My Sister’s Secret

by Tracy Buchanan

  When they finished, she sobbed. Niall let her, understanding.

  They stayed there all night, coiled up against each other, making love again. The next morning, as they emerged from the hut to a calm beautiful morning, the guilt overwhelmed Charity. Just a few days after Dan had walked out she was back in Niall’s arms. Was the habit so ingrained she was destined to repeat it over and over?

  As though sensing her mood, Niall grew quiet as the horse cantered gently up the hills and away from the glimmering lake that held their initials beneath its surface. Charity leant her cheek against Niall’s back, the resignation of what she’d done, and was sure to do again, exhausting her.

  ‘We did nothing wrong,’ Niall said after a while, his eyes still ahead of him. ‘You and Dan are separated, I’m single.’

  ‘It’s not about that.’

  ‘Then what? It was inevitable, you can’t deny that.’

  She sighed. ‘That’s the problem, how inescapable it always is.’

  He glanced around at her. ‘There’s a reason for that. We’re meant to be together, you understand that, don’t you? Every other relationship we have is doomed.’

  She suddenly felt angry. ‘And we’re not doomed?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Charity,’ Niall said, pulling the horse to a stop. He twisted around, looking intently into her eyes. ‘We’re meant to be. You know it, I know it, Dan knows it, your sister knows it.’

  Maybe he was right? Maybe she was a fool for denying it?

  When they returned to the hotel, they went straight to the room Niall had booked, Charity worried her sister would turn up at her own room. She felt as though she were drugged, the only certainty was the sweet mounting ache at the centre of her as Niall explored her body again with his lips and fingers.

  But soon thoughts of Dan intruded. She couldn’t help wondering where he was, if he really thought it was over…and if she was wrong to be here, with Niall.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Niall asked, tracing his fingers down the curve of her body.

  ‘I can’t help feeling guilty.’

  Niall sighed. ‘So you’re thinking of Dan?’

  ‘I can’t help it.’

  ‘You’re here with me, Charity. That should be enough to tell you how you really feel.’

  ‘It’s not as clear cut as that.’

  Niall sat up, staring at the ceiling in frustration. ‘He lied to you. Then he disappeared to Germany without saying a word. That’s wrong.’

  ‘I’m worried I didn’t try hard enough; that I’ve been too hasty. What if—’

  ‘Jesus, Charity,’ Niall said, shoving the covers off. ‘He can’t be that hard to get hold of. I’m going to have a shower. Call him, talk to him. And then if you still feel so torn, go back to him.’ His face softened. ‘I only want you to be with me if you’re sure.’ Then he walked into the bathroom.

  Charity stayed where she was for a few minutes then she left Niall’s room and headed back to her own. Once inside, she picked up the phone, dialling Dan’s work number. Dan’s PA Maxine answered. ‘Hi, it’s Charity.’

  ‘Oh thank God you’ve called, Charity. Mr North is back and he’s been desperately trying to track you down today after not finding you at the cottage. In fact, he’s at your offices right now trying to discover where you’ve gone’

  Charity’s heart clamoured inside her chest. ‘I’m in Kazakhstan with my sister. Can I give you the number to my hotel?’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll wait by the phone until he calls.’

  After Charity gave her the number, she lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. If Dan was so desperately trying to find her then did that mean he regretted walking out like that? Had she ever really given him a chance to explain? And here she was, sleeping with Niall.

  The phone rang. She instantly snatched it up.

  ‘Charity?’ It was Dan. He took a deep shuddery breath. ‘Come home. I made a mistake walking out. I love you. Just come home.’

  She closed her eyes, tears squeezing out between her lashes. ‘Oh Dan, it’s all such a mess.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ he said passionately. ‘All I care about is getting you home right now. I refuse to let you slip between my fingers. I’ve been a fool. I need to see you.’

  Charity glanced at the door. Niall was waiting for her in his room right now. ‘Why did you just leave like that?’

  ‘My jealousy overwhelmed me.’

