise deafening now, and she stares it down.

She can see the alarmed driver’s bearded face looking at her as he does the only thing he can and sounds the horn. She feels for him in that split second, knowing this must be his worst nightmare – something that will scar him for life – and wishing she didn’t have to be the one to put him through it.

But although it’s his face racing towards her, at the last moment her tortured mind replaces it with another: the one person she loves more than anyone or anything else.

‘I’m sorr—’

CHAPTER 1
Twelve days earlier

Hannah Cook was glowering at the computer screen, tempted to delete the pathetic collection of words staring back at her, when she heard the doorbell.

Her eyes darted to the clock in the corner of the display: 4.07 p.m. Who could be calling round at this time of the day? It was way too early for Mark to get home. Not that he’d use the bell anyway, unless he’d left his keys at the office or lost them somehow. And it would be unlike any of their friends to turn up unannounced. It was 2019, for goodness’ sake; there was no need to risk catching people unawares in this time of constant connectivity. In fact, to do so was verging on rudeness.

Hannah decided it must either be a delivery – despite the fact she wasn’t expecting anything – or someone selecting the wrong apartment number. In case of the latter, and since the bell had only sounded once so far, she waited for a moment.

It wasn’t like she didn’t want to get away from her laptop. She’d already found countless reasons to do so throughout the day, procrastinating like a pro. The problem was that if she did so now, this late on a Friday afternoon, she’d probably not get back to it. And then she’d feel guilty all night and into the weekend, maybe even making herself work on Saturday or Sunday when she ought to be spending time with her husband.

She’d once read somewhere that being an author was like having homework for evermore. She’d laughingly dismissed this at the time, when having a book published had been her heart’s desire: a dream she’d never expected to realise. But already, now, even though she technically wouldn’t become a published novelist for several more months, she understood the truth of that statement. A dream job was still a job. And this particular one had expectations and deadlines that didn’t disappear when she left the office at 5 p.m., because there was no office, nor regular business hours. There was just Hannah.

The bell rang again, longer and more insistent this time. Hannah saved her work, ignoring the reckless, frustrated part of herself who told her it wasn’t worth saving, and walked out of the lounge into the hallway.

‘Hello?’ she said into the telephone-style intercom next to the apartment’s entrance. As she did so, Hannah looked into the mirror opposite and frowned at the grey roots already showing in her shoulder-length, wavy brown hair.

There was a pause as the person on the other end of the line cleared their throat. Then, like a muffled gunshot, came the last words Hannah was expecting to hear: words with the power to flip her world on its head.

‘Hannah? It’s Diane.’

‘So,’ Hannah said a short while later, breaking the latest uncomfortable silence in a conversation so stilted she felt a desperate urge to run out of her own home to escape it. ‘You’ve changed a lot since I last saw you, Mia. You were just a tot then.’

‘She’s still as beautiful as ever,’ Diane said, ‘but for some reason she likes to hide it away behind all that war paint.’

Mia scowled at her mother, next to her on the couch, who was chewing a fingernail like her life depended on its removal. The teenager gave a fleeting glance towards Hannah, perched on the armchair opposite, and shrugged her shoulders. Then she dipped her head forward so her green eyes, lined with dramatic, dark make-up, disappeared behind the long fringe of her straight, shoulder-length black hair. Although she was young to do so, Hannah was convinced she must have dyed it, as it had been dark brown when she was little.

Hannah had almost passed out at the sound of Diane speaking on the intercom earlier. She hadn’t seen or spoken to her sister for nearly eleven years. She’d all but resigned herself to never seeing her and her niece again. And now here they both were, sitting in her lounge.

It had taken Hannah a few moments to get over the shock of hearing her sister’s voice after so long. She’d actually dropped the intercom handset and let it swing against the wall on its coiled cord while she stood there wide-eyed, frozen to the spot; covering her open mouth with her hands, desperately trying to grasp what was going on.

Then she’d heard Diane’s voice again: a faint, tinny version this time, leaking from the speaker of the dangling telephone.

‘Hannah?’ she’d said. ‘Are you there or not? It’s Diane. I know you’re probably surprised to hear from me after so long, but I really need to see you. It’s important. I have Mia with me. Hannah?’

And so she’d reached over and buzzed them in. It was all she could manage at that point, needing the extra time it took the lift to reach the eighth floor to find her voice. And even then, seeing the pair of them appear at her door in the flesh – Mia unrecognisable from the child she’d adored – Hannah had struggled to find any words.

