My Sister’s Secret

by Tracy Buchanan

  ‘Faith?’ he shouted out. There was a slight hint of panic in his voice. That had worried Charity. Her father was so calm, not easily ruffled.

  ‘What’s going on, Tony?’ her mother had asked, appearing from her room.

  ‘Get Faith, wake her up.’

  Charity opened the door then, saw Hope doing the same. They exchanged a look then watched as their mother knocked on the door to Faith’s attic room.

  ‘Darling?’ she asked, voice trembling.

  Nothing.

  ‘Faith, it’s Mummy.’

  ‘Oh, Mother, honestly,’ Hope had said, pushing in front of her mother and opening the door, her usual bolshie self. But then she’d gone very quiet. ‘She’s not here.’

  Her mother had run downstairs and the two sisters leant over the banister, watching as two police officers followed their parents through into the living room. Charity learnt later they’d found Faith’s student card in the pocket of a woman’s body they’d found near the main road out of Busby-On-Sea and had come straight to the house. A few minutes later, Charity heard her father’s low desperate moan.

  Charity felt as though the world was tilting. Her father never cried. She’d grabbed Hope’s hand and they waited quietly as the police officers left. When their parents came to them, Charity could tell from the looks on their faces something dreadful had happened. She’d run into her room and buried her face into the pillow, unable to face it. It had been Hope who’d eventually said the words.

  ‘Faith died,’ Hope said into the darkness, her voice close to Charity’s ear. ‘We’ve lost her. It’s just the two of us now.’ Then she’d felt her sister’s tears on her cheeks, mingling with her own. The grief had been astounding, making her head swim, her breath come short. She saw her sister in a quick succession of images: by the sea, hair sweeping out behind her; tucked up beside Charity in bed, reading stories to her; at Christmas, the three sisters sipping hot chocolate around the tree.

  All gone.

  The last item in the box was an article she’d kept, reporting Niall’s sentence.

  LOCAL MAN JAILED OVER HIT AND RUN FATALITY.

  Eighteen-year-old local Niall Lane has been sentenced to two years for causing death by dangerous driving. He was seen driving from the scene by a witness after knocking over nineteen-year-old Faith Winchester on Ashcroft Road in the early hours of 21st March this year. The witness found the victim at the bottom of the steep verge sloping down from the road into Busby Forest. An autopsy revealed she died from a traumatic brain injury, believed to have been caused by her head impacting with a rock. Faith Winchester lived in Busby-on-Sea all her life with her parents, the owners of the Busby Café, and her two younger sisters. She was a promising student in her first year at Southampton University and hoped to become a marine biologist.

  Charity looked at the clock in her room. Midnight. It was now ten years ago today and yet the grief felt as sharp, as painful, as it did then.

  Charity dug her hands into her long blue coat, the early morning mist swarming around her ankles. The road ahead of her curved around a corner, disappearing over a hill. Trees lined it, dipping over the road, making it seem darker than it was. It was hard to believe the sea glimmered just half a mile behind her, Busby-on-Sea now waking to another day.

  She paused as she got to the precarious bend that had caused so many accidents as cars struggled to negotiate it. Exactly ten years ago today, Faith was found in a foetal position. Her scarf was later found on the road just above.

  Why had she been walking on this road alone so late at night? She should have been in bed, asleep. That question had tortured the grief-filled silences her family had shared those first few weeks and months after Faith died, and ten years later, still no answer. Their parents died not knowing.

  Charity closed her eyes, tears squeezing between her lashes.

  When she opened her eyes again, a tall figure was approaching from the bottom of the hill. He was wearing a black leather jacket, blue jeans, dark hair shaved close to his head.

  She recognised him instantly.

  Niall Lane.

  He paused, blue eyes narrowing. ‘Charity?’

  She opened her mouth to say something but suddenly a roar filled the air.

  Niall’s eyes widened as he pointed behind her, shouting her name. She turned to see a small red sports car bouncing around the bend and hurtling towards her.

  Chapter Four

  Charity

  Busby-on-Sea, UK

  March 1987

  The light from the rising sun illuminated the car’s exterior and in a flash, Charity saw a woman’s face streaked with mascara.

