The Lost Sister

‘Understood why I had to leave. But I don’t want to talk about it over the phone.’

‘How else do you expect us to communicate?’

‘In person, Becks.’

‘Becks? You stopped using that name a long time ago.’

‘I remember. I remember everything—’

‘You said, in person. Does that mean you’re coming home?’

‘No. Not now, but, hopefully, in the future. I’m getting married in January.’

‘Congratulations. I wish you every happiness.’

‘Thank you.’

They could be strangers, Rebecca thinks. Word-perfect and skilled in the art of polite conversation. She forces herself to concentrate on what Cathy is saying. Havenswalk, she says, is a relaxation centre where people come from all over New Zealand, and even beyond, to be pampered and massaged. She runs it with a business partner, a woman called Alma.

‘It’s a wonderful place,’ Cathy enthuses. ‘And the grounds are beautiful. I’m going to be married there, on the lawn beside the lake. I want my sisters with me, Rebecca. I want us to use the occasion for a reunion and I’m hoping—’

Unable to endure Cathy’s enthusiasm, which keeps sliding through her repentant tone, Rebecca’s composure finally snaps.

‘I thought the prodigal sister was supposed to come home to eat the fatted calf, not the other way round.’

‘It doesn’t matter where we eat the fatted calf as long as we can be together again,’ Cathy retorts.

The wind, gusting through the rain, rattles the stable doors and starts a horse whinnying. Others, hearing, take up the call until it throbs like a wound inside Rebecca’s head. Throughout the day she had hoped for rain and it has been lashing against the sanctuary walls for over an hour. With such a deluge coming down, no more horses will be forced to jump the bonfires tonight.

A button on the control panel signals an emergency call.

‘Cathy, someone is trying to get through. It’s one of our busiest nights. Hold the line a moment.’

Without waiting for her sister to reply, she clicks into the incoming call. Every year Halloween brings them out of the woodwork, the crazies and the cruel, and the sanctuary crew are working round the clock to rescue injured animals. A stray pony has been spotted on wasteland near Naas, burns on its belly, a torn ear, one eye completely closed. The caller–she sounds young, probably a teenager whose night has turned sour–begins to cry. Rebecca asks for details of the location and radios her emergency team with the information. The shock of Cathy’s call is beginning to subside, yet it seems unreal, this mature voice with its taut inflections ringing out of the blue.

‘Rebecca…?’

Cathy’s hesitancy snaps her back to the present. ‘I’m listening. You want me to go to your wedding.’

‘I’m hoping you will. We need closure, Rebecca.’

‘And how do you suggest we achieve closure?’ Rebecca clicks her fingers, an audible snap carried across continents. ‘Draw a line through the past and pretend it never happened?’

‘We can’t wipe out the past but we can make peace with it.’

‘You really believe it’s that easy?’

‘Of course I don’t think it’s easy. But we have to begin somewhere. It’s taken me a long time to reach this point. How could I look for forgiveness from anyone else until I had the courage to absolve myself?’

‘Is that what you want from me, Cathy? Absolution?’ She imagines Cathy squirming away from her questions, as she did so often in the past, settling her face into a hard white mask of defiance.

‘Not absolution, Rebecca. I want you to come to Havenswalk to meet my son.’

Can silence echo, Rebecca wonders. Can it crash so heavily that all she hears is the echo…son…son…son…reverberating?

‘Your son?’

‘Yes. His name is Conor.’

‘Conor?’

‘Conor Lambert.’

‘What age is he?’

Cathy hesitates, the briefest of pauses, but long enough for Rebecca to know the answer. ‘He’ll be fifteen in December.’

‘Fifteen?’ Why on earth does she keep repeating her sister’s words?

‘You lied to us!’

‘At the time I believed…it seemed better that way. You wouldn’t worry so much—’

‘Worry? What do you know about our worries…our fears?’ Memories of their last encounter press like a claustrophobic band against Rebecca’s forehead. She winces and tightens her grip on the receiver. ‘Why did you never mention him in your cards?’

‘Would you have wanted to know?’

‘He’s my nephew, Cathy. Of course I would have wanted to know of his existence. You deliberately deceived us.’

‘I was so confused—’

‘Your son?’ Rebecca harshly interrupts her. ‘Who does he look like?’

‘His personality reminds me of Julie.’ Cathy swallows, an audible gulp, as if her throat has contracted with nerves, then forces a laugh. ‘A bit wild, like all lads his age, and into his music in a big way. He wants to be a vet when he’s older so you’re there too, Rebecca. I guess he resembles all of you in little ways. Most of all, Conor is uniquely himself. He’s anxious to meet his aunts. Please come and visit us. I’ll put you up in the chalets so it’ll only cost you the plane fare.’

‘No…I can’t. It’s nothing to do with the cost. It’s just…did you really expect it to be that easy?’

‘I didn’t expect anything. I just hoped—’

‘I’m sorry…sorry…it’s too soon. I’m not able to handle this at the moment. I’m sure the others…Do you have Julie’s number? Lauren’s in Spain; I can give you her mobile.’

‘I have their numbers. I wanted to speak to you first. Oh, Becks—’

Headlights beam through the darkness: the sanctuary crew, arriving with the latest victims of the night’s excesses.

‘I have to go, Cathy. Yes, give me your number. I’ll ring…of course I’ll ring. Goodbye…goodbye.’

Rebecca hurries to help Lulu May, the sanctuary manager, to calm an injured horse whose hoofs flail dangerously when they lead him down the ramp. Her life has moved on a long way from bobbing apples and dipping for pennies.