Instead, despite everything that had gone before, she’d instinctively hugged them both in one go and proclaimed how wonderful it was to see them. It had felt weird and awkward, so she’d ushered them inside, sat them down in the lounge and rushed to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. Because what the hell else was she supposed to do?

That was exactly the question she’d intended to ask her husband when, while in the kitchen alone, she’d phoned his mobile. Unfortunately, she’d got his voicemail, meaning he was probably in a meeting.

‘Mark,’ she’d said, trying to keep her voice steady as she left a message. ‘Please get home as soon as you can. I’ve got a situation here.’ She’d taken a deep breath before adding: ‘You won’t believe this, but Diane and Mia have turned up. They’re here in the apartment right now. Call me.’

From her seat opposite the visitors in the spacious lounge, Hannah’s eyes moved from Mia’s low-hanging fringe to Diane’s continued nail biting and then on to her mobile, sitting next to her on the right arm of the chair. Come on, Mark, she thought. Phone me back so at least I have a good excuse to leave the room again. She’d already been to the toilet once and returned twice to the kitchen to get sugar and biscuits.

It was so damn awkward. And since they were in her home, she somehow felt like it was her responsibility to keep the floundering conversation going, which was ridiculous when she thought about it. It was Diane, not her, who’d upped and left all those years ago. Now her sister, looking gaunt and frazzled, wearing navy leggings, pumps and a white blouse, was the one who’d turned up on her doorstep unannounced and utterly out of the blue. So why wasn’t she discussing the reason for this? She always used to have plenty to say.

There had been an initial chat of sorts: a bizarre, staccato series of pleasantries about the weather, their car journey to Manchester from Bournemouth, her apartment, and other peripheral matters like the modernisation of the city. At one point she’d asked Diane how long she’d been wearing her hair, now dyed a striking burgundy colour, in a pixie cut.

‘Oh, I don’t know exactly,’ she’d replied. ‘Quite a while. A few years.’

Hannah hadn’t been able to think of a suitable response to this. Diane’s words served as a harsh reminder of how long they’d been apart; how little they knew about the present-day versions of each other.

Was her sister aware, for instance, that she’d long since quit her job as an advertising copywriter and somehow – miraculously – written her way through the eye of a needle to win the elusive publishing deal that had been her childhood dream? She very much doubted it. It was out there on social media, of course, but Diane wasn’t involved in any of that – not as far as Hannah knew. Nor, to her knowledge, was she in contact with anyone from their past who might have told her. Apart from their father, of course: the one person she knew to have kept in touch with Diane. However, after his initial attempts to mediate between the sisters had failed, he’d refused point-blank to take sides in what he referred to as their ‘foolish feud’. As such, and as long as it lasted, he’d sworn not to speak a word to either of them about the other in order to maintain his neutral status.

He was a stubborn man, Frank Wells, so she couldn’t imagine he would have breached his vow to reveal this one particular piece of news. While she could only assume he was the person who’d given Diane her address, this was no doubt with the intention that it might lead to their reconciliation.

As Hannah had lost herself for a moment in these thoughts, her guests had also kept quiet, leading to the first long, awkward silence of their visit. Suddenly aware of it and uncomfortable, she’d responded by taking the bull by the horns and attempting to get to the bottom of Diane’s shock return. ‘You said something before about needing to see me,’ she’d said, squeezing her palms together and raising her eyebrows. ‘That it was important?’

‘Yes, that’s right, but can we talk about it later?’ Diane had replied. ‘How’s Mark, by the way? He’s still at work, I assume.’

‘He’s fine, thank you. He should be home before too long.’

‘Good.’

Now Hannah, whose initial feelings of shock and panic had given way to unease and confusion, felt like asking Diane again why she was here and, if necessary, demanding an answer. It was definitely a reasonable question, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it after the last response. So instead she found herself trying again with Mia, who was, after all, an innocent party in the family feud that had kept them separate all this time. Losing touch with her niece – the closest thing she’d ever had to a child of her own – had been one of the most painful parts of the whole sorry affair.

‘So, Mia Wells, let me see,’ she said, trying not to think about all those years and milestones she’d missed from her childhood. ‘You must be fourteen now, right?’

Mia, who was pin thin and wearing skinny jeans with a black T-shirt, nodded without looking up at her.

‘So what school year are you in now?’

‘I’ve just finished Year Nine,’ she replied in a monotone voice.

