Sister to Sister

by Olivia Hayfield

  ‘Them again,’ said Eliza, going back to Kit.

  He held out his phone. ‘Now read this.’

  She spoke out loud:

  ‘Legend has it that Elizabeth picnicked near the tree. Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, Elizabeth’s mother, were also supposed to have danced around this tree during their courting days. This carefree scene didn’t last long – Henry had Anne arrested for high treason and beheaded three years after their marriage.’

  Eliza looked across at the tree again, and experienced something profoundly odd. It was as if the world stopped turning. As if time had ground to a halt. All background sound fell silent, and there was a stillness, a deep awareness, a connection. Some sort of . . . loop.

  Then the Earth began to turn again, and its hum came back.

  ‘You got that too?’ said Kit.

  ‘I did. What was it? Ancient oaks?’

  ‘A bit more than that.’

  ‘Our last night at Oxford. The magic.’

  Kit lay back down and closed his eyes. ‘The universe is full of magical things,’ he said, ‘waiting patiently for our wits to grow sharper.’

  ‘I should probably turn my phone back on,’ said Eliza, as the taxi neared Southwark. She unzipped her waist pouch.

  ‘Leave it,’ said Kit. ‘We’ll go into the office. You can catch up there.’

  ‘Right,’ she said, zipping it back up again. ‘Or we could just run away, like I said?’

  ‘Let’s walk the last bit.’ Kit tapped on the partition. ‘Here’s good.’

  They dawdled along Bankside, the pretty turquoise arches of Southwark Bridge ahead of them.

  As they neared The Rose, Kit took her arm and stopped her. ‘Eliza . . . ’ He seemed to be searching for words. Not something he usually had a problem with.

  She pre-empted him with a hug. ‘Kit, thanks so much for today. It was just what I needed.’ But when she went to let him go, his arms only tightened around her.

  ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘Look . . . if you need me, I’m always here. Day or night.’

  ‘I know.’ She pulled back and looked into his eyes. The intensity in them sent a chill through her. ‘What is it, Kit? What’s going on?’

  ‘Honestly? I’m not sure. But I don’t think it’s good.’

  Chapter 42

  Eliza

  ‘Eliza, thank god!’ said Pippa, shooting to her feet. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you – I was about to come over to your flat.’

  Eliza’s stomach twisted as she read Pippa’s expression: I don’t know how to tell you this.

  She touched Eliza’s arm. ‘Clare’s been phoning. It’s Harry. I’m afraid . . . he’s had a heart attack. He’s alive—’ she said quickly, as Eliza’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘He’s in hospital. It was serious, but she says he’s stable now.’

  Eliza’s knees buckled and she sat down heavily on Pippa’s desk. ‘No. Oh my god. He’s stable? You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes. He’s in Hammersmith. I’ll call you a cab. But let’s get you a cup of tea first, you’ve had a horrible shock.’

  Eliza squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe deeply. Dad. An abyss was opening; she was trying not to fall in.

  Pippa returned with tea, and Eliza’s hand shook as she took it.

  ‘Take your time, Eliza. I’ll call a cab when you’re ready.’

  While I was playing hooky, Dad was having a heart attack. What if he dies? What if I’m too late?

  ‘Now,’ said Eliza. ‘Get the cab now.’ She put down the tea and ran for the lift.

  As she waited, anxiously scanning the road, she messaged Kit.

  ELIZA: Dads had heart attack. Hes stable On my way to hospital.

  KIT: Shit. Want me to come?

  ELIZA: Taxi here will be in touch

  KIT: Stay strong xx

  As soon as she was in the cab, she called Clare. ‘It’s Eliza.’

  ‘Thank god. Pippa told you? He’s stable, Eliza. He’s had surgery; he’s still unconscious. Are you on your way?’

  ‘In a taxi. I’m so sorry; my phone’s been off all day. I’ll explain later.’

  ‘Pippa said you were ill. Just get here as soon as you can.’

  It was the longest half-hour of Eliza’s life, as the taxi crawled through the late-afternoon traffic. At last she was rushing through the hospital corridors following the signs to the ICU. A nurse showed her into a room, where Clare and Eddie were sitting by a bed in which lay Harry, tubes extending from his mouth and nose, more tubes and wires taped to his hands, arms and torso.

