My Sister’s Secret

by Tracy Buchanan

  ‘Shall we get ready?’ Ajay asks.

  I take a deep breath. ‘Yep.’

  It’s all business over the next twenty minutes. We shrug our gear on then check each other’s equipment. Then we’re entering the same water Mum dreamt of diving. It feels like the past is lapping at my shins as my fins tread water.

  ‘Okay?’ Ajay asks me.

  I nod and continue until the water is up to my shoulders. Ajay gives me the thumbs up and I do the same, then we dive in, kicking our legs to propel ourselves downwards. It’s crystal clear underwater, the tree trunks reaching up to the surface in the distance. The warmth of the water surrounds me, the quiet of the deep making me smile around my snorkel.

  I glide to the closest tree, a thin one with one branch dipping from the surface into the water. Fish dart away as I approach, and I notice the shadow of birds flocking from the branches above. Amazing to think these ancient trees, long dead, are now home to living creatures.

  I gently place my hand against the tree’s surface and instantly get a flashback to placing my hand against the cruise ship’s walls in Greece a month ago. I see the sunken cruise ship as though it’s right there in the distance. It follows me everywhere, my parents’ underwater coffin. If I can do this for my mum, live one of her dreams, will her death stop haunting me?

  I swim to another tree and then another as Ajay floats around in the distance, his long legs circling above him. I think of his family, so many of them here and some back in the UK, too. How must that feel, to have so many people connected to you, caring about you, their blood running through your veins?

  I peer at the trees. There are dozens of them but they look alone, sad, their roots dead beneath the lake’s surface. Apart from two trees that stand very close, like sad companions. I thrust myself towards them. As I draw near, I realise they’re actually connected, their branches entangled. They lean away from each other as though the entanglement isn’t by choice. I think of my aunt and me: forced together, alone despite our blood connection. Is she thinking of me now, out here? Does she think I’m a fool or brave?

  Something catches my eye in the bark, a pattern.

  Could it be an etching?

  I urgently kick my legs, gripping a branch to pull myself closer. It’s hardly noticeable but I can just about make out the curve of a C tangled around an N…just like the etching in Niall Lane’s photos and the necklace. I stare at the letters. They feel alien to me. It ought to be C&D. I carefully trace my finger around the curve of Mum’s initial. I close my eyes, see her face, the curl of her black hair dipping over her eye as she leans down to pick me up. I smell her perfume, a heady, musky scent. Then I see Dad leaning in to kiss her cheek. My stomach clenches with grief for them both.

  I peer up through the lattice of twigs towards the shimmering surface. I usually feel safe beneath the water’s surface but it’s as though I’m peering through prison bars right now.

  Before I know what I’m doing, I start scrubbing at the etching with the knife in my belt, so hard it hurts. But I don’t care, it’s worth it for the sense of liberation I feel as I watch the bark around the etching fall away, the letters disintegrating until there’s nothing left but a hollow.

  Chapter Nine

  Willow

  Kerala, India

  September 2016

  A couple of hours later, we’re sitting in a restaurant where one of Ajay’s many cousins works. It’s part of a sprawling hotel with fancy-looking accommodation in the form of villas. The restaurant overlooks the lake and is made from dark bamboo, the waiters and waitresses are dressed in colourful outfits. The submerged forest is out of view now and I’m pleased. I don’t want to be reminded of that etching…or what I did to that poor tree. I shouldn’t have done it, and Ajay’s disapproving looks when we emerged from the lake made me feel even worse. Sometimes I just get so full to the brim with feeling, I lash out, throw things, break things. It’s stupid, embarrassing.

  ‘You okay?’ Ajay asks me now.

  I sigh. ‘Just feel like a bit of an idiot. I couldn’t face seeing Mum’s initials with someone else’s, you know?’

  ‘Are you even sure it’s one of Niall Lane’s carvings?’

  I reach into my rucksack and dig the print-out of Niall Lane’s etching from it, laying it on the table. ‘Definitely the same.’

  ‘Have you heard from him?’

  I shake my head. ‘No reply to my email. I called his agent too, she said she’d pass my message on but nothing. Why invite me to his exhibition if he can’t be bothered to get back to me?’