  Tyres screeched over the road, the smell of petrol filling the air. Charity couldn’t move her legs, panic flooded through her.

  But then strong hands were gripping her under her arms, pulling her out of the way as the car careened past her.

  She looked up, saw Niall staring down at her. His cheeks were stubbled, his face tanned, dark circles under his eyes. Her whole body throbbed from being so close to him, from feeling his warm breath on her face, seeing those lips so close. She was shocked to feel the urge to press her lips against his like she used to do again and again.

  Then the reality of the situation hit her.

  She dragged her gaze away from Niall’s, watching the car zigzag across the road, finally coming to a stop with a shudder.

  They both jumped up and jogged over.

  Sitting in the driver’s seat was a dazed looking Lana North, the woman from the mansion, a small graze on her head, blood dripping down into one eye.

  She peered up at Niall and Charity. ‘Whoops,’ she said sheepishly.

  Charity placed the two mugs of steaming hot coffee on the table, avoiding the intense gaze of the elderly couple sitting there. It was clear word was getting out about what had happened that morning…and that Charity had been there with Niall. By the time the paramedics arrived to check Lana over, the road was busy – it was the only main road linking Busby-on-Sea to Southampton – giving residents plenty of time to see Niall and Charity standing there together. She’d been desperate to leave but Lana had grabbed her hand, told her to stay, a vulnerable look on her face.

  How could she say no?

  Niall could have left. But instead, he’d hovered nearby, watching Charity as though he were trying to figure out if she was real or not. She daren’t look back at him, her thumping heart betraying emotion she was trying hard to bury.

  Charity peered towards the entrance to the café. Hope was at a doctor’s appointment so they hadn’t seen each other that morning. But she was due in soon, so Charity was hoping she could pull her to one side to break the news gently to her.

  Charity wrapped her thick orange cardigan around herself and hurried back into the café. Was it her imagination or was it even busier than normal, despite spring being held off today by sharp winds and the threat of rain? People glanced up at her as she passed but she kept her eyes ahead of her, jaw clenched.

  It was a small town. Gossip spread like wildfire, one of the many things that hadn’t changed in the years she’d been gone.

  The door swung open then and her sister walked in. Hope paused at the entrance, eyes on Charity, and Charity knew in that moment Hope had already heard. Then she slammed the door shut and strode to the counter.

  ‘Tell me you didn’t know Niall was back,’ she hissed as she flung her purple suede coat off and grabbed an apron, barely looking at Charity.

  ‘No, of course not, Hope!’

  ‘They’re all loving this, aren’t they?’ Hope said, lowering her voice and casting her eyes over the busy café as Charity passed an order to her over the counter. ‘Nice bit of gossip to stave off the monotony. I just can’t believe Niall bloody Lane really is here. It makes me sick. What’s worse is people won’t just focus on the fact Lana North crashed her car. They’ll also be talking about the fact the man who killed Faith Winchester was with you, her sister, at the time.’ She scrut
inised Charity’s face.

  ‘It was a coincidence, I swear,’ Charity said. ‘I just needed to go to the road, it is the anniversary of Faith’s death after all. Niall told me he’d gone there for the same reason. We—’

  Charity fell silent as Mrs McAteer approached the counter.

  ‘What can I get you?’ Charity asked her, forcing a smile on to her face, pleased for an excuse to get away from her sister’s rage.

  ‘Just a hot chocolate, love,’ Mrs McAteer said, patting Charity’s arm. ‘Good work saving Lana North’s life.’

  ‘I didn’t save her. She was fine, just a bit dazed.’

  ‘My Gav knows one of the ambulance men. Apparently she’d had too much to drink.’

  Charity thought of what Lana had said to her and the unmistakable smell of stale booze in the car.

  ‘Poor you, having to witness it after what happened to your poor sister on that road,’ Mrs McAteer continued, shaking her head. ‘And then to have Niall there too, the scum.’ Her lip curled up. ‘Bloody cheek, him returning to town. My Addie will be mortified when I tell her. Your poor sister must be rolling in her grave.’ Charity tried not to catch Hope’s eye. ‘And then to have some drunken rich girl driving her—’

  She clamped her mouth shut and a hush fell over the café as Lana’s husband walked in.

