‘Are you sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure.’
I might as well give it a go. What else have I got to do? Gorge myself on energy drinks, chocolate and beer all alone in my hotel room?
‘Thanks,’ I say as I walk inside. ‘I’m Willow, by the way.’
‘Lovely name.’
I welcome the warmth as I walk in. It’s brightly decorated inside with sapphire blue walls and framed paintings of lions and tigers on the walls. Expensive-looking teddy bears of different colours line the top of the cream sofas and I almost miss the tabby who’s licking its paws next to one of them.
‘When did your mum pass away, Willow?’ Jean asks.
‘When I was seven.’
She sighs. ‘That must have been difficult for you.’
I make my face a mask like I always do when people get like this. ‘I was too young to understand really,’ I lie.
‘Make yourself at home, I’ll go put the kettle on.’ As she walks from the room I sit down on one of the sofas and place my hand on its seat. Did Mum sit here once? The sofa doesn’t look old enough to have been here nearly thirty years.
I look around the room. There’s a long mahogany bureau that lines the wall across from me with several framed photos of smiling families behind the glass doors. Aunt Hope only has one photo on display in the house, an old one of her with the poet Ted Hughes from an event she attended. None of Mum, or of my grandparents. None of me neither…nor my Aunt Faith. Maybe it’s for the same reason she doesn’t tell me much, it hurts.
Jean comes out with a tray of tea and biscuits, placing it on the scratched mahogany coffee table in the middle of the room. Then she strides back into the kitchen before bringing out a large cardboard box.
‘Let me help,’ I say, jumping up.
‘No, no, it’s fine, really. I’m stronger than I look thanks to all the gardening I do.’ She gestures towards patio doors that look out on to a small well-kept garden.
‘Very nice,’ I say.
‘Thank you. Keeps me busy…and fit.’
She places the box on a pine table in the corner of the room then settles into the seat across from me.
‘Sugar?’ she asks as she pours me tea.
‘Three please.’
She laughs. ‘Good for you. Too many girls your age obsess about dieting. I bet you’re like me, as long as you’re fit and active, you keep the pounds off.’
I smile. ‘I think I am.’
‘So, do you know when your mother stayed here?’
‘I’m not sure. There’s a photo my mum had of the area just outside this place. There was a banner across one of the gift shops in the distance saying something about the village’s two hundred year centenary?’
‘That’d be 1987. She may have been here when the Great Storm hit.’
‘Storm?’
She smiles sadly. ‘It barely appears on the radar for you youngsters. It affected most of the UK, eighteen people died, one of them from Norfolk. I had to muck in that night with my mum,’ she says, peering towards a photo of what I presume is a teenage Jean standing next to a woman with short blonde hair, the lighthouse in the background.
I ache for photos like that of a teenage me with Mum. I don’t even think I have any of me with Aunt Hope, she was never one for cameras. The only photos from my teen years are ones taken at school.
Jean hands me my tea in a ‘World’s Greatest Grandma’ mug and I take a sip.
I look towards an old photo she has of her with an elderly lady who I presume is her mum, their arms around each other. ‘You’re lucky to have had such a special relationship with your mum,’ I say.
‘Oh, it wasn’t always like that. We used to argue like crazy, I always thought she was a battle-axe and she thought I was a spoilt brat.’ She offers me more biscuits. ‘You look disappointed to hear that.’
‘Do I? I guess I had this vision of you two being some mother-daughter superhero act.’
She chuckles. ‘Mum would like that description! No, on the contrary, she had to force me to help her with the storm. But you know what? Now I have my daughters, I realise it’s a rite of passage, hating your mother for a bit.’ She puts her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, Willow, I’m sorry. Here’s me going on about mother and daughter relationships and your mum passed away before you had a chance to know any of this.’
‘Don’t apologise, it’s fine, really.’
‘Did you grow up with your dad?’
