‘She must have seen you writing.’
‘Not really. I haven’t done much since she arrived. It’s all been a bit hectic. I need to crack on soon or that deadline for book two is going to start looking scary. I’m already not as far on as I’d like to be.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Kathy said in that reassuring, motherly way of hers. ‘Give yourself a break. Does your sister know about your book? What’s her name again?’
‘It’s Diane – and no, not to my knowledge. I think that’s part of the reason I haven’t told Mia yet. My relationship with her mum has been off for so long now that I guess I’m guarded. I’m not even sure what Mia thinks of me. She seems to get on better with Mark.’
‘I thought he didn’t like kids. Wasn’t that the reason you didn’t—’
‘Yes, exactly. And he’s hardly even around most of the time. During the week he’s working and now he’s out playing squash. Next week it looks like he’s going to be away for a night down south, visiting that place his firm recently took over. Mind you, I shouldn’t complain about that, as he’s offered to try to find Diane while he’s down there.’
Kathy nodded, chewing on her last morsel of cake. ‘So you still don’t know when she’s coming back for Mia?’ she asked once her mouth was empty.
Hannah shook her head. ‘But Bournemouth isn’t that far from Southampton, where Mark’s heading, so he thinks it’s feasible.’
‘Don’t take this the wrong way, love, but it seems quite extreme to have to go and search for her like that. Is there something I’m missing?’
‘You don’t know my sister like Mark and I do.’ She lowered her voice, mindful of her niece’s proximity, even though Todd’s bedroom door was still shut. ‘There’s definitely something strange going on; I’ve no idea what that is, but it’s unlikely to be anything good.
‘She’s not answering our calls; the only one who’s spoken to her since she left here last weekend is Mia, during one very brief and vague phone chat. I’ve had a single text from her – and that was only after I left a voicemail threatening to call the police because I was so worried. I mean, who turns up out of the blue after all that time of no contact, only to dump her daughter and go AWOL? It’s not normal behaviour, is it?’
‘Right, I see. No, that definitely doesn’t sound good.’
‘It’s not. But please don’t say anything to anyone, Kathy; especially not Todd, in case those two do end up friends.’
Kathy reached forward and touched her hand, looking her in the eye. ‘Of course I won’t. Poor Mia. How’s she coping with it all?’
‘She seems to be all right, considering. But it’s hard to say for sure, since I’m only just getting to know her. I should probably try to have a chat with her about it, but I’m also mindful of not worrying her. I’ve nothing to compare her behaviour with, apart from what she was like as a toddler – and that’s hardly helpful.’
‘No, I suppose not. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.’
‘Thank you. I appreciate that. You’re a good friend, Kathy.’
CHAPTER 9
Hannah had just got off the phone to her literary agent, who was back in the office this Tuesday morning after a fortnight’s holiday in the South of France with his wife and two young daughters.
A big, bald chap in his early fifties with a booming voice and a laugh to match, Bruce Wilks had an imposing but affable personality ideally suited to his job. He also appeared to know everyone who mattered in the publishing industry and to have read every book of note that Hannah could think to mention. He was part of a prestigious, long-established London literary agency and had a wealth of experience that Hannah felt made him an ideal match for her clueless novice. Bruce had been at her side every step of the way so far – a reliable source of guidance and reassurance – and she really appreciated having his firm but friendly hand on the tiller.
After the usual pleasantries about Bruce’s trip to the Côte d’Azur, where Hannah and Mark had also holidayed several times, the conversation had turned towards literary matters.
Pippa, Hannah’s editor at the large, London-based publisher with whom she’d been lucky enough to sign a deal, had sent them both an email relating to The Boy at the Window, Hannah’s debut novel.
A petite, softly spoken, pensive type in her mid-twenties, Pippa had an impressive grasp of the publishing industry and its latest trends, plus a great eye for detail. She’d contacted Hannah and Bruce on this occasion to show them an amended version of the cover, which she and her colleagues were keen to use.
Hannah liked the new version, but she’d wanted Bruce’s feedback before replying. Fortunately, he liked it too, which made things nice and easy. Now all Hannah had to do was draft a quick email reply to Pippa.
At times like this she often felt like she needed to pinch herself. Her dream of being a published author was coming true. She pulled up the attachment of the tweaked cover design her editor had sent over and stared at it for a while on her laptop screen.
It did look good. Like … well, a real book.
Slipping into a daydream, she imagined walking along a Metrolink carriage and happening upon someone with their head buried in a copy of her novel. She pictured herself standing silently behind them in the aisle of the tram, watching them engage in her fictional world and wondering whether or not to tap their shoulder; to reveal herself as the author and offer to sign it.
And then the fantasy came to a crashing halt as the reader morphed into a sneering Diane, who threw the book to the floor, declaring it to be ‘utter rubbish’.
Hannah shook her head and placed her palms over her face, her fingertips running across her closed eyelids like erasers trying to delete the horrible image she’d conjured up. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she just enjoy the run-up to her first novel being published, like a normal person? Instead, here she was, worrying what her stupid sister would think of it. Why did she even care? Bloody Diane. It was so typical of her to reappear now to spoil things; to get inside Hannah’s head again and make her doubt herself just as her life was getting back on track.