  She swallowed. ‘Of Niall?’

  ‘Look, I don’t want to talk about him, about my jealousy, it means nothing now. I can’t be away from you, I’ve realised that the past few days. It’s been torture.’

  Then there was a knock on the door.

  ‘I don’t know what to do. I need time.’

  ‘You’ve had time! Don’t tell me the past couple of weeks haven’t been torture for you too?’

  ‘They have.’

  Another knock.

  ‘I’m due to fly back next week. We can meet then.’

  He sighed. ‘I’d rather not wait. I can hire a private jet.’

  ‘No, Dan. Please, just a few more days. I’ll see you at the cottage.’

  ‘Fine. If that’s what it takes. I’m not going to let you go this time, Charity.’

  ‘I have to go.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you too,’ Charity whispered.

  She put down the phone and took in a few deep breaths. Then she walked to the door and opened it to find Hope stood in the hallway.

  ‘I got back early!’ her sister declared. When she saw the look on Charity’s face, her smile drifted away. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘I’m so confused,’ Charity said, moaning as she put her head in her hands.

  Her sister put her arms around her. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Niall’s here, I slept with him.’

  Hope darted away from her like she was infectious. ‘Please tell me you’re joking?’

  ‘I’m not.’

  Hope flung her hands to the ceiling and let out a cry of frustration. ‘What is wrong with you?’

  Charity’s stomach squirmed with guilt. ‘I don’t know. I was hurt. It was a mistake.’

  Hope slumped down into a chair in the corner of the room. ‘What about Dan?’

  ‘That’s the problem.’ Charity explained the conversation she’d just had with him.

  Hope shook her head. ‘What a tangled web you weave. So you do love Dan?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Niall, you said it was a mistake?’

  ‘It was but – but I love him too. Those old feelings just won’t go away.’

  ‘Old feelings. That’s the problem, it’s all steeped in the past, I keep telling you this.’

  ‘And Dan? He lied to me.’

  ‘Have you even tried to find out why?’

  ‘He didn’t give me the chance.’

  ‘And what chance did you give him, flying out here as soon as you got the chance?’

  Charity moaned. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘You need to talk to Dan, really talk to him.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe you should,’ a voice hissed. She saw Niall walking down the hallway, his hair still wet, his angry eyes on Charity. ‘I was about to come and apologise for being harsh. But turns out it’s true, you really can’t make up your mind.’

  ‘Don’t you think that speaks volumes?’ Hope said, crossing her arms and looking Niall up and down. ‘She can’t drag herself away from the past, from you.’

  Niall sighed. ‘Hope, I—’

  ‘I’m here, you know,’ Charity shouted out in frustration. ‘I don’t need either of you telling me what to do.’

  Hope and Niall grew silent, watching her.

  ‘I need some time to figure things out,’ she said, her voice softer.

  ‘Fine,’ Niall said. ‘Take your fucking time. You can’t keep messing with my feelings like this.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Charity

  Near Busby-on-Sea, UK
r />   July 1988

  Charity returned to the UK the next week to find Dan waiting for her at the cottage. They both contemplated each other for a few moments, then Dan strode over, pulling her into his arms.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sorry I let my jealousy overwhelm me.’

  She looked up into his eyes. ‘Of Niall?’

  He nodded. ‘It’s hard seeing you two together. There’s this spark between you that I just feel I can’t compete with. I thought it just best I leave you to it. But I see that was a mistake now, I need to fight for you.’

  She pulled away from him, turning away, worried he’d see what she’d done with Niall written all over her face. Niall had said she had to stop messing with his feelings. Wasn’t she doing the same with Dan?

  In the last few days of their holiday together, Hope had offered a solution: to stay with her in Busby-on-Sea for a couple of weeks, even more if she wanted, to get some space from both men. She could still commute to her job.

  ‘I need some space to figure things out,’ she said. Dan’s face dropped. She quickly took his hand. ‘I love you, that’s one thing I’m sure of. But I need stability. I need everything to be sure and true. Will you give me more time?’

