Czytaj książkę: «My Sister’s Lies»

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for S.D. Robertson

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1: Twelve days earlier

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Client Session Transcript: HCOOK290719

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

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Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

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Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

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Chapter 24

Chapter 25: October 2008

Chapter 26: Now

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue: Several days later

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by S.D. Robertson

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

She waves goodbye to him through the windscreen of her car and congratulates herself on a fine acting performance. She’s fairly certain she managed not to give anything away while driving the short journey to the station. It wasn’t as hard as it might have been with another person. Things were bound to be awkward between them anyway, particularly after last night and everything they discussed. But still. She could easily have said or done something to raise his suspicions – to signal her intentions – yet she didn’t. Now she’s confident he’ll be almost as shocked as everyone else by her death.

Not long to go, but first things first. She drives the car a short distance until she spots a post box. Then she parks at the side of the road, unzips her handbag and pulls out the small padded envelope she placed in there earlier. She holds it in her hands for a moment, her eyes briefly scanning the name and address plus the postage label she printed off in the early hours, then lets out a slow sigh and feels a couple of tears trickle down either cheek. This little package looks like so many others she’s posted out, selling bits and bobs on eBay, but it couldn’t be more different. And by posting it, she will be sealing her fate. There will be no going back after that.

She gets out of the car and stands in front of the red pillar box. Hesitates for a moment. Looks at the name and address one more time, checking again that they’re right, and shoves it through the open slot before she can change her mind.

It’s done.

She returns to the car, looks at her pale face in the mirror and then drives on, one step closer to the end.

She arrives at Costa a few minutes later. It’s the coffee shop branch they always used to go to together before doing the shopping on a Saturday morning; it’s much quieter this early on a weekday. She orders the same as they always did – a latte and a hot chocolate – even though it’s only her now. She’s tempted to order a biscuit or cake too but decides she probably won’t be able to manage it.

She sips the latte and pretends she’s not alone. Trawls her memory for an image of another hot chocolate in a pair of hands on one of those glorious Saturdays, which she never properly appreciated until they were over. It’s the same with so much in life, she thinks. You take wonderful things for granted, only realising how amazing they are when they’re no longer there. It’s incredible what imminent death does for your sense of perspective.

She doesn’t actually drink much of her coffee, fearful the caffeine might upset her stomach. Ordering a decaf would have been more sensible, or drinking the hot chocolate instead, but she wants to experience the taste exactly as it was in the days she remembers so fondly.

That and the smell certainly do the trick. When she closes her eyes, she’s hurtled headfirst into the past. She stays there as long as she can, revelling in its warm glow, until the cup her hand circles grows cold, and wearily she returns to the present: her last morning on earth.

‘Goodbye,’ a chirpy staff member, barely more than a girl, says to her as she gets up to leave. ‘Have a nice day.’

‘Thanks. You too,’ she replies with a smile, conscious of the fact that this could be the last thing she ever says to another person.

Before she starts the car, she has a moment of panic. For a second it feels like she can’t breathe as a voice in her head tells her she’s handling everything wrong. That she shouldn’t go ahead with it.

It certainly wasn’t her first choice of how to proceed, but it’s the only option she has left now. Isn’t it?

She stares at a tree in the distance and tries to focus her mind on it, counting the number of branches and watching its leaves flutter in the light breeze as she fights to slow down her breathing and take back control. Eventually it starts to work and, as she feels herself calming down, she speaks out loud in a bid to continue the process: ‘You’re doing the right thing. It’s hard, but ultimately it will be best for everyone. Doubts are normal, but you mustn’t give in to them. You’re doing the right thing. You’re doing the right thing …’

A few minutes later she starts the car and, still regulating her breathing, finds some classical music on the radio. It sounds like something from an epic film; she draws strength from its sweeping strings and triumphant trumpets.

Her final destination isn’t too far away, but she’s chosen it carefully. It’s an unremarkable residential street with a mix of terraced and semi-detached houses on both sides. There are plenty of parking spaces at this time on a weekday morning, presumably due to many of the residents having left for work. She pulls into an empty spot outside one of the street’s smarter properties, with neatly trimmed ivy nuzzling its red bricks and a colourful array of shrubs, pots and hanging baskets making the most of the small front yard.

Methodically, she removes her watch, rings, necklace and ear studs, placing them into the glovebox after first looking around to check no one’s watching. She had intended to do this at home before leaving, but it slipped her mind.

