My Sister’s Secret

by Tracy Buchanan

  He shook his head, his blond hair falling into his tired eyes. ‘No, sorry, I need to head back. I’m meeting with an estate agent.’

  ‘Maybe before we both disappear, we can grab a coffee? I’m working here every day until I leave.’

  Hesitation registered in his eyes. ‘I’ll try. It’s pretty hectic at the moment. Take care, Charity.’ He looked into her eyes, the emotion that she saw in his almost took her breath away. Then he turned and strode down the promenade, the wind whipping up the tails of his coat.

  Charity put her hand to her beating heart. Why was she reacting like this?

  She turned around and caught her sister watching her with a smile on her face. She shushed her away, hurrying into the café.

  When Dan didn’t turn up at the café the next day, Charity impulsively decided to drive to his house. As she turned into his drive, she was surprised to see the once immaculate lawns were now messy with weeds, the hedges misshapen and overgrown. Surely with Dan’s money he had gardeners to keep the place tidy when he was away? Even the ruby gates were open, the marble stairs leading to the front door filthy with mud and leaves.

  When she rang the doorbell, nobody answered. But just as she went to walk away, the door swung open and Dan appeared. He was wearing jeans and a loose black jumper, his face creased as though he’d been sleeping.

  He frowned. ‘Charity?’

  ‘I wanted to say goodbye. I was at work yesterday so couldn’t talk properly, and it just doesn’t feel right, that being the last time we might ever speak.’ She realised she was talking in a garble. ‘Bit of an impulsive decision really. Just as well you’re in,’ she joked.

  He didn’t invite her in, just stood staring at her, blinking. She thrust her hands into the pockets of her coat.

  ‘Sorry, where are my manners,’ he said, seeming to suddenly wake up. ‘Please, do come in.’

  She stepped inside. There were cardboard boxes strewn all over the huge hallway and the tropical heat that had greeted her the first time she’d been there was replaced by a draught.

  Dan closed the door then smoothed his messy hair down. He still hadn’t shaved. ‘Come through,’ he said, leading Charity past the dining room they’d had dinner in over a year ago. Charity glanced inside, noticing the explicit murals had been scraped off the wall. Had Dan done that, or Lana? She’d seen patients do this in the past too, strip away the wallpaper they’d carefully put up with their ex-partner; taking new sofas they’d bought together to the dump. She didn’t have much of Niall’s to throw away.

  They entered a large all-white kitchen at the back of the house.

  ‘Sorry for the mess,’ Dan said as he pulled some newspapers off a stool so Charity could sit down at the marble bar table. ‘Been pretty busy sorting out my move over to the States. Cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  Dan made the tea then handed her a mug, taking the stool next to her, brow creased as he looked into his tea.

  ‘Are you okay, Dan?’ she asked him.

  He peered up, his tired eyes looking into hers. ‘I’m fine.’ She raised an eyebrow at him and he smiled. ‘I suppose you’re not a qualified counsellor for nothing. Okay, here’s the truth. The reason I’m such a mess is I’m lonely and it scares the hell out of me.’

  ‘I understand, trust me.’

  ‘Hold on with the sympathy for a moment. It’s not Lana herself I miss, but the knowledge that someone’s always here when I get home. It really hit me after coming home from the States to this ridiculously huge house,’ he said, looking around him. ‘It feels impossibly empty with just me here. Is that selfish of me, not to miss Lana but the fact the house seemed less empty with her in it?’

  Charity took a sip of her tea. ‘Of course not.’

  Over the next couple of hours they drank more tea and Dan talked about how difficult things were with Lana and how devastated he’d been when she’d confessed that she’d slept with Niall. Soon darkness fell outside, the rain providing a soft rhythmic thrum against the kitchen’s vast windows. Charity knew she ought to head back home but she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay and listen to Dan’s low voice, watch the way his black lashes cast shadows across his tanned cheeks. If she left now, there’d only be one day left before she’d be miles away and there was every chance she might never see him again.

  She didn’t like that feeling. She wasn’t quite sure what she could do about it but she knew she didn’t want to leave right now.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ Dan asked.

  ‘I am actually.’