‘My dad passed away too. Remember the cruise ship that sank in Greece, the MS Haven? They were on it.’ I feel sick, the orange jelly of the Jaffa Cake squirming over my tongue.
Jean shakes her head. ‘Oh good Lord, how terrible. Did family take you in?’
‘My aunt.’
‘How wonderful of her. Do you get on?’
I hesitate.
‘Ah, so you did experience a mother-daughter relationship,’ she says.
‘I wouldn’t quite say that. We really clashed, still do.’
‘Maybe it’s because you’re so similar, that’s why my mum and I clashed.’
I shake my head. ‘No, we’re not at all alike.’ I look at the box. ‘Okay if I look through?’ I ask, wiping the crumbs from my hands.
‘Of course,’ she says, standing up. ‘I’ll give you some space. Shout if you need anything.’
When she leaves the room, I approach the box. Written across it in faded black is ‘Lost Property’. I open it up, dust bursting out at me. I wave my hands about, coughing. It’s clearly been a while since anyone’s opened it. There are the usual suspects in there, scarves and partner-less gloves; battered old books and lipsticks. As I delve further, I find some more unusual items, like a bright blue wig, a long sharp animal tooth and even a pair of false teeth which I try not to touch.
I flick through the books, try to find any writing inside and search a notepad too. But all it contains are passages from the Bible. There are a couple of newspaper cuttings, one about a baby winning a child model contest – the baby looks like Winston Churchill to me, but then they all do. And then some letters, mainly gas bills.
Then as I get to the bottom of the pile I notice a blurry photo of four teenagers – three girls, one boy – on a beach.
And behind them, Aunt Hope’s house, the one I grew up in.
This clearly belonged to Mum.
The sea is grey behind them, the skies above thick with white cloud. I recognise my mum instantly with her distinctive cloud of black hair and beautiful face, her head thrown back in laughter, shapely legs darting out from cut-off denim shorts as she sits on the pebbles. She must be about fifteen or sixteen in this photo. I recognise Aunt Hope too, how can you not with that long red hair, her skinny pale arms? She’s sitting on a rock, knees drawn up to her chest with her chin resting on her knees as she watches another girl.
My Aunt Faith?
I peer closer. She really is beautiful, long blonde hair to her waist, round cheeks and blue eyes. She’s wearing a simple white dress, long legs crossed beneath her, a concentrated look on her face as she cleans her diving mask.
And then next to her, a boy about Mum’s age with dark skin and hair, his blue eyes on Mum.
Niall Lane.
It’s clear from this photo that he knew all three sisters, not just Mum. Plus he dived with them.
‘Find something?’ Jean asks, coming back into the room.
‘Yes, a photo,’ I say. ‘Okay if I take it?’
‘Of course,’ she says.
I look at her family photos in the bureau again and feel unbearably lonely.
I quickly gulp down the tea she made, scorching my tongue. ‘I better head back,’ I say. ‘Thanks for the tea.’
‘Not a problem. You take care alright?’
I smile. ‘I will.’
When I get back to my room, I open my beer and sit by the window, feet up as I stare out at the sea. It looks infinite. The clouds have completely disappeared now, the sun streaming in, warming my skin. I lean b
ack, taking a sip of beer as I imagine all the summer holidays Mum, Hope and Faith must have spent together by the beach. Was Niall with them during all those summers too?
I reach for my rucksack and pull the map of submerged forests out. Why has Niall Lane spent most of his life taking photos of submerged forests? Did it start as an homage to Faith? Or was he the one who inspired Faith to do this map?
Something catches my eye under the glare of sunlight. I peer closer. It’s an imprint of writing, like someone has leant on the map to write a letter.
I sit up, manoeuvring the map around, trying to make out what it says.
…just not sure I can do it. The past few weeks have been the unhappiest of my life. I’m so confused but most of all I’m scared.
I just wish you’d understand what I’m going through.
Faith. x
I look at the photo of Faith. She was scared? I reach for my phone and call Aunt Hope.