Next she steps out of the car, pats her hand gently on the roof to say goodbye, locks it and walks towards the footpath that will bring her close to the railway and the broken fence that will give her access to it.

She passes a couple of dog walkers along the way, beaming a broad smile at them so as not to raise any suspicions. This is ridiculous, she muses, because why would they be suspicious of her looking grumpy or upset? They might if they later spotted her near the track, she counters, if they lived in a house that overlooked it or something. So no harm in being careful. She needs this to go the right way. Well, as right as killing herself ever could. It would be a disaster if someone somehow managed to stop her.

This isn’t a cry for help. She absolutely wants it to work – one hundred per cent, first time, instantly, no messing about. That’s why she’s chosen such a brutal method. With the right conditions, the mortality rate is very high. It’s fast too. Even if she isn’t killed instantly, she should at least be knocked unconscious straight away. There’s still a small chance it could go wrong, of course, meaning survival with horrific injuries. But that’s why she’s done her homework, scoping out the optimal spot in advance; visiting several other possible locations before selecting this as the most suitable.

Fail to prepare, prepare to fail.

She originally intended to wait a few more days, to spend more time getting her affairs in order. However, the arrival of her unexpected house guest yesterday had forced her hand, since she’d told him enough to potentially put her plans at risk if he didn’t do as she asked. The fact that he arrived and departed by train also felt like a sign.

As she arrives at the broken fence, she breathes a sigh of relief to see it hasn’t been fixed. It was only a few days ago she was last here, and it looked like the fence had been that way for a while, but, in her experience, Sod’s Law could strike at any moment. Well, not this time, she thinks, checking no one is watching before squeezing through the gap, catching her jeans in the process, but managing to pull free. Next she runs for the cover of a nearby bush.

She crouches there for a few minutes, catching her breath and calming herself down once again. Then she continues to a better location, still sheltered from view by thick greenery but alongside the train track. ‘This is it,’ she whispers into the warm summer air.

Her heart’s racing and there’s little she can do to calm it now. No surprise really, considering where she is; what she’s about to do. Her hands are shaking and her right eye is twitching like it does when she’s stressed or tired.

It’s no good resisting, her mind tells her worthless body. It’s your fault we’re in this situation. You’ll do what you’re told. That’s the only choice.

It’s a waiting game now. She just needs a train to come along. Either direction will do. Another reason she picked this spot, besides the broken fence and good ground cover, is that it’s far enough away from the station for any passing train to be travelling at a decent speed. She can’t see too far in either direction, thanks to the curved route of the track, but that’s fine. It means no driver will spot her too soon and slow down. She’ll hear it coming and then all she has to do is step out. At that stage, it won’t matter about the driver seeing her. It’ll be way too late for them to do anything about it. A fast-moving train takes a very long time to stop, as she discovered while researching the matter online.

All she has to do is step out. That sounds so easy, doesn’t it? She knows in her heart that it won’t be. That there’s a chance she might chicken out. But she can’t. And she’s not going to let one train pass by first as a practice. That was her original plan, but she decided the sheer noise and power of it thundering by so close might shock her into changing her mind. No, she’ll have to fight her natural survival instinct to do this, and she’s convinced that will be easier without a dry run. Plus she could get spotted by that initial driver, who’d then be able to warn the next. So it has to be the first one.

She needs to do it without thinking. The time for rumination has passed. She’s weighed up her options over and over again in recent days. She’s made her final decision.

She’s afraid – of course she is. She’s scared death or unconsciousness won’t come as quickly as she hopes and the pain will be excruciating. So she reminds herself that the odds of success are heavily in her favour.

The idea that she’ll never see …

No, she can’t allow herself to even think that name. Not now. Tears start to pour down her face as multiple images of the two of them together flood her mind. But she grits her teeth, squeezes her eyes shut and fights to block them.

‘I can’t. Not now,’ she says under her breath. ‘I have to do this. I have to do this. It’s the only way.’

And then she hears a rumbling in the distance. This is it. She knows it is, without question. A train is fast approaching from her left. She can’t see it yet, but it’s definitely coming, so as late as she dares she moves from a crouch into a standing position. The sound quickly gets louder and, as she stares in that direction, hunched, waiting, her heart is like a jackhammer, her breaths tight and shallow, her whole body trembling.