‘So don’t let her!’ Hannah shouted at the empty room, slamming both fists on to the desk, jumping to her feet and walking over to the window in a bid to change the direction of her thought process. ‘Screw Diane,’ she said to her faint reflection in the glass. ‘Who cares what she thinks? I’ve managed perfectly well without her for years now. I’m the one who should be judging her; not the other way round. What kind of mother dumps her daughter in a strange city, miles from home, only to go incommunicado? So what if she spurns my book when she finds out about it. It’ll only be because she’s jealous.’
Hannah realised that speaking her thoughts out loud in this way would probably make her look unbalanced to most people. However, it was something she did from time to time as a way of pulling herself together when she felt like she was losing it; giving herself a stern talking-to when no one else was around to do so.
At Hannah’s lowest ebb, when her then very fragile mental state had forced her to leave her old job as an advertising copywriter, she’d had to adapt to spending a lot of time home alone. During this difficult, traumatic period, she’d discovered that vocalising her thoughts could be a helpful way of addressing their less logical, anxiety-fuelled elements. They somehow sounded less convincing when spoken out loud than they did niggling away in her mind. So actually, as far as Hannah was concerned, talking to herself didn’t make her unhinged; it helped her to stay sane, just as her counselling did. She’d even mentioned the habit to Sally during one of their early sessions, and she’d encouraged it, telling Hannah to stick with this coping method if she found it helpful.
All the same, Hannah knew it wasn’t something to do in company: at least not in front of anyone other than Mark, who’d seen it all before. She certainly wouldn’t have said any of these things out loud in front of Mia, not least because they involved her mother. But her niece wasn’t home. She�
�d gone out with Todd about half an hour ago to show him around Central Library, with its fancy computers and games, and then to ‘hang out around town’, as she’d put it.
Hannah was delighted that the kids, who’d also spent several hours together on Todd’s PlayStation yesterday, were getting along. Things hadn’t looked promising initially, but that must have been down to shyness. It was nice to see them going out and doing something together. Knowing Mia wasn’t wandering the city centre alone was a weight off Hannah’s mind.
What did bother her, though, was the fact that she still hadn’t told Mia about being a writer and having her novel published. She knew this was weird, particularly in light of her niece being a keen reader. Hannah recognised it for what it was: a protection mechanism designed to stop Diane from finding out and potentially spoiling her achievement. And yet Hannah also knew she couldn’t continue to keep it a secret from Mia.
Mark had warned her of this as they’d chatted in bed on Sunday night. He’d started off by telling her how he’d bumped into her friend Laura on his way home from playing squash that afternoon.
Laura was a former colleague of Hannah’s from her copywriting days. At one time she and Mark had frequently socialised with her and her husband, Ralph. One reason for this was that they also didn’t have any kids – although not out of choice. They’d been down the IVF route without any success: a harrowing experience that had played some part in the fading of their friendship. Hannah’s own experiences had played a more significant role, though, thanks to everything she’d been through following the death of her mother and the falling-out with Diane. Of particular significance was the major public breakdown Hannah had eventually had at work, culminating in her departure.
She and Laura were still in touch. They occasionally met up for a coffee, but it wasn’t like it used to be between them.
‘I almost didn’t recognise Laura,’ Mark had said. ‘It’s been so long and you never mentioned she’d cut her hair short. Anyway, she said she’d give you a call to arrange another coffee soon. And she seemed very excited about reading your book.’
‘Right,’ Hannah had replied. She’d tried to ignore the wave of panic she felt at the idea of any of her old work mates reading the start of the book: a section inspired by her office meltdown. The issue was that several of them, including Laura, had witnessed the real-life incident and were bound to spot the similarities between that and the one in the story.
Somehow Hannah had transformed the most difficult part of her life so far into a positive: turning the negative experience on itself as a way to regain her confidence and recover. After first going off on stress and then quitting the job altogether, she’d been through an awful period in which – due to crippling anxiety – she’d barely left home. Then Hannah had started to see Sally, her counsellor, who’d encouraged her to take ownership of the situation in order to turn it around. This had led to Hannah pursuing her lifelong dream of writing a novel. Following a couple of false starts, she’d eventually found her flow by writing about a character in a similar predicament to her own. And so her book – about a housebound woman who grows suspicious after spotting a child alone in a nearby apartment – had taken shape.
But happy as she was with her resulting book deal, the idea of people who knew her reading something so personal gave her the willies as much as it excited her.
‘Have you told Mia about it yet?’ Mark had asked.
Hannah had frowned. ‘No. It hasn’t come up.’
‘What does she think you do for work?’
‘I don’t know. We’ve not discussed it.’
Mark had run his palms across the cotton-encased summer quilt that covered them both in bed, smoothing the fabric over his lower body. ‘Hasn’t she seen you doing any writing?’
‘Possibly,’ Hannah had replied. ‘But I haven’t done much since she’s been here. I’ve found it hard to concentrate and, when I’ve had some free time, there have always been other things to do.’