‘Hello?’ she asks when she answers. She sounds tired.
‘It’s Willow.’
‘Are you back?’
‘Yes, I got back yesterday.’
‘Where are you then?’
‘Norfolk. I found the place Mum lived with Niall Lane.’
‘I see.’
‘I found a photo of you with Mum, Faith and Niall too. Were you all friends?’
‘I wouldn’t call Niall a friend as such. He just turned up one day and we couldn’t quite get rid of him.’ She sighs. ‘Willow, I hope you’re not trying to find him. I’m certain he isn’t your father.’
‘Wouldn’t you want to know who your father was if there was a chance the one you grew up with wasn’t?’
‘I suppose,’ she says begrudgingly. ‘But Dan was a good man, Willow. Niall…well, put it this way, you’re better off not having someone like him as your father.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
There’s a pause. ‘Niall Lane killed my sister Faith.’
I sit up in my chair, nearly dropping my beer. ‘What?’
‘He was driving the car that hit her.’
‘Jesus. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I’ve told you already, I don’t see any sense dredging up the past.’
‘I Googled him though, it didn’t come up in any searches.’
‘He was young and it was before the internet was used the way it is today.’
I look at Niall’s sullen young face in the photo, then at Faith’s beautiful one. Then I think of what I’ve just read on the map. ‘Did he mean to do it?’ I ask Aunt Hope.
‘No. Why would you ask that?’
I explain what I’ve just read.
‘Scared?’ Aunt Hope says after, voice trembling. ‘I don’t understand. I want to see her writing.’
‘I don’t understand either. But you’re saying Niall Lane was responsible for her death.’
‘It was an accident. I hate him for it but it was an accident. He wouldn’t have done it on purpose. He adored Faith, just like we all did.’
Aunt Hope is quiet for a moment. Then I hear the quiet sound of her sobbing.
‘Oh, Aunt Hope,’ I say, my heart going out to her.
‘It’s just bringing it all back, that’s all,’ she says, sniffing. ‘Faith didn’t seem herself before she died. But she had just started university. Oh, I don’t know. Clearly something was upsetting her. But to be frightened? That makes no sense.’
I continue staring at the photograph of Niall. ‘I need to meet Niall Lane, ask him about all this.’
‘He doesn’t know any more than we do.’
‘How will we know until I ask him? It’s not just Faith,’ I say. ‘I need to do it for me, too. I need to look him in the face and ask him if he’s my father.’
‘You won’t be able to find him. He’s here, there and everywhere.’
‘Actually,’ I say, looking at the outline of Kazakhstan on the map and thinking of what the woman at the gallery in Austria had told me, ‘I think I know where he’ll be.’
Chapter Fifteen
Charity
Busby-on-Sea, UK
May 1988
Charity swept her cloth across the table then paused, looking out at the grey sea. Hard to believe she was here, summer chasing her tail again. At least it was different this time. She’d be leaving soon.
She peered at her sister who looked thoroughly bored as some tourists tried to make conversation with her. She just wished Hope was coming with her. The sale of the café had fallen through after the survey revealed some problems, and no other buyers had come forward since. In the meantime, another opportunity had come up for Charity, this time a permanent job as a student counsellor at Southampton University – the university Faith had attended. She even got reduced rate accommodation, meaning she wouldn’t have to travel there and back. She and Hope agreed she’d do it for six months, giving them enough money to help sort some of the problems with the café and finally get it sold. But the fact it was a permanent contract felt strange to Charity, like maybe she’d never be back.
If she didn’t return, did that mean she’d never see Niall again? She thought back to the last time she’d seen him, the night of his gallery opening when he’d turned up outside the beach hut.
‘I feel like I don’t really know you,’ Charity had said to him.
‘I’m still the same man. You know me better than anyone!’
‘Do I? Maybe I’m just in love with the past, the good past, before Faith died,’ Charity said, repeating what Hope had said to her.
