Darja walks in then with an elderly woman who’s wearing a beautiful cornflower-blue dress. She looks like Darja with dark hair in a bun, blue eyes. Becky also notices her hands are gnarled and she flinches every now and again, as though in pain.
‘Ah, this is the British girl,’ the elderly woman says.
‘This is my mother,’ Darja explains. ‘She lives with us.’
‘Yes, my darling girl looks after me,’ the old lady says, smiling up at her daughter.
Guilt floods through Becky as she thinks of her mum suffering in silence all those months. If Becky had known, would she have given up everything to care for her, despite their estrangement?
Yes, of course she would have.
More laughter echoes out from above. Darja smiles. ‘They’re very excited.’
‘I bet they are,’ Becky says. ‘How long before they need to leave?’
‘Jurij should be here soon,’ Darja says, peering at the clock nervously.
Becky frowns. ‘Jurij?’
‘The groom,’ Darja’s mother explains.
Becky raises an eyebrow. ‘The groom taking the bride to the ceremony? That’s certainly different from how we do it in the UK.’
Darja laughs. ‘There are lot of things that are different here! He’ll have quite a journey on the way. His friends will have set up a wooden obstacle for him in the road. He will need to pay them to get through, or he will have to saw through it. Knowing Jurij, he will choose the latter so we may be waiting some time!’
‘Is that a tradition?’ Becky asks.
‘Yes. It’s died out but Alenka and Jurij like their traditions. You know they’re going to live in a cabin in the woods after this?’
Becky smiles. ‘Sounds perfect.’
The old woman’s face darkens. ‘Those two young girls still have romantic notions left over from their time in the cave. Can you imagine taking your children to live in a cave?’
Darja rolls her eyes. ‘Not now, Mati.’
A car beeps outside. Darja helps the frail woman up and they all walk into the hallway to see a pretty girl wearing a wispy green dress, her dark hair up.
‘This is my oldest daughter, Branka,’ Darja says.
Branka goes to Becky and kisses her on both cheeks. ‘I love that you are here. I will speak English perfect after. And my sister Alenka is so excited you are here too.’
‘I feel a bit bad imposing on your sister’s special day,’ Becky says.
‘Don’t be silly!’ Branka says. ‘We are all Daughters of the Current.’
Darja’s mother shakes her head vehemently. ‘Nonsense.’
Becky smiles. She likes this old woman.
Branka turns to her grandmother. ‘Come on, Babica! It is your turn!’
Darja and Branka lead the woman towards the door as Becky watches them all with fascination. What were they planning? Behind her, she hears a giggle. She turns to see a tall woman in her twenties peeking around the corner, wearing a beautiful dress made from white silk and chiffon. That must be Alenka, the bride. She’s so beautiful, so young and giddy with excitement in her stunning dress.
Becky thinks of her own parents’ wedding day. She’d seen the photos and had re-examined them after her mum left, trying to detect the sadness in her eyes and the answers to why it fell apart after all those years. But then her mum had always been an expert at concealing her emotions so she looked just like any other beautiful beaming bride. If Becky had been there though, would she have sensed the unhappiness and frustration boiling beneath the surface as she had in those later years?
As she thinks that, the bride winks at Becky then puts her finger to her mouth before moving out of sight, a huge smile on her face. No faking there, Becky thinks.
Becky turns back to the front door as two young men enter wearing suits. In their hands are a veil, a bouquet of roses and long white shawl. They hand the items to Darja and Branka, who quickly dress Darja’s mother up in it all. Then a tall man with a deep tan and muscular arms walks in. The groom? He smiles knowingly as he looks at Darja’s mother then says something in Slovenian.
‘He’s saying his bride looks beautiful,’ Branka explains for Becky, gesturing to her grandmother and winking. ‘They’re trying to trick him into thinking Babica is the bride.’
The groom leans over, going in to kiss his ‘bride’. Then he hesitates, saying something in Slovenian.