‘Right,’ Hannah replied, nodding her head as she tried to work out what that meant, recalling that the naming system for year groups had changed since her and Diane’s schooldays.

‘It’s what we used to call Third Year,’ her sister chipped in, as if reading her mind. ‘From September she’ll be in the equivalent of Lower Fifth, working towards taking her GCSEs at the end of the following year.’

‘So have you finished for the summer now, Mia?’

‘Yes,’ the teenager replied.

‘They broke up earlier this week,’ Diane explained, looking at the fingernails she’d just been biting, frowning and then shoving both hands under her thighs.

Old habits die hard, Hannah thought. Smiling at her niece in case she decided to make eye contact, she added: ‘Wonderful. All that time off. I bet you’ve got loads of stuff planned. Are you going on holiday anywhere?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Right.’

‘Can I use your toilet, actually?’ Mia asked, adding a ‘please’ following a nudge and a glare from her mother.

‘Um, yes. Of course. It’s in the hall, next to the front door.’

Diane rolled her eyes. ‘Sorry about Little Miss Grumpy,’ she said once Mia was out of earshot. ‘She’s at that age.’

‘Listen, what the hell’s going on?’ Hannah hissed, unable to contain herself any longer. ‘You show up at my home after all these years of no contact and then you sit there, saying almost nothing. Why are you here? Is one of you in trouble? You need to give me something.’

‘I will, but not in front of Mia.’

‘She’s not here now.’

‘She’ll be back any minute, and it will be better if Mark’s around too.’

‘Mark? What—’ Hearing the toilet flush, Hannah changed tack. ‘Come on, quick. Just tell me.’

‘I can’t now. Sorry. It’ll have to be tonight – after Mia’s gone to bed.’

‘Gone to bed?’ Hannah repeated, as it dawned on her what Diane’s words implied. ‘Where are you staying?’

‘Um, well, I was hoping you might be good enough to put us up for the night.’

‘What? You don’t even have an overnight bag.’

‘Our things are in the car.’

‘You didn’t think to phone ahead?’

‘I didn’t have your number to start with and then … Well, I got your landline from Dad, but I wasn’t sure you’d take my call. Turning up here seemed a better option.’ Diane threw her sister a sheepish look. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask in the circumstances, but … please don’t make me beg.’

Mia walked back into the lounge at the same moment as Hannah’s mobile started to ring.

‘Sorry, you’ll have to excuse me,’ Hannah said, wondering whether her niece had overheard any of their discussion. ‘That’ll be a business call I’ve been waiting on. I need to take it.’ She slid the phone from its facedown position on the arm of the chair, knowing it was almost certainly Mark calling, and raced to the relative safety of the kitchen before answering.

‘Hi, love,’ she said, speaking quietly despite having shut the door.

‘Are you okay? I just got your message. Sorry, I was tied up in a meeting.’

Hannah brought her husband up to speed with what had happened so far.

‘The whole thing is totally weird, right?’ she said.

‘Definitely.’

‘So what do we do? Can they stay tonight or not?’

She heard the sound of Mark letting out a long sigh on the other end of the line. ‘It’s tricky, isn’t it, darling? Despite everything, they’re still family. And none of this is Mia’s fault. It’s hard for me to form a proper opinion without having seen them for myself. What’s your gut feeling? Do you think Diane’s here with good intentions or, I don’t know, that she’s up to something? How does she seem? Is she behaving strangely or—’

‘She’s like my sister, but older.’ Lowering her voice to little more than a whisper, Hannah went on: ‘She does look tired and anxious. Not chatty at all. There’s definitely something weighing on her mind. My guess is she needs our help in some way. Money, perhaps? That might explain why she wants to stay with us rather than in a hotel. You can see for yourself when you get home. Let’s wait until then and we’ll make a joint decision about them sleeping over. How long are you likely to be?’

‘I need to reply to a couple of emails and then I’ll head straight back. I’ll be home soon, I promise.’

‘Good. Please hurry. I’m running out of things to say.’

Luckily, Mark’s office was also located in the centre of Manchester, only a fifteen-minute walk from the apartment. True to his word, he returned home in around half an hour, although to a struggling Hannah it had felt like forever.

She’d almost resorted to turning on the television, although doing so in the presence of guests was one of her pet hates. Instead, she’d gone for an artificially extended trip to the bathroom before busying herself about the kitchen making another cup of tea for everyone.