  ‘Ah, I recognise that photo.’ We look up to see a plump Indian woman with red hair smiling down at us. She has a manager badge on her sari.

  Ajay stands and bows to the woman. ‘Hello, Mrs Rangan. My cousin Basheer works here. He says many good things about you.’

  ‘Ah, Basheer, such a wonderful boy.’

  Ajay gestures to me. ‘This is my friend, Willow.’

  ‘Hello,’ I say, not sure whether to bow or not, somehow managing half a bow, half a wave instead.

  She smiles. ‘We have that picture in our dining room. A couple of guests have been inspired to visit the submerged forest here after seeing Niall Lane’s photos. I remember when he stayed here many years ago, he wasn’t so famous then. I think people are rather impressed when I tell them I met the elusive Charity his collection is named after.’

  Ajay’s eyes widen and I find it hard to get my breath for a moment. ‘She stayed here?’

  She nods. ‘Yes, Charity. I always remembered that name, so unusual.’

  I dig out the photo of my parents I carry around with me. I’d taken it just the weekend before they left for their cruise. It was lopsided, faded, but it was the first photo I’d ever taken, and the most recent picture of them. They look happy in it, sitting on two garden chairs with cups of tea in their hands, smiles on their faces. I point to my mum. ‘Is this her?’

  Mrs Rangan leans closer. ‘Maybe, I’m not sure. It was a long time ago. Is she a relative of yours?’

  ‘Yes, my mother. Do you remember anything about your meeting with her?’

  ‘I did a closing mandala ceremony for her.’

  ‘What’s a mandala ceremony?’

  ‘It’s said to cleanse grief,’ Ajay explains.

  Mrs Rangan nods. ‘I think it helped her, she clearly still grieved for her sister.’

  I frown. Maybe the woman she met wasn’t my mum. ‘But her sister’s still alive.’

  Mrs Rangan smiles sadly. ‘Maybe I’m getting confused, it was a long time ago.’ She peers behind her towards a queue forming at the front of the restaurant. ‘I really must go. But please, these drinks are on us, just tell your waitress Mrs Rangan said so.’ She bows down and quickly walks away.

  ‘That was a strange conversation,’ I say.

  ‘Maybe Mrs Rangan remembered it wrong. As she said, it was a long time ago.’

  ‘True.’ I pull my phone out and connect to the hotel’s free wireless access, visiting Niall Lane’s website again. He’d named his collection of submerged forest photos after my mum. The other collections have generic labels: a collection of dramatic photos of damaged coral after the Boxing Day tsunami called Beautiful Disasters; another of steep underwater sea cliffs called Into the Abyss. Only the submerged forests – his most famous collection, it seems – is named after a person. My mum.

  I catch sight of a news item that’s been recently added to the site. I click on it and zoom in.

  New photographs in the works

  9 September 2016

  To commemorate the 20th anniversary of the launch of Niall’s famous Charity Collection, he is revisiting all the sites of the submerged forests he photographed, starting with Austria this weekend, where he will also be showcasing his work at the Fotogalerie Wien in Vienna on 19th September and the Green Lake hotel in Tragöß in Styria, Austria on 21st September.

  Alongside the news item is a photo of the etching, the C and the N entwined. I c
lick my phone off and look out at the lake. Was my mum here with him?

  When we arrive back at Ajay’s sister’s house, it’s a hive of activity in preparation for his niece’s ear piercing ceremony. People march back and forth between the house and a larger building in the middle of the village.

  I resolve to make my excuses. Last thing I want is to be surrounded by happy people when my mind’s a mess. Plus I want to try to call my aunt to sound her out about what Mrs Rangan said. But as we jump out of the car, Ajay’s brother-in-law rushes over to us with a huge bowl of rice and hands it to me, his face sweaty and panicked.

  ‘Hello and welcome back! Now, can you take this into the hall, please?’ he asks, gesturing towards the large building. ‘You,’ he says, jabbing his finger at Ajay, ‘you help me move tables from house to hall. We didn’t get enough.’ He puts his hands up to the sky. ‘Why does this happen to me?’

  I look down at the huge bowl of rice, its sweet scent curling its way up to me, making my tummy rumble. So much for an early night.