‘Oh no, he has guessed!’ Branka declares in a whisper. ‘Now his friends will demand payment so he can see the real bride.’
Money is exchanged and the groom is finally led towards the real bride. When Alenka steps out, her groom stops dead, eyes widening. She bites her lip shyly as her sister leads her towards him. Becky notices the tears in Branka’s eyes, the way she looks at her younger sister with such love and pride. She thinks of Solar. Is she married? And if so, had she wished her sister had been there to witness her exchanging of vows? Did she even know she had a sister?
Becky feels a sudden stab of anger at her mum. If Solar was married, she’d denied Becky the opportunity to be there at her little’s sister wedding, as Branka was about to be at her sister’s wedding. Or was it really her mum’s fault? Idris had taken Solar after all, or so her mum had told her. But then her mum was a master of lies and deceit like the game played out at this very wedding.
She feels guilty thinking that and suppresses a frustrated scream. There are so many confusing emotions when it comes to her mum. She suddenly yearns for her dad’s calm. Everything is simple with him.
As the others fuss over getting the bride into the car, Becky slips away, making a quick call.
Her dad picks up instantly. ‘Everything okay, love?’ he asks.
‘Just needed to hear your voice.’
‘Is everything okay, Becky?’ he asks again, voice filled with worry.
‘Of course. I just – I guess I’m feeling a little lonely out here, that’s all.’
‘Well, I’m here now, aren’t I? Not physically but you can hear my old voice. Any luck?’
‘Not yet. But I’m hoping to chat to someone else who lived in the caves. I’ll keep you posted.’
There’s laughter in the background.
‘Where on earth are you?’ her dad asks.
‘I’m at a wedding. The bride and her sister are rather excited.’
Her dad is quiet.
‘Dad?’ Becky asks.
‘I imagine you’re thinking about what it would be like to see your own sister get married?’ he asks.
Becky smiles. ‘You know me so well, Dad.’
‘Maybe you’ll get a chance, Becky. Or maybe she’ll get a chance to see you married.’
She sighs. ‘I have to find her first.’
‘You sound tired.’
‘I am. I really need to get some new information soon otherwise I’m coming home.’
‘Maybe that’s a good idea anyway, Becky. You’ve tried so hard, visited two countries! If the trail runs cold, it runs cold. You can look back and say you did all you could. And I can look back and think how proud I am you tried.’
Becky nods. ‘You’re right.’
But as she looks towards the giggling sisters, Branka trying her best to shove her sister’s wedding dress into the small car, she longs more than ever to find her own sister.
A few hours later, Becky finds herself surrounded by well-dressed Slovenian wedding guests in the gardens of the pretty hotel where the wedding is being held. She looks down at her wrap dress again. She feels even more out of place now. She’d felt the same watching the ceremony. It was beautiful, the love between the bride and groom obvious. But it had made her suddenly yearn for the same, not just for the romance of it, but the companionship.
Becky takes a sip of her wine, peering at her watch. She’s desperate to talk to Caden, see if he knows where Solar might be. But there are so many men here, how will she know which one he is? The bride strolls over then, cheeks flushed from champagne.
‘Congratulation
s,’ Becky says. ‘You really look stunning. I hope you don’t mind me gatecrashing.’
‘Hardly gatecrashing!’ Alenka says, touching Becky’s arm. ‘Your sister and I were very close when we were little.’
‘What was she like?’
Alenka’s face lights up. ‘Yes, she was such fun. I was only six but I still remember how wild she was!’
‘Wild?’
‘Yes! There was a lot of freedom for us as children when we lived in the caves.’ She frowns slightly. ‘But there were still dangers, lots of chances to get lost, to fall, to eat something we shouldn’t. Our parents kept a close eye on us. But Idris was always too busy, too wrapped up in what he was trying to achieve to truly watch Solar. She even slept out on the mountains alone one night when it was particularly warm, can you imagine? At six!’
Becky matches her frown. ‘That’s not good,’ she says, feeling protective over the sister she’s never met.