‘There you are,’ she said, dashing to the front door as soon as she heard the key in the lock.

Mark was dressed in his usual work attire of a dark suit and open-necked shirt, his tan leather briefcase swinging from his left hand and his door key in the right. He looked as tall and handsome as always, his short but thick salt-and-pepper hair lightly ruffled, and a five o’clock shadow lining his square jaw. If anything, he’d got better looking with age. At forty-five, three years older than Hannah, he’d retained his slim and sporty physique, unlike some of his tubby contemporaries. But he’d done so in a natural rather than gym-crafted way, thanks to regular squash games and the odd run, combined with sensible eating and drinking.

Hannah had always been proud to call this dashing, intelligent and yet grounded man her husband. The fact he also had a good job as chief financial officer for a fast-expanding tech firm – well paid enough to enable her to pursue her literary ambitions – was the icing on the cake.

Now, with sibling rivalries suddenly back on the agenda, she recalled how she used to feel like she’d got one up on her sister by marrying such a catch. Looking at him standing before her in the hall today, she felt it again. Diane had Mia – but she had Mark.

In a loud voice meant for the ears of their guests, she asked: ‘Did you have a good day, love?’

‘Yes, thanks. It was fine.’

‘I have a surprise for you,’ she added, voice still raised. ‘We’ve got some unexpected guests. You’ll never guess who.’

Hannah really wished she didn’t feel the need to do this: to hide from Diane that she’d phoned for backup. But she did nonetheless, tumbling back into bad habits, because Diane had always been so independent and fearless, like she could single-handedly take on the world without breaking a sweat. And now – perhaps even more so than in the past – she absolutely did not want to look weak and needy in front of her sister.

‘Do we?’ Mark replied, his mouth going along with the ruse while his eyes begged to know what was really happening. ‘That sounds intriguing.’

CHAPTER 2

‘I think I’ll head to bed and read for a bit, Mum,’ Mia said after they’d finished eating. She looked across the dining table, first at Hannah and then Mark, adding: ‘Would it be all right for me to have a shower first?’

‘Of course,’ Hannah replied, even though the question hadn’t ultimately felt directed at her. ‘You know where the bathroom is. Help yourself to a towel from the pile in there and feel free to use whatever toiletries you need. The shower is pretty straightforward, but give me a shout if you need any help.’

She smiled at her niece, who pursed her lips and muttered, ‘Thanks,’ in response.

Mia still hadn’t shown much sign of coming out of her shell – at least not to Hannah. Mark, on the other hand, had had some success at getting the teenager to chat when he’d started asking her about what kinds of TV shows and films she liked. They’d both seen a lot of the Marvel superhero movies, apparently. Plus they shared an affection for this weird, nerdy cartoon about space, time travel and that kind of thing. Hannah had seen Mark watch it a few times and dismissed it as nonsense. She couldn’t remember what it was called, but it definitely wasn’t her cup of tea. Neither was the Marvel stuff, to be honest.

Her ears had pricked up, however, at Mia’s mention of reading. This was much more her field than Mark’s, who rarely found time to read anything but the paper these days. So before her niece disappeared from the dining room, she asked her what she was reading.

‘Oh, you wouldn’t have heard of it,’ Mia replied.

‘Try me,’ Hannah said, throwing Mark a glare designed to remind him not to say anything about the upcoming release of her own novel, which she’d warned him not to mention in front of Diane. It wasn’t something she was ready to share with her yet.

Mia let out a tiny, almost inaudible sigh. ‘Fine. It’s called Dust.’

‘Oh, you mean The Book of Dust by Philip Pullman?’

‘No. It’s called Dust.’

‘I see,’ Hannah replied, shaking her head. ‘You’re quite right, then. I don’t think I have heard of that. Who’s the author? Is it YA?’

Mia frowned. ‘He’s called Hugh Howey. It’s the third part of a post-apocalyptic sci-fi trilogy.’

‘She reads a lot,’ Diane explained after Mia had left the room. ‘She’s a proper bookworm, like you were at that age. A different kind of book, mind. She’s definitely not into the girly stuff. And it’s not only the arts that she does well in at school. She’s also really good at maths, computing and the sciences. She’s quite the all-rounder.’

‘Really?’ Mark said. ‘That’s interesting.’