After a fleeting hesitation, she steps on to the track, her determination pushing her forward despite the continued resistance of her body.

Time crawls until the front of the train reveals itself, the noise deafening now, and she stares it down.

She can see the alarmed driver’s bearded face looking at her as he does the only thing he can and sounds the horn. She feels for him in that split second, knowing this must be his worst nightmare – something that will scar him for life – and wishing she didn’t have to be the one to put him through it.

But although it’s his face racing towards her, at the last moment her tortured mind replaces it with another: the one person she loves more than anyone or anything else.

‘I’m sorr—’

CHAPTER 1
Twelve days earlier

Hannah Cook was glowering at the computer screen, tempted to delete the pathetic collection of words staring back at her, when she heard the doorbell.

Her eyes darted to the clock in the corner of the display: 4.07 p.m. Who could be calling round at this time of the day? It was way too early for Mark to get home. Not that he’d use the bell anyway, unless he’d left his keys at the office or lost them somehow. And it would be unlike any of their friends to turn up unannounced. It was 2019, for goodness’ sake; there was no need to risk catching people unawares in this time of constant connectivity. In fact, to do so was verging on rudeness.

Hannah decided it must either be a delivery – despite the fact she wasn’t expecting anything – or someone selecting the wrong apartment number. In case of the latter, and since the bell had only sounded once so far, she waited for a moment.

It wasn’t like she didn’t want to get away from her laptop. She’d already found countless reasons to do so throughout the day, procrastinating like a pro. The problem was that if she did so now, this late on a Friday afternoon, she’d probably not get back to it. And then she’d feel guilty all night and into the weekend, maybe even making herself work on Saturday or Sunday when she ought to be spending time with her husband.

She’d once read somewhere that being an author was like having homework for evermore. She’d laughingly dismissed this at the time, when having a book published had been her heart’s desire: a dream she’d never expected to realise. But already, now, even though she technically wouldn’t become a published novelist for several more months, she understood the truth of that statement. A dream job was still a job. And this particular one had expectations and deadlines that didn’t disappear when she left the office at 5 p.m., because there was no office, nor regular business hours. There was just Hannah.

The bell rang again, longer and more insistent this time. Hannah saved her work, ignoring the reckless, frustrated part of herself who told her it wasn’t worth saving, and walked out of the lounge into the hallway.

‘Hello?’ she said into the telephone-style intercom next to the apartment’s entrance. As she did so, Hannah looked into the mirror opposite and frowned at the grey roots already showing in her shoulder-length, wavy brown hair.

There was a pause as the person on the other end of the line cleared their throat. Then, like a muffled gunshot, came the last words Hannah was expecting to hear: words with the power to flip her world on its head.

‘Hannah? It’s Diane.’

‘So,’ Hannah said a short while later, breaking the latest uncomfortable silence in a conversation so stilted she felt a desperate urge to run out of her own home to escape it. ‘You’ve changed a lot since I last saw you, Mia. You were just a tot then.’

‘She’s still as beautiful as ever,’ Diane said, ‘but for some reason she likes to hide it away behind all that war paint.’

Mia scowled at her mother, next to her on the couch, who was chewing a fingernail like her life depended on its removal. The teenager gave a fleeting glance towards Hannah, perched on the armchair opposite, and shrugged her shoulders. Then she dipped her head forward so her green eyes, lined with dramatic, dark make-up, disappeared behind the long fringe of her straight, shoulder-length black hair. Although she was young to do so, Hannah was convinced she must have dyed it, as it had been dark brown when she was little.

Hannah had almost passed out at the sound of Diane speaking on the intercom earlier. She hadn’t seen or spoken to her sister for nearly eleven years. She’d all but resigned herself to never seeing her and her niece again. And now here they both were, sitting in her lounge.

It had taken Hannah a few moments to get over the shock of hearing her sister’s voice after so long. She’d actually dropped the intercom handset and let it swing against the wall on its coiled cord while she stood there wide-eyed, frozen to the spot; covering her open mouth with her hands, desperately trying to grasp what was going on.

Then she’d heard Diane’s voice again: a faint, tinny version this time, leaking from the speaker of the dangling telephone.

‘Hannah?’ she’d said. ‘Are you there or not? It’s Diane. I know you’re probably surprised to hear from me after so long, but I really need to see you. It’s important. I have Mia with me. Hannah?’