Alenka sighs. ‘Yes, not good. Mother tried to keep an eye on her, but it was out of her control when Idris eventually left with Solar. It took her a while to get over that. Not just the fact Idris was gone, but also how worried she was for the child, especially when I told her about the strange pictures Solar used to draw.’
‘What pictures?’
Alenka takes a gulp of her champagne, shaking her head. ‘Picture after picture of an evil-looking person, like a witch or wizard with jagged teeth. She used to tell me it was the person with the evil eyes who was trying to get all of us. It gave me nightmares! Of course, Mother told me it was nonsense but then we all knew Idris was running from someone. Maybe there really was an evil person?’
Becky thinks of the painting she saw the day before. Who was this person Idris was running from?
‘Caden!’ Alenka suddenly calls out.
Becky follows her gaze to see a short slim man with a dark beard wearing a trendy brown suit approaching.
‘Come,’ Alenka says, beckoning Caden over. He pulls a chair out and joins them, smiling at Becky. ‘This is the woman I was telling you about, Caden,’ Alenka explains as she stands up. ‘Can I leave you both to it? I have about ten million guests to greet!’
‘Of course!’ Becky says.
Caden puts his hand out to Becky as Alenka walks off. ‘Good to meet you. I liked your mum, very much. I was sorry to hear she passed away.’
‘Thank you. I’ve still not quite got over it,’ Becky says.
‘Of course you haven’t. It has only been a matter of weeks.’
They’re silent for a few moments then Becky remembers why she’s here. ‘Darja tells me you lived in the caves here too for a while?’
He nods. ‘It feels like such a long time ago now. I liked Spain best – it was like a permanent holiday. Lots of Sangria and pretty Spanish girls.’ Becky raises an eyebrow and he laughs. ‘But those days are long behind me. I have three kids now! I’m pleased I got it out of my system though, was a good way to cure heartache.’
‘You had your heart broken?’
He sighs. ‘Yeah, by a girl called Oceane. She lived at the caves too, with her mum, Donna. I went to school with her, followed her there. She left the group before we went to Spain, and I’ve not heard from her since. It’s such a shame as she would have loved Spain. Not here though,’ he adds with a frown. ‘There was just a different vibe here. Everyone was less carefree, Idris was on edge. I was starting to realise how much I’d missed out on.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like university.’
‘You’ve done pretty well for myself.’
‘I was able to catch up after I returned to the UK when Idris and Solar left. Thank God for the Open University. I did a history degree there part-time while I worked at a museum, I wouldn’t have been able to get my current job without it. For all of the fun that came with living in caves, it’s not very practical for studying. And I’ve always had a curious mind.’
Becky wonders what it would have been like if she’d lived in the cave with her mum. Would she have become a vet? But then she’d come to that late, like Caden. Maybe she would have.
‘Darja said Idris left without a word,’ she says.
Caden nods. ‘I remember the morning we woke to find them gone very well,’ he says with a sigh. ‘Donna in particular was devastated. She and Idris were very close. We haven’t seen nor heard from him since.’ Caden takes a sip of his wine.
‘I only got a chance to chat to Darja briefly but she said she asked you to try to track Idris down?’
‘That’s right. No luck with him but I found some information about Solar.’ He places his glass on the table and pulls a print-out from his pocket, handing it to Becky. She unfolds it to find it’s an article in Russian, dated March 2015. With it is a photo of a young woman holding up a trophy, smiling. Beneath it, among all the Russian words, Becky sees a familiar word: Solar.
‘Not a very Russian name,’ Caden says. ‘I stumbled upon it when searching for caves around the world. I knew Idris had a penchant for them, thought it feasible he’d head to one. I remembered him talking about how he was fed up of dry caves and yearned for ice.’ His brow creases. ‘Something about wanting to recreate the atmosphere from a book he read once, snow and forests.’