Hannah said nothing. She knew the ‘girly stuff’ comment was a dig at the kinds of novels she used to tear through as a youngster: mainly love stories and classics by the likes of Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters, which Diane had regularly branded a waste of time. Such disparaging remarks were precisely the reason she didn’t want to mention her own book. Hannah was fiercely proud of her achievement; while a part of her wanted to boast about it, she also didn’t want to give her sister the chance to pooh-pooh it.

Diane had barely read at all as a child, so it was definitely interesting that Mia was a keen reader, especially with all the other distractions on offer these days.

Mark, obviously thinking along the same lines, continued: ‘I thought kids didn’t read books any more. That’s what you always hear in the news. They’re supposed to be permanently glued to their smartphones, right?’ He laughed, pulling his own phone out of his shirt pocket and giving it a little shake. ‘Just like the rest of us.’

‘Good point,’ Hannah added. ‘I haven’t seen Mia on a phone once. Doesn’t she have one?’

‘Oh, she has one all right,’ Diane replied. ‘She usually spends more than her fair share of time on it, believe me. She hasn’t today because I confiscated it.’

Hannah and Mark both looked at her expectantly after this, the implication being that she should elaborate, but no further explanation came.

Anyway, now Mia was on her way to bed – a move quite possibly pre-orchestrated by her mother – Hannah assumed the reason for their journey up north was soon to be revealed.

Part of her dreaded what was about to come. And yet, anticipating it would almost certainly involve Diane eating humble pie and asking for her help in some way, the competitive-sister streak in her was, in a warped way, slightly looking forward to it.

Deciding to let them stay the night had been similar. If Hannah was totally honest with herself, the fact that Diane had seemed so desperate – like she had no other option – had appealed to her sense of one-upmanship, as well as her compassion.

It was hard to feel anything approaching love or affection for Diane now when Hannah considered the awful state she’d been left in by her departure and the resulting loss of contact with her niece. Gradually, with a lot of patience and support from Mark, she’d learned to cope. She’d grown numb. Once warm emotions had run colder and colder until they’d frozen solid; she’d finally accepted the harsh reality that, for all manners and purposes, she no longer had a sister.

Except suddenly here she was again … dining and soon to be sleeping in her home.

How was Hannah supposed to deal with that? No wonder she felt so confused and conflicted.

‘Well, who wants some coffee?’ Mark asked, clapping his hands together as he stood up from the table.

‘Good idea,’ Hannah added, also getting to her feet and starting to clear the plates. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’ She looked at her sister as she added: ‘Then we can all sit down and have a good chat, right?’

Diane nodded, her face looking very pale all of a sudden. ‘Of course. But could I be awkward and ask for tea instead of coffee?’

‘No problem,’ Mark replied.

She also made a move to get up and help clear the dishes, but Hannah told her it wasn’t necessary. ‘You go and grab a seat in the lounge,’ she said, keen to have a few moments alone with her husband before the big discussion.

‘So what do you think she’s going to say?’ Hannah asked Mark a few minutes later. She spoke in a low voice but was glad of the noise of the kettle and coffee maker to ensure they weren’t overheard.

He shook his head. ‘I really have no idea. She’s played her cards very close to her chest so far. It could well be money she’s after, I suppose. What kind of car has she got?’

‘I’ve not got a clue. I didn’t ask. Why would I? And I didn’t see them arrive in it. I don’t even know where she’s left it. A nearby car park, I suppose, although that won’t be cheap.’

‘Didn’t she ask if we had a space?’

‘Yes, when she first arrived, but I explained it was taken up with our own car and we didn’t discuss it further. I was too shell-shocked by her arrival at that point to even think about it. What’s her car got to do with anything anyway?’

Digging out some chocolates from the cupboard to serve with the drinks, Mark replied: ‘I thought if it was a battered old thing, that might be an indicator of money issues. Never mind. Most people buy cars on credit anyway.’

‘And if she does ask us for cash? She can see we’ve got plenty to spare, based on the apartment. So do we help her out or not?’

‘She’s your sister, darling. What do you think?’

Hannah peered at the coffee machine but saw it wasn’t quite finished yet. ‘Well, my first reaction would be to say no. She can’t just waltz in here after everything that’s happened and pretend like we’re still close. I’d send her to Dad, although I guess she’s already tried him first—’

‘Whoa, slow down, Han. You’re making a lot of assumptions here. Why don’t we wait and see what she has to say? It may not be what we think at all. And we don’t have to say yes or no to anything straight away. We can say we need a little time to discuss it with each other and think it over.’