  ‘We can order something in,’ he said, gesturing towards a pile of takeaway leaflets on the table.

  ‘I can cook something.’

  He peered at the fridge. ‘Nothing here to cook.’

  ‘Then come to my house,’ Charity said impulsively. ‘Hope will be at one of her readings. I make a mean lasagne.’

  Dan hesitated a moment then he took in a deep breath. ‘Alright. What the hell?’

  Fifteen minutes later Charity was letting Dan into her family’s home. As she walked down the hallway towards the living room she was praying her sister had collected the bras they’d both been drying on the radiators and put them upstairs. As she turned the lights on, she saw that she hadn’t.

  ‘Sorry, bit of a mess,’ she said, grabbing the bras and shoving them into a drawer as Dan raised an eyebrow.

  Dan glided his fingers over a cat ornament sitting on one of the tables in the narrow hallway. ‘Don’t worry. It’s nice to see somewhere that looks lived in.’

  ‘It’s lived in alright. Come through to the kitchen.’ She led him through to their kitchen with its huge pine table and old-fashioned units.

  ‘Take a seat, I’ll get you a glass of wine,’ Charity said, gesturing towards one of the chairs around the table. ‘You can have one glass of wine, right?’

  ‘Sure. But let me help cook.’

  ‘No, really.’

  ‘Please,’ Dan said, rolling up the sleeves of his jumper. ‘I insist.’

  ‘Fine then, you can chop the veg.’

  Over the next few minutes, they worked together to make dinner, falling into a natural rhythm.

  ‘How do you feel about leaving the town behind again?’ Dan asked.

  Charity stared out of the window at the scene she’d woken up to every morning as a child, the long wisps of grass fringing a stretch of pebbly beach; the grey turbulent sea beyond. ‘It’s strange, I’ve always been so desperate to leave Busby-on-Sea and my memories behind that I sometimes forget the good memories.’

  ‘But being away from here will help ease the grief, like you said it did when you went to London.’

  ‘Ease it,’ Charity said, turning the gas hob on. ‘But it’ll still be there.’ She peered behind her at Dan. ‘Is that why you’re going to the States, to leave the memories of your parents behind? And Lana?’

  He smiled. ‘I thought I’d give it a go. It worked for you when you went to London years ago, didn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’

  ‘So tell me about your new job.’

  ‘I’ll be counselling students. I imagine a lot of what I’ll be dealing with will be exam-related stress. But there will also be new students struggling with being away from home and students who will come to me with historic problems. It’ll make a change from the stuff I’ve done in the past.’

  ‘You seem excited.’

  She smiled. ‘I am.’

  ‘What would you say is the most important skill for a counsellor to have?’

  Charity thought about it for a moment. ‘Sounds obvious really, but listening. My sister Faith used to tell me I talked too much and didn’t listen enough. She used to quote Winston Churchill: “Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen.”’

  Dan smiled. ‘I like that.’

  Charity threw some mince into a saucepan and watched it sizzle as she stirred it around. Dan carried the vegetables over, scr
aping them in with the meat as Charity poured chopped tomatoes and stock over the mixture. Once the dish was in the oven, cheese gratings and vegetable skins all over the floor, they both collapsed on to the old brown sofa with their half-empty glasses of wine.

  ‘Smells good,’ Dan said, twisting around to face Charity, his arm resting against hers. ‘Haven’t had a home-cooked meal in God knows how long.’

  ‘Hope and I cook together every night. I guess it’s a habit.’ Dan looked towards the book Hope was always scribbling in, open flat down on the table, its spine battered and creased. It was made from dark brown leather, an intricate floral pattern all over it. Faith had got it for her when she was just ten. ‘Has your sister ever been in love?’ Dan asked.

  ‘I don’t think she has. I mean, she reads and writes about all these romantic liaisons, but doesn’t seem to have had any herself. You know, she was accepted on to a really great writing course in East Anglia before Faith died. She turned it down so she could stay and be there for us all.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Hope’s made a lot of sacrifices for our family.’ Charity felt her eyes fill with tears. ‘I feel a bit selfish actually. What have I ever done for her?’

