Her Sister’s Secret

“How could we have missed the signs?” He pressed a hand to his temple, as if trying to put pressure on the thinking part of his brain. “I don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head. “I have to ask you, son. Did Scarlet leave a note?”

Nate swallowed. His hands clenched tight, knuckles virtually bursting through his skin. I tried to catch his eye again, but he refused to make contact.

Dad viewed me in a way that told me he’d twigged he wasn’t getting the full story. “Let’s go into the study, Nate.”

Ignoring Nate’s cornered expression, I said, “Where’s Mum?”

“In the sitting room. Had a few drinks.” Code for she’s drunk, which was hardly surprising if not exactly helpful.

“I’ll keep her company,” I said, as Dad turned on his heel, Nate gloomy, loping along behind him.

Dressed in an old tracksuit, Mum sat on the floor surrounded by boxes of old photographs. Engrossed, she didn’t look up. Against the shuttered light, the smell of booze hung heavy. I slid onto the floor beside her.

“Remember this?” She glanced up, her face, without make-up, puffy with crying. She showed me Scarlet’s graduation photograph. Goofing around, her mortarboard askew, you could see the happiness radiating out of her. The only person bursting with more pride than Scarlet on that day had been Mum. She touched the print tenderly, tracing the line around my sister’s face, dropping a kiss onto it before planting it carefully next to a line of others. Method in her madness, the photographs were arranged in date order, from babyhood to childhood, adolescent and young adult. Millions of them, more even than Zach, her firstborn.

I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. In the space of forty-eight hours, she’d lost weight, felt as fragile as spun glass. “And this,” I smiled, picking out a photo of Scarlet and me on holiday in Cornwall. The weather had been atrocious, I remembered, although it hadn’t deterred us from riding our bikes in full wet weather gear. Sodden and smiling for the camera, we couldn’t have looked more pleased. A volatile explosion of grief took me unawares, hot tears unexpectedly surging down my cheeks. I checked them with the back of my hand.

Haunted, Mum reached for her drink, the sound of ice clinking against glass as familiar to me as her smile. “Did I hear Nate’s voice?”

“He’s with dad in the study.” I wondered whether I should warn my mother of what was to come. I never expected drama and denials. This was not my father’s way, but the effect of his displeasure was no less punishing. What I hadn’t told Nate was that, as Scarlet’s protector, Dad would demand to know why his eldest daughter was so unhappy and what part his son-in-law might have played in her distress. To Scarlet, family was all. My parents’ commitment to her was no less strong. I imagined Dad listening quite reasonably then narrowing his eyes, getting Nate in his sights, speaking softly before he did the equivalent of pulling the trigger with a few well-chosen words. Dread dripped into my ear. “I expect they’ll be out soon,” I reassured Mum.

Mum selected another photograph: Scarlet in her nurse’s uniform. “Her patients adored her.” She slurred her words and took another deep swallow of gin. How I’d like to reach for the bottle and tip the contents down the sink, but I did what I always did and nodded blandly.

As if suddenly remembering Nate, she stood up, made for the door, unsteady on her feet. I called after her, scrabbling, about to give chase when Dad and Nate bowled in.

“Nate, darling.” Mum flung her arms around him. “You poor poor man.”

“He’s going to stay with us for a few days, Amanda,” Dad said.

“Of course. Absolutely. You must, Nate.”

Looking over her shoulder, Nate looked me straight in the eye. He didn’t look flustered. He didn’t look apologetic. He didn’t look ashamed. I couldn’t read him at all.

Chapter 21 (#ulink_93824db7-4682-5386-8329-b4f94cefcf88)

Zach looked as if he hadn’t moved since my last visit. Sitting down, shades on, thighs spread, soaking up the sun. The only difference: Tanya sat beside him cross-legged on the dry ground, as if someone had taken a pair of shears to her hair and tipped a pot of Dulux over what was left. ‘Lady in Red’ sprang to mind. As soon as she spotted me, she unfurled, lithe-limbed, and threw her arms around me in a hug. Sandalwood and sweat, incense and ingenuousness. Goodness knew what she saw in my brother. “Zach told me,” she whispered in my ear. “So sorry.” Drawing away, she asked after my parents even though she’d never met them. Probably never would.

I trotted out a neutral ‘as well as can be expected’ reply.

Much to my amazement, Zach had managed to prise himself out of his seat, stagger to his feet and engage in normal social niceties.

“Hi,” he said watchfully. Sizing me up.

“Is there somewhere we can go and talk, Zach?”

Catching on, Tanya said she needed to check on an ailing chicken.

“Sure, I —”

“Darling Molly,” a smooth educated voice, tidal in its delivery, one instantly recognisable, boomed over our heads. We did a collective turn and watched as Chancer bounded down the steps of what had once been a Romany caravan. He carried more weight than I remembered, the buttons of his white, open-neck shirt, which hung loose outside his jeans, competing with flesh and gravity. Fuller-faced too, a little dissolute around the eyes, he looked as though he’d returned from an all-night party. Before I knew it, I was grabbed and spun off my feet. Startled, I briefly forgot that I was in mourning. So had he, it seemed.