  He looked so fragile, so dependent. Devoid of his vitality; there was no essence of Harry. He was like a shell. Only the beeping of the machines gave any indication he was still alive.

  Eddie stood up and hugged her, and she was comforted by his warmth. Suddenly he was as tall as Eliza. Eddie, her little brother, was nearly sixteen, and all grown up.

  ‘He’s going to be fine,’ he said. ‘They’ve already done an angioplasty and the surgeon said he’s doing great.’

  She wiped away a tear. ‘Really?’

  ‘He might need another op,’ said Clare, ‘but he’s out of danger.’

  Eliza let out a long breath. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t ill. I took a day off and switched off my phone. What appalling timing.’

  ‘Not at all, darling. I said you needed a break.’

  Eliza sat by the bed and looked properly at Harry, trying to ignore the tubes. ‘Hi, Dad,’ she said softly, holding his hand, taking care not to touch the drip inserted beneath his skin.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked, keeping her eyes on Harry.

  ‘He was at home,’ said Eddie. ‘John Studley was visiting. They were about to go see about joining a golf club.’

  Eliza couldn’t help smiling, as she remembered Harry asking John if they were old enough for golf yet, back in Sydney.

  ‘They stabilized him in the ambulance, but the cardiologist says his heart’s in a bad way. Looks like he’ll need a bypass.’

  This was worrying news, but Eddie’s tone was calm, reassuring. He was going to make a great doctor.

  A nurse came in to check the monitors. ‘Hello there,’ she said. ‘I’m sure your father’s going to be just fine. He’s in the best hands.’

  ‘Will he wake up soon?’ asked Eliza.

  ‘Possibly. But he’s heavily sedated, so if he does you might not get much sense out of him.’

  Harry

  Harry became aware of low voices in the room. He wished they’d be quiet, so he could go back to sleep.

  Why were there people talking in his bedroom?

  Was there a morning coffee on his bedside table?

  Ouch.

  Something was hurting.

  He attempted to open his eyes. Nothing happened.

  He gave up, and his mind slipped away again.

  When it came back, he managed to open his eyes.

  Ana?

  Seated beside his bed, the love of his life was gazing at him with those once-seen-never-forgotten dark eyes.

  ‘Ana,’ he murmured. ‘You came back.’

  ‘Dad!’ she said, leaning over him. ‘Oh god, he thinks I’m Mum.’

  ‘Shh,’ said another female voice. ‘Let him come to.’

  Clare.

  ‘Harry,’ said Clare, touching his hand. ‘It’s me, Clare. And Eliza’s here, and Eddie. You’re in hospital, but you’re going to be fine.’

  Eliza. Eddie.

  He blinked a few times, then his mind came into focus.

  He managed a smile. ‘Hello, Nurse Clare.’

  His eyes moved to Eliza. ‘Not Ana – Lizzie.’

  She burst into tears.

  ‘Hey, none of that. I . . . Sorry, rather tired.’ He closed his eyes again.

  ‘Come here, sweetheart,’ he heard Clare say. ‘Everything’s going to be all right.’

  ‘Oh, Clare,’ his daughter sobbed. ‘What would we do without him?’

  ‘We won’t be finding that out.
We won’t let that happen.’

  Eliza

  Harry’s recovery progressed well, and he was moved from the ICU onto the cardiac ward. He was impatient to be home; he hated being bedridden and helpless. Clare, Eddie and Eliza took that as a good sign.

  ‘I remember nursing him after his car crash,’ said Clare, as they drove to the hospital. Eliza was staying at Richmond, working from home in the mornings and visiting Harry in the afternoons. ‘He was always chirpy, even though he was in a lot of pain. His skills as a patient seem to have gone downhill.’

  ‘Probably because he’s not trying to impress the pretty nurse,’ said Eliza.

  Eddie chuckled.

  ‘You could have a point,’ said Clare. ‘Gosh, I fell in love with him right there and then. But he was married to your mum, of course, Eliza. I remember her coming in. Yours too, Eddie. Janette would visit during the afternoons to . . . go through his paperwork.’

  ‘You met my mum?’ said Eliza.