  Dan put his hand on Charity’s arm. ‘You’ve worked at the café, looked after her when she was ill, been there for her as she has been for you. You mustn’t always feel so guilty, Charity. You’re a special woman.’

  Charity thought of what he’d said in Norfolk about wondering how his life would have been if he’d met her instead of Lana. How would her life have been if Dan had been that boy they’d met on the beach all those years ago?

  Would Faith still be alive?

  They both fell silent and the atmosphere suddenly felt charged, the space between them electric.

  ‘Charity,’ Dan said, eyes searching hers, ‘am I imagining what’s happening between us?’

  ‘No.’

  The front door opened and they both went quiet as Hope appeared in the hallway, her whole body drenched, her red hair loose to her waist, rain dripping on to the floor from its ends. She blinked in the semi-darkness at Charity and Dan, a haunted look in her eyes.

  ‘Hope, are you okay?’ Charity asked, jumping up and striding towards her sister.

  Hope scrabbled around in her bag, avoiding Charity’s gaze. ‘Fine, all fine.’ Her voice was trembling.

  ‘You’re not fine, what happened?’

  ‘I saw the police officer, if you must know,’ Hope said, eyes still on her bag.

  ‘Police officer?’ Charity said. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Hope looked up at her sister, her grey eyes slightly wild. ‘The one who was in charge of the investigation into Faith’s death.’

  Charity went very still as Dan hovered in the kitchen, brow puckered as he watched the two sisters.

  ‘He was in the pub where they were holding the poetry reading,’ Hope continued. ‘I recognised him straight away. He was older but – but it was definitely him. Funny how some faces scorch themselves on to your soul, isn’t it?’ She let out a muffled sob, slamming her hand over her mouth.

  Charity put her arm around her sister’s thin shoulders and steered her to the bench in the hallway to put some space between the two of them and Dan. Hope slumped down on to it, clutching the wooden seat with her fingers as she stared at the wall.

  ‘Why are you soaked through?’ Charity asked.

  ‘I was supposed to be getting a lift with Angela but she was faffing about. I had to get out of there.’ She stopped talking, peering into the kitchen at Dan. Her gaze dropped away from him. ‘Anyway, I couldn’t wait for her, so I just walked home.’

  ‘In the rain?’ Charity asked. ‘That pub’s ages away.’

  ‘I had to get out of there.’

  The aroma of garlic and roasting tomatoes wafted around them, reminding Charity of the lasagne in the oven. Wind lashed against the window and it seemed to force Dan out of his reverie. He grabbed his coat and strode down the hallway. ‘I’ll leave you both to it.’

  Charity stood. ‘Dan, you don’t have to—’

  He looked into her eyes. ‘You have to be here for your sister.’ He quickly kissed her on the cheek, the heat of his lips a shock on her cold skin. ‘Good luck with the new job, Charity.’ Then he let himself out into the rain. Charity closed the door and turned to her sister.

  ‘Hope, what’s wrong?’ she asked her.

  Hope shook her head, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. ‘Our poor darling sister was pregnant when she died, Charity. That bastard didn’t just kill our Faith, he killed our niece or nephew too.’

  Charity tried to focus on scrubbing a particularly stubborn stain from one of the café’s tables the next morning. But all she could see was Faith, her poor vulnerable pregnant sister. She quickly wiped away a tear as a couple nearby watched her with knitted brows. Surely her parents would have known, they’d have been told about the autopsy results. What a shock it must have been for them. And thank God they hadn’t passed the information on to her and Hope; Charity wasn’t sure she’d have been able to cope.

  Could she cope now?

  Dark emotions swelled inside her chest. She thought of that night, the car’s headlights bouncing all over the dark road as the car slid down it in the rain, knocking her sister off the road.

  Her sister and her baby.

  ‘Oh, Jesus,’ Charity whispered, putting her hand to her mouth

  ‘Are you okay, Charity?’ asked a woman with a small baby.