  He looked just as otherworldly as he had the day before. But when he stepped into a beam of hazy sunlight shining through one of the windows, the perfections slipped away. Dark shadows showed beneath his green eyes, the faint hint of stubble on his chin and cheeks and, as Charity peered closer, what looked like a trace of oil on the cuff of his shirt.

  He looks better in the light, Charity thought. He looks better with those imperfections.

  ‘Can we talk somewhere, Charity?’ He glanced towards Mrs McAteer and smiled tightly. ‘Somewhere quiet?’

  ‘Of course, let’s go out back,’ Charity said, grabbing a bag of rubbish.

  Dan took the bulging bag from her and smiled, following her out of the door. He threw the rubbish into it then got a pristine white handkerchief out with his initials on it, wiping his hands.

  ‘Long time since I put the rubbish out,’ he said.

  ‘How’s your wife?’

  ‘Fine. I must thank you for being there, she said you were a real comfort.’ He looked down at the tomato skin on his handkerchief. Then he peered back up at Charity and she noticed how very black his pupils and long lashes were, making the green of his eyes even more prominent. ‘I heard you’re a psychiatrist.’

  ‘A counsellor.’

  He seemed to think about something for a moment then leant closer, lowering his voice. ‘I was wondering if you might talk to my wife? I’d pay of course: double whatever your hourly rate is.’

  She frowned.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not practising in any official capacity at the moment,’ Charity said. ‘Your wife would be better off going to a proper clinic or via the NHS.’

  ‘Lana will refuse, I know what she’s like. But she seemed to really like you. If we arranged for you to come to the house, have some privacy, she might open up more. I can pay double, treble.’

  Charity sighed. She really wanted to help but it didn’t feel right. ‘I’m sorry. I can recommend a great counsellor a few towns away though?’

  Dan raked his fingers through his blond hair. Then he forced a smile. ‘Of course. I’m sure she’s okay. Look, why don’t you come to dinner as thanks?’

  Charity examined his face. Was this a ruse to try to get her to treat his wife over dinner?

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she replied, ‘but that’s really not necessary. It’s been enough for you to come here in person to thank me.’

  ‘Let’s say seven on Saturday evening?’ he said, as though not hearing her. ‘I know Lana would love to see you. I presume you know where our house is?’

  ‘But I—’

  He smiled. ‘If you turn up, wonderful. If you don’t, then we feed the food to the fish. And if you see Niall Lane, can you mention dinner to him too? I hear he was quite the hero. I’ve tried to track him down but I think he may have left town.’ Charity felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Dan said. ‘But I very much hope we see you Saturday night, Charity.’

  Charity watched him stroll away, his hands in his pockets. He paused a moment to watch a seagull fly across the grey skies above, then he disappeared around the corner.

  ‘So Niall’s left town, has he?’

  Charity turned to see her sister standing at the door. ‘You heard that?’

  ‘Some. That’s good news though isn’t it? That Niall’s left.’ Her sister was scrutinising her face again.

  Charity nodded. ‘Yes, I’m relieved. Very relieved.’

  ‘He better not come back. Now he knows you’re here, he might not be able to resist.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Hope, it’s been years.’

  ‘Why silly? Feelings grow more intense with absence, especially when someone’s behind bars. They have time to think, to obsess…’

  ‘Hope, please don’t do this.’

  Hope sighed. ‘Fine. So, are you going to go for dinner?’

  ‘It’ll be awkward, I don’t know them.’

  ‘It’ll be good for you to make new friends. I go out with the writing club lot, you ought to get out a bit too. Who knows, maybe you’ll become friends with Lana North and you can teach her how to drive properly?’

  ‘Oh, Hope,’ Charity said, shaking her head in disapproval. ‘You really are naughty.’

  Charity went to walk back in but Hope grabbed her arm, looking Charity in the eye. ‘Just remember one thing if Niall does come back. He killed our sister. No matter what spin he puts on it or how you used to feel about him, he killed her.’