Hannah let out a sigh. ‘The problem is Mia. I wouldn’t want her to suffer in any way, even though she doesn’t seem to like me very much.’

Standing behind his wife, Mark reached around and encircled her waist with a strong arm, planting a tender kiss on her neck. ‘What do you mean? Why do you think she doesn’t like you? You barely know each other. She’s a teenager, that’s all. They’re supposed to be grumpy. It’s in the job description.’

Mia popped her head into the lounge to say goodnight as they were serving up the hot drinks.

‘Sorry, you don’t want a tea or coffee at all, do you?’ Hannah asked her, feeling bad for not offering earlier, even though she was keen to get on with their adults-only conversation.

‘No, she’s fine,’ Diane answered. ‘You’ve already brushed your teeth, haven’t you, love?’

Mia nodded.

‘Enjoy Dust,’ Hannah added, immediately wishing she hadn’t, for fear of sounding like she was trying too hard.

Mia nodded again and, before disappearing off to her room, whispered something to her mum.

‘No, not now,’ Diane replied. ‘You can have it back in the morning, like we discussed. And don’t go rooting through my stuff for it, because you won’t find it.’

Hannah realised they were talking about Mia’s confiscated mobile and, although she left without saying anything more, it was clear from the stamp of the teenager’s feet that she wasn’t happy with the outcome.

They’d put her and Diane together in the larger of their two spare bedrooms, which contained twin singles. There was also a double bed in the third room, but it wasn’t made up and Hannah hadn’t felt like making the extra effort to do it.

Once they heard the bedroom door shut, Mark walked over to the lounge door and shut that too, signalling it was time to get down to business – whatever that meant.

Hannah was really glad he was here. Mark was her rock and she wouldn’t have wanted to do this without him. It helped that he knew all the ins and outs of what had gone on between the two sisters, having witnessed first-hand the detrimental effect it had had on his wife.

Mark could see her sister for what she was: an adept manipulator, who knew exactly how to wrap unsuspecting people – particularly men – around her little finger. Not that she’d shown much sign of that skill so far today. But why would she in the company of people already wise to her tricks?

Hannah was actually surprised how accommodating Mark was being. He’d made it clear long before the sisters’ falling-out that he neither liked nor trusted Diane – and the way things had ended up, he’d been proved right. Not that he’d ever said so. He wasn’t that kind of man. As for what was going through his head right now, she couldn’t be sure. Hannah didn’t even know what she thought about this weird, uncomfortable situation. It all hinged on what her sister was about to say.

‘So,’ Mark said, sitting back down next to Hannah on the couch and pouring some milk into his coffee.

From the armchair opposite, Diane cleared her throat before finally beginning to talk.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to get to the point, but, as I mentioned earlier, I really wanted to wait for Mia to be out of the way. This isn’t a conversation for her ears.’

She paused to take a sip of her tea as the others watched in silence.

‘So you’re probably wondering what I’m doing here after all this time. You must think I have a right nerve turning up like this – I get that. But here I am anyway and, as you’ve probably guessed, I need to ask for your help.’

Diane stood up and walked over to the window. She stared out over the city and gave a dramatic sigh, leading Hannah and Mark to flash each other a confused sideways glance.

‘I’ve missed this place,’ she went on, continuing to gaze outside with her back to the others. ‘I didn’t think I would, but it’s true what they say: home is where the heart is. It’s been far too long …’

Diane paused again, running a hand through her short hair. Hannah could feel Mark getting edgy, his knee jumping up and down next to her. She was on the verge of saying something herself – telling Diane to stop messing around and get to the point – when her sister turned back to face them with tears running down her face.

Despite everything, seeing this instantly made Hannah want to jump up and give her a hug. It was instinctive, particularly because crying wasn’t something she’d witnessed Diane do many times as an adult. But Mark must have sensed what she was feeling; he pressed a firm hand on to her knee and whispered in the tiniest of voices: ‘Don’t.’

So she didn’t. She stayed put and told herself, even though her heart said otherwise, that they were probably crocodile tears. She waited for Diane to carry on, which, after taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes with one hand, she did.

‘So the reason I’ve come here isn’t to ask you to do something for me. Not directly anyway … It’s for Mia.’

These words sent Hannah’s mind racing, because they weren’t at all what she’d expected to hear. Maybe the visit wouldn’t turn out to be about money after all, she thought. Unless Diane wanted to enrol Mia in a private school or something and she needed help paying the fees. Was she being bullied perhaps? Gosh, it would be hard to say no if that was the case.