  ‘Yep,’ Charity said, forcing herself to speak, trying desperately not to look at the baby and think of Faith’s baby. ‘Must’ve been something I ate last night.’ She quickly strode out of the café to the railings protecting the promenade from the sea and clutched at them, the cloth she’d been holding lifting in the wind and tumbling into the lashing waves below. She wanted to be under those waves right at that moment, sickening memories muffled by torrid waves, pulling her deeper and deeper.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see her sister watching her, face twisted with sadness.

  ‘Can I have a break?’ Charity said. ‘Just a few minutes, I just need to walk. I just—’ She swallowed, mouth feeling incredibly dry. ‘Just a few minutes.’

  ‘Shall I come with you, I could close the café for a bit?’

  Charity shook her head. She needed to be alone. She’d just feel even worse with Hope’s sad eyes watching her. Hope was lucky; she hadn’t been there that night. She didn’t have this terrible guilt to contend with. Charity quickly grabbed her sister’s hand, giving it a squeeze before letting it go and hurrying down the promenade.

  Thank God she was leaving Busby-on-Sea soon. She couldn’t have stayed here with all these memories, even more so now.

  Listen to yourself! she thought. Selfish, selfish, selfish. Maybe she should stay and punish herself. Why should she be given the chance of a decent life when Faith had had that snatched away? She should call her new boss, tell her she couldn’t take the job, carry on working at the café all her life and all the sad memories Busby-on-Sea represented until the day she died. That’s what she deserved for being there that night, for not making Niall turn back.

  The thought made her shudder. Every instinct made her want to run away. She’d die if she stayed, throw herself into the sea because how else would she be able to deal with things?

  Worried she’d do just that, she walked away from the sea, eyes on the ground, fists dug deep into her pockets as tears streamed down her face.

  Had Faith been planning to keep the baby? She was only nineteen but she’d always been so gentle, always wanting every creature to live. Charity wasn’t sure Faith would have been able to face having an abortion. No wonder she was so unhappy those last few weeks.

  Oh God, two lives snatched away in a few reckless seconds on a foggy road. It was unbearable! What would Niall say if he ever found out?

  The sound of cars beeping dragged her from her thoughts. She was
in the middle of the road.

  Someone grabbed her arm, pulling her back to the promenade.

  Dan.

  She let out a sob and he pulled her into his arms, the citrus smell of him wrapping itself around her. She felt cocooned, protected from the force of the wind, the memories and the terrible guilt. He let her sob against him, stroking her hair, whispering that everything would be okay.

  ‘But it won’t,’ she mumbled into his coat. ‘Nothing will ever be okay.’

  Dan put his finger gently under her chin and tilted her face up. ‘Is this because of what your sister was so upset about last night?’

  She swallowed, unable to get the words out at first. But the way he was looking at her, face heavy with emotion, fingers soft, made her want to tell him everything. ‘Faith was pregnant,’ she whispered. ‘Pregnant,’ she said again, the word fierce on her lips.

  Dan took in a deep breath. ‘I’m so sorry, Charity.’

  Charity shook her head, the pain of the memories was excruciating. Dan placed his hands either side of her face and made her look at him again, his green eyes desperate. ‘Stop tearing yourself apart over the past, I can’t bear watching it.’

  ‘I deserve it, can’t you see that?’ she said, so tempted to tell him she’d been in the car that night but unable to bring herself to.

  ‘No. All I can see is a woman who’s had her life monopolised by the actions of a boy she was once besotted with. You have to move on. Niall has. Why can’t you?’

  His eyes explored hers. Their faces were so close, his hands warm on her cold skin. When she looked into his eyes, it was like she was swimming under warm seas, sheltered, safe. She imagined what it must feel like to kiss him, to feel his lips against hers, soft and sealing a promise of something new, something good. It was irrational, inappropriate, but she wanted to know how that felt, to be kissed by someone who could help her forget.

  A cloud moved over the hazy May sun above and shadows crept across the promenade. Dan sighed as though he was giving in and it set something in motion inside her. Before she even knew how she’d got there, she was pressing her lips against his, softly at first. Then their kiss grew more urgent and Charity clung on to him, scared she might fall if she let go. Her whole body weakened, softened, a contrast to when she kissed Niall, when all her nerves, all her fibres and her core buzzed with feeling.