Niall’s face had dropped. ‘So what are you saying? You’re not in love with me?’
‘I – I don’t know. We’ve been living in a bubble for the past few months. Now reality has hit and I’m not sure I know what’s real and what’s just based on what I remember.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t believe you. You’re just upset about Lana.’
‘It’s not just about Lana, Niall. Dan and I nearly kissed too.’
Niall looked at her in disbelief. ‘When?’
‘In India, after we argued. Doesn’t that speak volumes?’
His blue eyes flashed with anger. ‘It tells me you’re a hypocrite. How can you be annoyed about what happened with Lana when you and Dan did what you did?’
‘But the difference is we didn’t actually do anything! Look,’ Charity said, putting her head in her hands. ‘I just need time away from the bubble. I need to figure out if what we have is real or if it’s just based on the past.’
‘You take your time, Charity,’ Niall said, standing. ‘But don’t take too long. The longer you take, the more I’ll start to believe you really don’t love me.’
Then he’d walked away.
Charity looked out at the sea now, wondering where Niall was. She hadn’t heard from him since that night. That was a good thing; she did need time to think. But what if she couldn’t get hold of him when she needed to? Truth was, her heart ached for him, her body missed his touch. But each time she thought of him, she also thought of Lana…and what Hope had said about Charity being in love with the past.
‘Hello, love!’ a man called from a table nearby. ‘Can we order some food, please?’
‘Of course, sorry! Was in my own little world there!’ She rushed over and took an order from the couple. As she walked away, something caught her eye in the distance: a man standing at the end of the promenade in a long grey wool coat, shoulders hunched as he huddled against the cold. Something about the blond of his hair and the tanned curve of his neck sparked a flicker of recognition. He turned as though sensing her eyes on him.
Dan.
Even from where she was standing, Charity could tell he looked terrible. His blond hair was longer, messy, his face specked with stubble. There were circles under his eyes, a pained expression on his face.
She’d heard he had gone to the States on business since she’d seen him in Norfolk. She reached her hand up to wave at him. He did the same and stepped forward, then paused, bro
w creasing. Maybe he felt awkward? She beckoned him over, not wanting him to feel like that around her. It wasn’t his fault what had happened between Niall and Lana, was it?
He seemed to relax and strolled towards her. When he got to her, she quickly leant in, pressing her lips against his cheek in greeting. His skin felt stubbled beneath her lips, a soft hint of citrus rising from his neck. She breathed it in, felt her heart begin to race. She quickly moved away from him and they stood looking at each other, awkwardness swelling around them.
She opened her mouth. ‘So how—’
‘When did you—’ Dan said at the same time.
They both laughed.
‘I was going to ask,’ Dan said, ‘when did you return to Busby?’
‘Over a month ago. But I’ll be leaving again soon. I’m moving to Southampton.’
His face flickered. ‘My office is based there.’
Charity smiled. ‘I had no idea. We could meet up!’
‘I’m afraid I’m selling the mansion then moving to the States.’
‘The States?’
He nodded. ‘I’m interested in learning more about the world of cruise ships. They seem to know how to do it out there.’
‘And they don’t know it in Southampton?’
‘Not at the grand scale I’m aiming for.’
Her heart sank. ‘That sounds exciting.’
‘So does your new job, Charity. You’ll be wonderful there.’ He paused a moment. ‘You’re going alone?’ he asked carefully.
‘Yes. Niall and I are taking a break.’ That felt strange to say out loud.
Dan sighed. ‘Snap. Lana and I are having a break too.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ The bin nearby shuddered as a large seagull landed on it, pecking at a half-eaten sandwich. ‘I won’t miss those things,’ Charity said, shooing it away. Dan watched her, eyes hooded. ‘Are you coming in for a cuppa? It’s quiet. I might even be able to grab a drink with you, I’m due a break.’
My Sister’s Secret Page 18