  He took in a deep breath. ‘If that’s what you need.’

  ‘I do.’

  He gently kissed her lips. ‘I’ll be here waiting,’ he said.

  Charity returned to Busby-on-Sea that afternoon. Strange how the very place she wanted to escape from was now offering her shelter from the mess her love life was in. She took the time to reflect when she wasn’t at work, sitting on the very rocks she once did with Faith and Hope, watching the sea and trying to find answers in it.

  She loved Dan, there was no doubt about it. And she would always love Niall. But was it all too close for comfort? Would Dan always be jealous of Niall and would Niall always, somehow, crop up in her life and tempt her into his arms?

  A month after arriving back from Kazakhstan, as she was tidying through Hope’s messy bathroom cabinet one Saturday, she noticed sanitary towels on the bottom shelf. She ran through the dates in her mind and realised her period was late. It was never late, but then she did have a tumultuous few days in the lead up to going to Kazakhstan. Maybe she forgot?

  The full horror of the situation dawned on her. If she were pregnant, how would she know who the father was? She and Dan had made love before they went out for dinner with Miles, the owner of the cruise liner. And then the night in the hut with Niall only happened a couple of days later.

  She had to find out for sure whether she was pregnant or not so she drove a few towns away and went into a chemist’s to find a home pregnancy test. When she got back home, she read and re-read the instructions. After taking the test, she waited anxiously for the result to appear. After a few moments, the tip turned to blue.

  That evening over dinner, Charity played with her food as she stared out of the window. She’d been in shock all afternoon, grateful Hope was at the café so she could try to digest the news. Hope had arrived home full of stories about the customers, and Charity had let her talk, fingers grazing her stomach as she thought of the tiny mass of cells growing inside. She knew she wanted to be a mother one day but now? Is this how Faith had felt when she’d found out she was pregnant?

  And then there was the fact Charity had no idea who the father was.

  Hope frowned as she looked at Charity. ‘Are you okay?’

  Charity peered up. ‘Fine.’

  ‘No you’re not. What is it?’

  Charity bit her lip, tears flooding her eyes.

  ‘Oh Christ, what now,’ Hope said.

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ Charity blurted out.

  Hope put her hand to her mouth. ‘Charity! That’s wonderful.’ She frowned. ‘Or is it?’ She closed her eyes. ‘You slept with Niall in Kazakhstan.’

  ‘And Dan just a couple of days before. I don’t know what to do.’

  Hope slid her hand across to Charity’s. ‘Well, think about it logically. There’s no question you’re keeping it, is there? So you need to decide: do you really want an ex-con as your child’s father? Every time you look at him, you’ll know that he killed our sister? Plus he always said he never wanted kids, didn’t he?’

  Charity gnawed at her lip. Hope was right. Niall had always been so vehement about not wanting children. There was also the fact he didn’t like being tied to one place. Her child would need security.

  Her child. It felt so strange to think that.

  ‘Then there’s Dan,’ Hope said softly. ‘A good man, someone who can provide a stable loving environment for you and your child. And that beautiful cottage of yours, can you imagine bringing a family up there?’

  She put her hand on her belly and imagined her child playing outside the cottage, kicking their little legs into the sea below, just as she had when she was a child. She could see a life there as a family. Deep down, hadn’t she imagined that from the moment she saw the house? It had been early days with Dan but something inside had told her they’d have that one day, a beautiful house filled with a beautiful family.

  Hope was right, Dan could be a good dad. She just couldn’t see that in Niall. Niall loved her, deeply, but it was a turbulent kind of love. Not this soft, gentle kind – the kind of love a child needed.

  She stood up. ‘I’m going to call Dan.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Willow

  Near Busby-on-Sea, UK

  October 2016

  I watch the sun begin to sink beneath the calm sea from the window seat in my room. My aunt Hope made the seat for me from old fabric. Funny the things you forget. All I’ve remembered lately is the bitterness between us, the anger and the arguments.