  ‘Oh yes. And you! She brought you in once. You were fascinated by the contraption his injured leg was in. After that she came by herself. She was certainly a beautiful woman.’

  ‘Did you talk to her?’

  ‘Not properly. I remember finding her quite frosty. Sorry, Eliza, that’s rather rude of me.’

  ‘It’s fine, I’ve heard people say that before. I can’t relate – all I remember is smiles, cuddles, lots of fun. It was probably because she’d just lost a baby. That was the beginning of the end of their marriage.’

  The colour was back in Harry’s cheeks. The cardiac surgeon had apparently said he’d be able to have his bypass within the week.

  ‘I need a private word with Eliza,’ said Harry. ‘Clare, Eddie, why don’t you go get a drink in the cafe?’

  ‘The coffee’s terrible,’ said Eddie.

  Eliza smiled. The men in her life and their coffee.

  ‘Live dangerously. I need a word with my girl.’

  ‘What’s up, Dad?’ Eliza shifted her chair closer.

  ‘Lizzie. This bypass.’

  ‘You’ll be fine. You’ll be aceing us on the tennis court again in no time.’

  ‘Heart surgery, eh? It got broken too often – I’m surprised it’s still repairable.’

  Eliza rolled her eyes. ‘Really, Dad? From what I’ve heard, you were the heartbreaker, not the breakee.’

  He laughed, then his expression turned serious. ‘Look, Sweet Pea. I know we don’t like to think these thoughts, but I need you to promise me something, in case . . . Well, in case I don’t make it.’

  Her heart skipped a beat. ‘Of course you’re going to make it – you’re only fifty-eight!’

  ‘But if I don’t. You remember our conversation, the . . . experience I had before.’

  ‘When you were shot?’ He meant the near-death thing.

  ‘This is my third brush with death. I’m not sure I can cheat it again. It’s been shadowing me for years.’

  ‘Dad—’ Her voice caught, and she glimpsed the abyss again.

  ‘Let me say my piece. I have a loose end that needs tying off. My soul, my spirit – whatever was outside of my body, if it wasn’t my brain playing tricks . . . I have this feeling, a gut instinct, that it won’t rest until I close the circle on your mother’s death.’

  This was a conversation Eliza didn’t want to have. Not now. She wished she could show it the door and tell it to come back in twenty, thirty years.

  But as he waited for her response, Harry’s expression told her it was finally time.

  ‘Mum’s death wasn’t your fault, though. You said Andre did it without your knowledge.’

  ‘And there he is, living his life large. I see him, from time to time. Always slaps my back, still thinks he did me a favour. And I let him get away with it, because I was afraid of what would come out. That he’d implicate me. He’s a powerful man without scruples. I knew if I ever sought retribution, he’d take me down. Terri wanted to try, but I stopped her.’

  Eliza thought back to the time she’d found a file of papers to do with her mother’s death. She’d been eighteen, working in Terri’s office. Terri had shared her suspicions about Andre, but had explained it was impossible to prove.

  ‘I know she looked into it.’

  ‘Bring her in to see me. I want her to expose Sokolov in The Rack, with your help. Then the police will have to reopen the investigation. He needs to pay for Ana’s death. Do it for your mum and for me. Promise me, Lizzie.’

  He waited, his blue eyes intense.

  She’d do anything for him. Anything. But she couldn’t bring herself to think about the scenario he was describing.

  ‘Dad, we don’t need to be having this conversation. You’re going to make it. It’s a straightforward op, right?’

  ‘There are risks. I need to know Andre will be called to account. Bring Terri tomorrow.’

  Eliza was FaceTiming Rob in the evenings, keeping him up to date. Tonight he seemed distracted.

  ‘How’s Harry now?’ he asked, looking away from the screen.

  ‘Looking better every day.’

  ‘Good. That’s good. And you – are you doing OK?’

  ‘I’m fine. Dad was being a bit maudlin today. Doing last-wish stuff, just in case. I guess that’s understandable – he’s had a couple of brushes with death before.’

  ‘Right.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘And . . . is everything OK with you, Rob?’

  ‘Fine. We have the final three for the male lead. I can send you links to the screen tests, if you like? Will’s been involved, of course, as director.’ Will was directing Dark Soul, while Kit worked with the RoseGold team on future projects. ‘You probably know, he’s coming over to meet the three actors.’