‘Would you like a tissue?’ Mark asked, as Diane’s emotions got the better of her again. He reached into a drawer under the coffee table, pulling out a box and handing it over.

‘Thank you,’ Diane replied, accepting it, then wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.’

Was this all for show? Hannah wondered. She knew what her sister was capable of, but this was very convincing. If it wasn’t for Mark’s hand, clamped back on her knee after getting the tissues, she’d have definitely got up to comfort her by now. ‘It’s okay, take your time,’ she said instead, not wanting to appear totally cold-hearted.

‘Right,’ Diane said, sitting back down after a long moment, placing a hand on each arm of the chair and slowly exhaling. ‘I can do this.’

Hannah wasn’t sure whether this was meant for herself or for them, but either way it appeared to work. Speaking slowly and steadily, her eyes darting between her two-strong audience and occasionally into the distance, Diane finally got to the point.

‘I’m in a big mess,’ she said. ‘As you can probably see. I’m afraid I’m not in a position to tell you why right now, for reasons that will become apparent later, but I’ve got some things I need to sort out: really important things. I can’t emphasise that enough.

‘Both of you must know deep down that I wouldn’t be here if that wasn’t the case. I mean, I could totally understand you thinking this to be some kind of bullshit, but it’s not. Honestly, from the bottom of my heart, it’s not. I’m backed into a corner and I’ve literally nowhere else to turn.

‘So what I’m here to ask you, to get to the point, is whether you could possibly look after Mia while I get this mess fixed. Above all else, I want her to be safe and, well, I can’t think of a safer place for her to be than here. I realise you hardly know her, or her you. I take full responsibility for that. But … you’re family.’

Diane continued talking, but Hannah didn’t listen to the rest. She was too busy trying to absorb what she’d just heard. It was almost an anticlimax after what she’d been expecting, and yet it was also huge.

Her long-lost sister was essentially begging them to take in her pride and joy: the child Hannah had always secretly envied her having; the niece she’d mourned the loss of; the teenager with whom she’d so far struggled to bond. Wow. She really hadn’t seen this coming.

It was actually flattering that Diane found this the safest place to leave her. But why here and not with their father or one of the friends she must have made during her time in self-imposed exile? And what was this trouble she’d got herself into that she couldn’t discuss?

‘You’re both very quiet,’ Diane said, pulling Hannah back into the moment. ‘What do you think?’

‘Um.’ She looked over at her husband. ‘I think it’s something we’ll need to discuss privately, right, Mark?’

He nodded. ‘Definitely. And I’m sure you have a few questions, Hannah, because I know I do. This has obviously come as quite a surprise.’

‘Sure,’ Hannah replied, her mind already a whirr of thoughts, examining the ins and outs of having her niece coming to holiday with them.

Although some of the practicalities were of concern, such as how she’d find a way to bond with Mia and whether it would affect her writing schedule, on balance she actually felt pretty excited about the idea.

Mark was staring at her, an expectant look upon his face, so she indicated that he should fire away with his own questions first.

‘Well,’ he said, appearing a bit thrown by this, ‘for a start I was wondering when you were thinking of. We were considering taking a couple of last-minute trips away this summer, so there’s that to bear in mind. Also, how long are we talking about: a few days; a week? Obviously, it would be nice to have some kind of idea about that.’

Mark cleared his throat. ‘And as for this mess you say you’ve got yourself into, it’s all very vague. It’s not going to result in any, er, problems landing at our door, is it?’ He blushed, hesitating before adding: ‘Um, don’t get me wrong, I’m not referring to Mia as a problem. What I mean is … I’m simply concerned one or both of you might be in some kind of danger.’

Mark nudged Hannah at this point – a gesture obviously meant as a request for her support. But all she could manage was to nod her head and say: ‘Yes, quite.’

Hannah wasn’t surprised by his questions. They were very practical and a far better reflection of his views on children than his successful chat with Mia earlier might have indicated. Clearly the idea of their niece staying alone with them for any amount of time concerned him. This was no surprise to Hannah. Mark wasn’t into kids. He’d been that way for as long as she’d known him. He wasn’t particularly interested in them and he’d never wanted one of his own.

To be fair, this was something he’d made clear to Hannah from an early stage in their relationship. At that point she had hoped to have a family one day and, naively perhaps, thought she’d eventually be able to persuade him otherwise. But as they’d got to know each other better and moved from dating to living together, with marriage becoming a possibility, Mark had re-emphasised that having children wasn’t something he ever wanted.