  As Ajay is dragged off by his brother-in-law, I walk into the hall. There are rows of plastic chairs in red, white and blue. Lining each wall is a long string of red bunting with gold symbols on each triangle. Musicians are setting up on a small stage area. All this for a simple ear-piercing?

  ‘Wonderful, the rice.’ I turn to see a woman approaching dressed in a beautiful gold sari. Her head is shaved, making her pretty features even more startling. As she draws closer, I realise with shock that it’s Ajay’s sister, Satya.

  ‘I didn’t recognise you,’ I say, handing the bowl of rice over.

  ‘We shave our heads for the ceremony, a tribute to our gods.’

  ‘This place looks amazing,’ I say, looking around me.

  Satya shoots me a stressed smile. ‘Thank you so much. But there is much more to be done, and the ceremony starts in less than an hour. The first batch of rice burnt and we didn’t have enough tables and chairs so everything is running late.’

  ‘Well, if you need any help…’ I say, hoping she doesn’t take me up on my offer so I can disappear. But instead, her smile widens and she starts reeling off a list of things I can help with.

  ‘That should leave you with a few minutes to change, I hope that’s enough time?’ she asks after.

  ‘Change?’

  ‘For the ceremony.’

  ‘I don’t have anything appropriate, it’s probably best I give it a miss,’ I say, backing away.

  She smiles. ‘Nonsense. I have the perfect outfit!’

  Forty minutes later, I’m sitting with Ajay on a bright red seat in a bright pink sari trimmed with silver, his elderly parents in front of us. When they met me, they’d seemed so fixated with the small tattoo of an anchor on my neck, they could barely get their words together.

  The hall’s packed, women and girls dressed in beautiful saris with colourful flowers in their hair; men and boys in their best shirts and trousers. The sound of chatter and laughter fills the air.

  ‘It suits you,’ Ajay says, smiling. He gestures to the sparkly pink sandals his sister lent me. ‘And Mad Shoe Lady would approve,’ he adds, referring to the homeless woman with her trolley of shoes that I had once told him about.

  ‘Don’t get used to it. This’ll be a nightmare to get off to go diving,’ I add with a smile. I just know he’s going to tell all the other divers we know about this.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he says. ‘I’ve managed to get some of those saris off very quickly.’

  I look at him in surprise. He’s always struck me as so straight-laced. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s not had a girlfriend, insisting he’s waiting for the ‘right one’ to come along. When I ask him who that ‘right one’ is, he shrugs, says he won’t know until he meets her. I guess I know what he means, I feel the same.

  Who was the right one for my mum? Was it my dad…or Niall Lane? I don’t know why this bothers me so much, Mum was bound to have some exes. But to see it all laid bare in his photography collection. I can’t help but feel a bit strange about it.

  Ajay’s niece Aadrika walks in with her proud-looking parents. As the ceremony begins, more family members stand to surround her, babies in the arms of some, and I feel very alone sitting here. I can’t even fathom what it must feel like to have such an immense family; to be part of such special rituals.

  What exactly was I hoping to achieve with this ridiculous quest of mine? All it’s doing is making me feel even lonelier, even more directionless.

  I think of Aunt Hope, alone back home.

  As Satya pulls her daughter to her after her ear is pierced, I quietly slip out and head to my room, trying to get reception on my mobile phone. Footsteps sound behind me and I turn to see Ajay following me.

  ‘Are you alright?’ he asks me.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say, looking at my phone so he can’t see my glassy eyes. ‘I’d like to call my aunt, thought I’d do it while it’s quiet out here. But I can’t seem to get reception.’

  ‘Use my sister’s telephone,’ he says, gesturing towards the house. ‘The door’s open.’

  ‘Cheers. I’ll give her money.’

  ‘You can try but she won’t accept it.’ He scrutinised my face. ‘See you back inside for food?’

  ‘Yep.’

  I walk into the house then enter the cluttered living room, making a beeline for the red phone in there and dialling my aunt’s number. When she answers, it’s hard to hear her, the sounds muffled.

  ‘Aunt Hope?’ I say.

  ‘Willow? How’s India?’

  ‘Hot.’