  ‘Yes, please do send the links. And run them past Kit too. No one gets the part without his say-so.’

  Rob frowned. ‘I suppose I could.’

  ‘You have been keeping Kit in the loop?’

  ‘Hm, generally the writers don’t have a lot of say.’

  ‘Rob – it’s Kit’s story. You must get his agreement.’

  He sat back in his chair, swivelling it from side to side. ‘There will be some changes to the script. Some of it’s too out there.’

  ‘We approved the rewrites a while ago.’

  He looked away from the camera, and started scribbling something on a pad of paper. ‘Yes, but . . . our distributor. Some of the content, it’s too near the mark for US audiences. You have to remember, religion’s more of a big thing here.’

  ‘Well, that’s kind of the point. Kit’s your full-on atheist. He believes religion gives bad people the opportunity to do their thing while hiding behind dogma.’

  I shouldn’t need to explain this!

  He was still swivelling. It was annoying.

  He stopped writing and twiddled the pen between his fingers, clicking the end in and out. ‘We have to tread a fine line.’ His voice was nonchalant as he looked into the camera again. ‘We’re putting a local writer on it.’

  A wave of anger hit, whipped into a tsunami by the anxiety of the past few days. ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘Look, Eliza. It’s how it works. It’s a co-production. Once Kit finished those rewrites, it became our intellectual property.’

  ‘Rob! I won’t have the US team watering down Kit’s script!’

  ‘Calm down. You’re obviously under a lot of stress. That’s understandable.’

  His patronising tone wasn’t helping.

  ‘Just leave things to us for a while,’ he said. ‘You can get back into it when Harry’s all better.’

  This was surely about more than Kit’s words.

  ‘When you’ve completely mangled Kit’s script, you mean?’

  ‘It’s not Kit’s, it’s RoseGold’s.’

  She took some deep breaths, reminding herself that anger solved nothing.

  Be professional.

  ‘Look, Rob. The reason Most Human did well . . . that was down
to Will and Kit. Their vision, their passion, their brilliance. Don’t mess with Dark Soul. Kit already toned it down. Tell the US guys to back off, OK? I’m going to take a stand on this.’

  Rob stopped clicking his pen. ‘I’m well aware of where your loyalties lie. I fully appreciate how important Kit is to you. But perhaps your relationship is clouding your judgement? I’m aiming for this series to be huge, not niche. We have to think commercial. We missed out on the BAFTA because a lot of it went over the audiences’ heads. When you’re making deals, it’s all about bums on seats. You’ve got to be more objective, Lizzie. And more hands-off.’

  His words stung, and her anger gave way to hurt. She was all at once aware of a distance between them that wasn’t all physical.

  Suddenly she felt exhausted. ‘Rob . . . please. Let’s not argue? I’ve had the worst week. I wish you were here. I could use a hug. I don’t suppose . . . ’

  His expression softened. ‘I can’t, Lizzie. I’m sorry. Another couple of weeks, I reckon, then I can come back.’

  ‘So – a heart attack, Harry?’ said Terri, sitting down beside his bed. ‘Fuck’s sake.’

  ‘Never fear, Terri. Still it lingers on, beating ever more faintly, counting down the seconds to oblivion.’

  ‘Oblivion is not a place I’ve ever pictured you,’ said Terri. ‘Even beyond death.’

  ‘Can we just stop with the death and oblivion?’ said Eliza, sitting on his other side. ‘Dad, tell her why you wanted to see her.’

  ‘Right. Yes. It’s about Ana.’

  ‘Oh.’ Terri took a deep breath and met Harry’s eye.

  Eliza didn’t understand the look that passed between them.

  ‘I think,’ he said, ‘when I explain what I want you to do, you’ll be on side.’

  ‘Tell me this isn’t about Sokolov,’ said Terri.

  ‘One step ahead, as always.’

  ‘You warned me off before. What’s changed?’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting to die, that time.’

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘This is what I want you two to do,’ he said, sitting up straighter. ‘First and foremost, remember that Andre is a man without a moral compass. He’s extremely dangerous, with contacts everywhere. Anything and everything you do must remain below the radar. Only you two and Charles can know what’s going on.’