She still remembered what he’d said to her during one particularly intense conversation, which had proved to be a crossroads event in her life. She’d been twenty-four at the time. It was a frosty January night in Didsbury, south Manchester, where they’d been living then. They’d been out for dinner at an unremarkable Italian restaurant that no longer existed and, having shared a couple of bottles of red, their talk on the way home had turned serious.

‘You know how much I love you, don’t you?’ Mark had said, squeezing her hand through her leather glove.

‘Of course,’ she’d replied, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek. ‘Me too.’

‘Well, because of that I need to say something, before it’s too late.’

These words had made Hannah’s heart stand still. She’d felt a sudden sense of panic rise up in her chest. ‘That sounds scary,’ she’d replied in a small voice, fearing that Mark was about to break up with her.

‘Sorry. It’s about kids. It’s been on my mind for a while. I’ve told you already I don’t want to have them, but before we take things to the next level, I need you to understand that I absolutely mean it. It’s just … I don’t really get children and I don’t want to be responsible for bringing another life into this world. I’m one hundred per cent serious – and I’m afraid that’s never going to change.

‘The thing is, Han, that I know you would like a family. And because I love you so much, I can’t let you stay with me thinking I’ll be able to give you that. I won’t. So as much as it would break my heart to lose you, I’m giving you a get-out-of-jail-free card. I don’t want to be the one who stops you getting what you want out of life.’

The conversation had continued for a while, and much soul-searching on Hannah’s part had followed it. During this difficult period, she focused on the fact that she’d never felt anything close to the love she did for Mark for anyone else before. She simply couldn’t imagine a life without him, as her recent panic at the prospect of being dumped had demonstrated. Plus there were solid reasons for Mark’s standpoint, rooted in his past and a tragedy that had ripped his family apart. So ultimately Hannah had decided their relationship was worth the sacrifice.

A few days after she’d told him this, he proposed, and the following year they were married.

Since then, there had been a few private regrets along the way – particularly when, out of the blue and with no father on the scene, Diane had announced she was pregnant with Mia. However, for the most part, Hannah hadn’t looked back. She and Mark still had a wonderful relationship; they enjoyed the kind of varied, glamorous, spontaneous lifestyle that only a childless couple of their age could.

It was this her husband was keen to protect, she assumed, with his queries about the details of Diane’s request. But despite her antagonism towards her sister, Hannah was feeling increasingly excited at the prospect of Mia coming to stay. What could be the harm in it?

Diane was just about holding things together. In answer to Mark’s questions, after wiping her eyes again and then blowing her nose, she said: ‘I, um, was hoping you might be able to take Mia right away. It shouldn’t be too long until I get things sorted: hopefully only a few days. And, no, there’s no chance of any danger, as you put it, following us here. You’ve nothing to be concerned about.’

‘What about you?’ Hannah asked her. ‘Are you going to be all right?’

‘I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself, but please don’t push for any details because I can’t provide them. It’s better that you don’t know anyway.’

‘And Dad? Why did you come to us rather than him? Or did you try him first and we were second choice?’

‘Dad’s about to go away on a cruise around the Med. But even if he wasn’t, I couldn’t bear the idea of bloody Joan getting her claws into Mia. Believe it or not, you two were always first choice.’

Well, at least we still agree on something, Hannah thought. Joan was their father’s second wife, who’d appeared on the scene far too soon after their mother’s death for her liking. Hannah had always thought of Joan, who was nine years younger than sixty-seven-year-old Frank, as a gold-digger. And despite the fact they’d been together for a long time now, she’d never taken to her. Joan had been a widowed neighbour of her parents, who’d rather quickly turned into something else after Maggie’s death. Once she and Frank had got married, she’d convinced him to move to a village near Cambridge to be close to her family yet far from his northern roots. That said, he was at least living much closer to Diane and Mia in Bournemouth than he had been previously.

Hannah could understand why Diane wouldn’t want Joan manipulating her daughter like she had their father, who was a different man now than he had been with their mother. He was henpecked, basically, living the life she wanted him to lead and never daring to contradict her.

After a few more quickfire questions and answers, Diane said she’d give them some time alone to discuss the situation and followed Mia off to bed.

‘So,’ Hannah said to Mark once it was just the two of them in the lounge, ‘what do you think?’