  She laughs. ‘Really? I thought it snowed this time of year.’

  ‘Ha ha.’ I pause. How am I going to word this? ‘So, Ajay and I went out for lunch…’

  ‘And he proposed?’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Oh not this again. We’re just friends.’

  ‘Good. I think he’s gay.’

  ‘Jesus. He’s not gay. Anyway, as I was saying. We went to this restaurant where his cousin works and the manager seemed to think Mum stayed there with Niall Lane ages ago.’ I pause. ‘Niall wasn’t just Mum’s teenage sweetheart, was he?’

  Aunt Hope sighs. ‘Oh, I don’t know, Willow. You’re obsessing too much about this. Just let it go. Really.’

  I frown. She seems so adamant for me to forget about Niall Lane. Does this mean there was more to them?

  ‘It’s not just that. I have a feeling she might be remembering it wrong, but the manager recalls doing some ceremony for Mum and she said Mum had a sister who died. She’s got that wrong, right?’

  I hear a slight intake of breath.

  ‘Oh God,’ I say, putting my hand to my mouth. For a moment, I just stay silent, processing what I’ve heard. ‘Don’t tell me it’s true?’ I ask eventually. ‘You have a sister who died? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Mum?’

  ‘There was never any need for you to know,’ she says quietly.

  ‘That’s ridiculous. She’s my aunt. What was her name?’

  ‘Faith.’ There’s a tremble in my aunt’s voice. ‘She was the oldest of the three of us.’

  ‘How old was she when she died?’ I ask, trying to make my voice softer. She lost her sister. Two sisters.

  ‘Nineteen. A hit and run.’

  ‘Oh, Aunt Hope. That’s awful.’

  She sniffs. Is she crying? Last time I saw her cry was the night we found out Mum died. ‘It was a long time ago now,’ she says.

  ‘Did it happen in Busby?’

  ‘The main country road leading out of town on that bend. It was in the middle of the night.’

  ‘How did it happen?’

  She sighs. ‘You don’t know how many times I’ve asked myself that question over the years.’

  ‘What was she like?’ I ask, sitting down on the chair and pulling the phone on to my lap. It explains a lot, the intense sadness I’ve sensed in my aunt over the years. I just wish she’d tell me stuff like this.

  A pause. Then
, ‘Faith was wonderful.’ I hear a hint of a smile in my aunt’s voice. ‘Full of life, beautiful, too – she had long blonde hair and loved the sea like you do. We called her our water nymph.’

  ‘Did she dive?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she replies, the smile evident in her voice. She sounds so different when she’s talking about Faith, full of happiness and lightness. ‘She used to drag your mother and me out on “undersea adventures”, as she used to call them, searching for the submerged forest off Busby-on-Sea. That was before it was discovered, of course. She was obsessed with them, even wanted to become a marine biologist so she could study them.’

  ‘Aunt Hope,’ I say, something dawning on me. ‘The map I found, the one I’m following now. It wasn’t Mum’s, was it…? It was Faith’s.’

  She doesn’t say anything for a bit. Then she sighs again. ‘Yes.’

  My heart sinks. It doesn’t feel the same visiting all these forests now. It was the fact I’d be paying homage to my mum that made me want to do this, not someone I’ve never met.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I came out here because I thought it was Mum’s dream.’

  ‘We all wanted to visit the submerged forests, Willow.’ She sighs. ‘But we never got the chance.’

  ‘I don’t understand why you keep all this stuff from me,’ I say. ‘I’m not sure how I feel about all of this, not just the fact you had another sister but also that Mum and this photographer were more than teenage sweethearts.’

  ‘Sometimes it hurts too much to say it out loud.’

  I don’t know what to say to that. Truth is, I understand what she means. Like when people ask me about my parents. Sometimes it’s easier to pretend they’re still alive.

  We sit in silence for a few moments.

  ‘So, what are you going to do now then,’ Aunt Hope says suddenly, assuming her usual clipped tones. ‘Continue on your little quest, or return home?’

  I think of the news item I read on Niall Lane’s website. ‘Maybe I’ll go to Austria,’ I say. ‘I hear the lake there is awesome. Plus I think Niall Lane might be there at the moment.’