  The cottage is quiet and dark. The walls press in around me, all the secrets I’ve discovered the past few weeks seeming to fill the space. In the distance, the homeless woman – Mad Shoe Lady – watches the sea, moonlight glinting off the trolley beside her.

  I came straight here after arriving in the UK this morning. I’d hoped to find Aunt Hope tucked into her own window seat downstairs, notepad in hand as she stared wistfully out to sea. I planned to be calm; to be grown-up; to prove, as Niall had suggested, that I could handle the truth. But she wasn’t here when I arrived, nor is she here now. So I went to my old room to wait for her, as I used to as a teenager.

  I love this room. Knowing Mum grew up in it makes it special. Over the years, I’d stuck posters of various rock groups over the faded flowery wallpaper, lined Mum’s shelves with diving books and atlases. But I’d kept her single bed, her floral duvet cover, now old and discoloured but hers all the same. Some of her clothes are still in the wardrobe now, stonewashed denim and colourful blouses. There are photos of her and Dad, clumsily stuck to the walls by me over the years. I get up now, find a picture of the two of them outside their cottage the year before I was born, wide smiles on their beautiful faces. Was Mum pregnant then?

  I wonder if she missed being in her childhood house with the memories it held of Faith. Or maybe she preferred to avoid those memories. I peer up. There’s an attic room above me that Aunt Hope always keeps locked, using the excuse that my feet would go through the fragile floorboards if I walked inside. Now I think about it, I realise that surely that must have been Aunt Faith’s room?

  I walk up the tiny flight of stairs that’s hidden at the end of the hallway behind a door. They always used to fascinate me, these stairs. I’d sit on the bottom step and stare up at the locked door, wishing I could somehow get into that room.

  When I walk up the stairs now, I hesitate before I put my hand on the doorknob. It feels sacred, somehow, to be back here, like I’m a child again. I take a deep breath and turn the knob.

  The door opens.

  My heartbeat quickens. I suppose Aunt Hope has had no need to keep it locked since I left. I find the light, turn it on.

  I notice the wallpaper first, pale blue with colourful fish dotted all over it
. Then the bed, a large bed with a thick cream duvet. It looks dusty but is perfectly made. Lying on two soft pillows is a doll with straw hair and blue dungarees. There’s a pretty white dressing table where the two eaves of the roof meet. My reflection stares back at me from a large silver-edged mirror.

  I walk carefully across the floorboards and over a white fur rug to get to the table. The floorboards creak but don’t collapse under my weight. Clearly Aunt Hope exaggerated to keep me away from this room.

  There isn’t much on the table, not like in Mum’s room where I found an array of hairsprays and perfumes and makeup when I moved in when I was seven. Here, there’s just one bottle of perfume, a simple crystal bottle, and a tube of lip-gloss.

  How unbearably sad, to think this room has been frozen in time all these years.

  Stuck to the mirror is a photo of the three sisters together. Mum’s about fourteen in it, her dark hair a mass of permed curls around her head, red pouty lips and stonewashed denim. Aunt Hope sits quietly, a book tucked under her arm, her red hair swept over one shoulder and trailing down her long purple dress.

  Then my aunt Faith, soft blonde hair lifting slightly in the wind, a slim arm wrapped around her tummy, a pretty blue summer dress to her knees.

  My heart aches as I look at her. She died so young, Mum too, leaving just Aunt Hope behind.

  Poor Aunt Hope.

  The three sisters all seem so different on first glance. But on closer inspection you can see they have the same shape to their faces: cherub cheeks, high foreheads, full lips. I catch sight of my face in the mirror. I look like them, too.

  I want this photo. I deserve this photo. After years of not being told I had another aunt, of never seeing photos of her, I think it’s only right. I pull it from the mirror. As I do so, another photo falls to the floor, hidden behind the photo of the sisters. I lean down and pick it up.

  Then I let out a gasp.

  He has dark hair instead of his normal blond, but I’d know that face anywhere.

  It’s Dad.

  And his arms are wrapped around Aunt Faith’s waist.