  Charity peered up at the ruby-coloured gates guarding Dan and Lana North’s huge white mansion. This place had been a dilapidated mess when she was a kid, once owned by a duke and then left in a state of disrepair after a fire. Local kids would sneak in through the gates, smoking drugs and making out in the rooms. She’d even come here with Niall once but they preferred the comfort of the sea shore and caves near her house. It was quite something to see what the Norths had done to it since.

  She paused at the marble steps leading up to the house, smoothing her hands down her cream trousers and adjusting the collar on her cerise blouse. She hadn’t been sure what to wear; these weren’t the kind of people she’d usually have dinner with. Back in London, all her friends and associates were other NHS counsellors. It was an unspoken rule that every dinner was a casual dinner, so Charity usually turned up in what she’d been wearing to work, jeans and a large bright shirt cinched at the waist with a belt.

  She took a deep breath and walked up the stairs. Behind her, the sea rippled, the cliff the house was sitting on diving into the craggy rocks below. She put her hand out to lift the ornate gold knocker made from a lion’s mouth. But before she had the chance, the door was whipped open by Dan. He was wearing a casual white suit rolled up to the elbows, a pastel blue shirt beneath it, the shirt undone slightly to reveal the smooth tanned skin of his chest.

  ‘You came!’ he said. ‘I have to confess, I was worried you’d be a no-show.’

  She had thought she would be a no-show too. But Dan had seemed so worried about Lana, and the vulnerable look in her eyes as she’d clutched at Charity’s hand after the accident ate away at her.

  The truth was, Lana reminded her of Faith a little. Beautiful, vivacious, a slight hint of vulnerability. No one else noticed that about Faith apart from her sisters. All everyone saw was confident, clever, beautiful Faith. While she was all of those, she also had her insecurities. Charity recalled an Easter holiday when Faith returned from university and was blanked by a group of girls she used to go to school with while out shopping with Hope and Charity. She’d laughed it off at the time but later, Charity saw her crying in her room.

  Charity stepped insi
de the mansion, taking in the huge hallway and marble floor draped with a black and gold rug. Ahead of her was a long stairway that swept up to a balconied landing, like a scene from Gone with the Wind. When Dan closed the door, she felt stifled. It was as though the heating had been on all day.

  ‘Your place is gorgeous,’ she said as he took her lime-coloured jacket. ‘I remember when it was a crumbling mess.’

  ‘So do I. It’s taken us two years to sort it out. Well, I say us. Lana’s done most of the work. She found the place too.’

  ‘I’m very impressed.’ Charity held out the bottle of Blue Nun. ‘Sorry, it was the only bottle of wine I could find at the local newsagent’s. My dad used to say it tastes like vinegar.’

  Dan laughed. ‘I happen to like vinegar very much.’ He led her to a set of doors on their right, pushing them open to reveal a large room with a gilded table running down its centre. She realised with a shock that on the dark walls around it were murals of couples in various states of undress. Her eyes homed in on one particular image of an olive-skinned man kissing the neck of a voluptuous woman with blonde hair and porcelain skin.

  ‘Lana has a very vivid imagination,’ Dan said, following her gaze.

  ‘It must be interesting when the in-laws come for dinner,’ Charity joked.

  ‘Don’t worry, we use our other dining room for them,’ Dan replied.

  ‘You have two dining rooms?’

  ‘I know. It’s a bit much, isn’t it?’ Dan gestured to a number of bottles sitting on a small gold table in the corner. ‘Champagne? Wine?’

  ‘Red wine, please.’

  Dan pulled out a chair for her then reached for a bottle of expensive looking wine, pouring Charity a glass. As she took a sip, her mouth filled with a delicious cherry flavour and she relaxed a little.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming, Charity,’ Dan said. ‘I know Lana will be very pleased.’ There was the sound of heels clicking along the marble floor outside. ‘Ah, speak of the devil.’ Dan leant forwards, lowering his voice. He was so close, she could smell the black cherry scent of the wine on his breath. Behind him was a mural of a man’s blond head dipped in between the legs of a woman, her head thrown back in ecstasy. Charity felt her face flush hot. ‘I’m not expecting you to do a psychological profile,’ he said. ‘But maybe you can give me some advice on how I might be able to help her?’