‘My mum’s book.’ Though I hadn’t read any of them, I knew what they were about. My mum would often talk of her works-in-progress when we met up during the years we were in contact. It was one of the only subjects she seemed comfortable talking about when we were together. It was like she thought her writing connected us somehow, when instead I saw it as the thing that had driven her to leave me to go and live in a cave.
Caden nods. ‘Ah. Of course. Anyway, among those caves was the Kungar Ice Caves in Russia. I came across this article when doing a search for the caves plus the keywords British artist. Solar, but no mention of Idris.’
Becky scrutinises the photo. She’s light-haired, pretty … looks happy. ‘Do you know what the article says?’
‘I got it translated,’ Caden replies. ‘Solar won an award for an art piece she did. It says she’s British and lives near the caves with her Russian husband. Another interesting thing. It said in the article she was inspired by the Kungar Ice Caves, where she spent a lot of her time.’
‘You think she and Idris lived there?’
Caden smiles. ‘That’s the other thing I found.’
He hands another print-out to her. It’s Idris’s signature painting: a menacing black and white face. ‘This is from an online photo a caver took in one of the off-bounds caverns.’
Becky thinks of a young Solar being alone in that ice cave with Idris, fearful of whoever it was he was running from. Becky looks at the photo again. She seemed happy now though, settled with her husband, not scared.
Becky’s heart starts thumping against her chest. ‘The article about her was from three years ago. Do you think she still lives in Russia, in the same area?’
‘No idea,’ Caden replies. ‘I tried to track her down as it’s a pretty distinctive name, but the trail ran cold. Maybe she’s moved since then?’
Should Becky go to Russia? Or was it one step too far? How long could this goose chase continue? And anyway, maybe Solar didn’t want some woman turning up insisting she was her sister?
Or maybe she’d love it.
There was only one way to find out.
Becky takes a deep determined breath. ‘Looks like I’m going to Russia.’
Caden frowns. ‘You’ll fly out there?’
‘I have to. I don’t want to regret not trying everything. Even if I go visit the cave she lived in as a child, I can feel like I’m close to her.’ She shakes her head. ‘God, I sound sentimental.’
‘No, I get it. I have a sister. You can’t escape the bond, even when you hardly see them. Having said that,’ he adds with a frown, ‘if you want to visit the cavern where Idris’s painting was found, you might struggle. It was found in one of the caverns not open to the public. You won’t get in without someone
who works there.’
Becky thinks about it. ‘Or a caver?’
Caden shrugs. ‘That might work.’
She smiles. ‘I know just the person.’
Chapter Twenty
Selma
Kent, UK
5 August 1991
A few days after receiving the order from Mike, I found myself walking into a small courtroom. It felt alien to me after my time in the cave. It was so bland in comparison, so lifeless. Mike too, in his grey suit: loose because he’d lost weight. It gave me a hint of guilt to see him like that, but then I remembered how it felt to have that cold stark emergency residency order handed over to me. He wasn’t even giving me a chance to share equal time with our daughter. He wanted her all to himself, citing concerns I might whisk her away. I was still kicking myself about that stupid threat I’d made about him not being able to watch Becky all the time. No doubt he’d latched onto that and thought I’d kidnap her. My own daughter!
Mike’s solicitor glanced up as I walked past. I recognised him as one of Mike’s football buddies. His eyes widened as he took me in. I looked down at myself. Had I really changed that much in just a couple of weeks? I took in the brownness of my wrists against the white of my blouse, felt the length of my dark hair against my bare arms. The blouse felt itchy against my skin, it seemed so long since I was out of summer dresses. But I’d left my hair down, something I wouldn’t have done normally if going to court.
Looser hair. Darker skin. A deeper happiness? Despite that awful morning when I received the order from Mike, the past two weeks had been relatively calm. Idris had convinced me there wasn’t much I could do and he was right. So I’d thrown myself into writing, writing almost a third of the novel in just two weeks! It gave me a thrill just thinking about it as I stood in that courtroom. I knew it was special and then Mike wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if I got a big book deal!
The Lost Sister Page 19