‘Maybe if you told her about it, you’d also find it easier to make time to write. It’ll end up being awkward, if you’re not careful.’
Hannah’s only reply had been a grunt, followed by a declaration that she was too tired for further conversation. However, after sleeping on the matter, she’d accepted that her husband was right.
In the meantime, she now had a great opportunity to get some writing done, since she wasn’t expecting Mia back until late afternoon. At 2 p.m. Hannah had a counselling session scheduled with Sally, who she was glad to have started seeing again in light of Diane and Mia’s reappearance, desperate to avoid this triggering a setback in her mental state. However, that appointment was still a while off.
‘Come on, Hannah,’ she told herself, sitting down in front of her laptop. ‘Crack on. No excuses.’
Progress was slow initially as she fought off self-doubt. But as she let herself be drawn back into her fictional world, letting the real one and its various problems fade away, she found her rhythm.
By the time she stopped typing, she’d reached the end of a chapter. She saved the document and leaned back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling and letting out a long sigh as she stretched her arms out on either side and wiggled her fingers around. Thank goodness for that, she thought. All her doubts and fears were still lurking in the background, but the act of writing had muted them.
Was she totally happy with what she’d just written? No. She could easily read back through it and tear it to pieces. But she knew from experience not to do that, and she felt good about having made some progress.
Hannah picked up her mobile and finally allowed herself to read the text message that had arrived while she’d been busy – from Laura.
She’d been tempted to open it straight away but hadn’t wanted to interrupt her flow. She had a good idea what it was about anyway, in light of Mark bumping into Laura the other day.
It was a shame how things had drifted between the two couples, considering how well they’d always got along with one another. Maybe it was still fixable. It would only take her inviting Laura and Ralph over for a meal. It wasn’t like she was inundated with female friends of her own age. She couldn’t think of any she was closer to than kind, lovely Laura.
And yet Hannah still felt embarrassed about the cringeworthy way she’d crashed out of her old job. Seeing Laura never failed to bring it all back, when she’d rather just forget about it and move forward.
Hi, Han. How are you? Saw Mark on Sunday. Got me thinking. Why don’t the four of us meet up soon like we used to? Maybe a nice meal somewhere swanky to celebrate your book deal? Can’t wait to read it! Already pre-ordered online. X
Hannah read Laura’s message over twice and felt her heart race. The suggestion of a meal out together was timely and easier than cooking at home. But again the idea of her friend reading her novel, packed full of her personal angst, made her nervous.
Much had been changed and exaggerated from her real-life mental collapse, but still. Anyone who knew her as well as Laura did could read all sorts into the book that wasn’t there, seeing themselves in characters and so on.
The same applied to Diane, plus her dad and his second wife, Joan. They’d all contributed one way or another to Hannah’s descent and, as a result, there were bound to be parts of the narrative that rang true, despite how much she’d altered.
As for Mark, he’d already read the story at an early stage. He was also the one person in her life who already knew everything about her – good and bad – and who she could trust without question. They had no secrets. They told each other everything, which was why their marriage was still as strong today, if not stronger, than it had been when they’d first tied the knot. Mark had been her rock throughout, for better for worse, just as he’d pledged during their wedding vows. Without his help, she very much doubted she’d be where she was today.
So why did she care what anyone else thought? She had her husband; he was all she needed.
‘C
alm down,’ she told herself. ‘You wanted to write a book. Of course people who know you are going to read it. What did you expect? If they can’t understand that it’s fiction, that’s their problem.’
CLIENT SESSION TRANSCRIPT: HCOOK060819
S: Hello, Hannah. How are you today?
H: Not too bad, thanks. I got some work done on my next book this morning, so I’m in a good mood about that. It’s been difficult getting down to it since Mia’s been staying with us.
S: She must be impressed that her aunt will soon be a published author.
H: Hmm. This is going to sound strange, Sally, but I haven’t actually told her yet.
S: I see. Why’s that?
H: It just hasn’t come up, although Mark and I have already discussed this and I’m going to tell her really soon – before it gets weird.
S: Has something been holding you back?
H: Yes, although it’s less about Mia and more about Diane, I think. I was a big reader when we were growing up and she wasn’t. She used to make fun of me for constantly having my nose in a book. It was another excuse to call me a swat. Plus she’d make comments about how I ought to get some real friends rather than the imaginary ones I read about. That kind of thing. She saw reading as a waste of time.
S: What about your dream of becoming a writer?
H: Hmm. I tried to avoid discussing that with Diane, knowing it would be something else for her to make fun of me about. I remember we both went on a school trip to London once. I must have been thirteen or fourteen. In the coach on the way down, I discovered she’d stolen a short story I’d written at home and was passing it around her friends, getting them all to laugh at it. It was a typical soppy teenage effort about unrequited love, inspired by some of the romantic novels I’d been reading at the time. Of course that made it – and me – an easy target for ridicule. I was mortified. It ruined my whole trip. I couldn’t believe my own sister would do something so mean. I didn’t speak to her for nearly a week after that.
My Sister's Lies Page 11