And so she’d reached over and buzzed them in. It was all she could manage at that point, needing the extra time it took the lift to reach the eighth floor to find her voice. And even then, seeing the pair of them appear at her door in the flesh – Mia unrecognisable from the child she’d adored – Hannah had struggled to find any words.

Instead, despite everything that had gone before, she’d instinctively hugged them both in one go and proclaimed how wonderful it was to see them. It had felt weird and awkward, so she’d ushered them inside, sat them down in the lounge and rushed to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. Because what the hell else was she supposed to do?

That was exactly the question she’d intended to ask her husband when, while in the kitchen alone, she’d phoned his mobile. Unfortunately, she’d got his voicemail, meaning he was probably in a meeting.

‘Mark,’ she’d said, trying to keep her voice steady as she left a message. ‘Please get home as soon as you can. I’ve got a situation here.’ She’d taken a deep breath before adding: ‘You won’t believe this, but Diane and Mia have turned up. They’re here in the apartment right now. Call me.’

From her seat opposite the visitors in the spacious lounge, Hannah’s eyes moved from Mia’s low-hanging fringe to Diane’s continued nail biting and then on to her mobile, sitting next to her on the right arm of the chair. Come on, Mark, she thought. Phone me back so at least I have a good excuse to leave the room again. She’d already been to the toilet once and returned twice to the kitchen to get sugar and biscuits.

It was so damn awkward. And since they were in her home, she somehow felt like it was her responsibility to keep the floundering conversation going, which was ridiculous when she thought about it. It was Diane, not her, who’d upped and left all those years ago. Now her sister, looking gaunt and frazzled, wearing navy leggings, pumps and a white blouse, was the one who’d turned up on her doorstep unannounced and utterly out of the blue. So why wasn’t she discussing the reason for this? She always used to have plenty to say.

There had been an initial chat of sorts: a bizarre, staccato series of pleasantries about the weather, their car journey to Manchester from Bournemouth, her apartment, and other peripheral matters like the modernisation of the city. At one point she’d asked Diane how long she’d been wearing her hair, now dyed a striking burgundy colour, in a pixie cut.

‘Oh, I don’t know exactly,’ she’d replied. ‘Quite a while. A few years.’

Hannah hadn’t been able to think of a suitable response to this. Diane’s words served as a harsh reminder of how long they’d been apart; how little they knew about the present-day versions of each other.

Was her sister aware, for instance, that she’d long since quit her job as an advertising copywriter and somehow – miraculously – written her way through the eye of a needle to win the elusive publishing deal that had been her childhood dream? She very much doubted it. It was out there on social media, of course, but Diane wasn’t involved in any of that – not as far as Hannah knew. Nor, to her knowledge, was she in contact with anyone from their past who might have told her. Apart from their father, of course: the one person she knew to have kept in touch with Diane. However, after his initial attempts to mediate between the sisters had failed, he’d refused point-blank to take sides in what he referred to as their ‘foolish feud’. As such, and as long as it lasted, he’d sworn not to speak a word to either of them about the other in order to maintain his neutral status.

He was a stubborn man, Frank Wells, so she couldn’t imagine he would have breached his vow to reveal this one particular piece of news. While she could only assume he was the person who’d given Diane her address, this was no doubt with the intention that it might lead to their reconciliation.

As Hannah had lost herself for a moment in these thoughts, her guests had also kept quiet, leading to the first long, awkward silence of their visit. Suddenly aware of it and uncomfortable, she’d responded by taking the bull by the horns and attempting to get to the bottom of Diane’s shock return. ‘You said something before about needing to see me,’ she’d said, squeezing her palms together and raising her eyebrows. ‘That it was important?’

‘Yes, that’s right, but can we talk about it later?’ Diane had replied. ‘How’s Mark, by the way? He’s still at work, I assume.’

‘He’s fine, thank you. He should be home before too long.’

‘Good.’

Now Hannah, whose initial feelings of shock and panic had given way to unease and confusion, felt like asking Diane again why she was here and, if necessary, demanding an answer. It was definitely a reasonable question, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it after the last response. So instead she found herself trying again with Mia, who was, after all, an innocent party in the family feud that had kept them separate all this time. Losing touch with her niece – the closest thing she’d ever had to a child of her own – had been one of the most painful parts of the whole sorry affair.

‘So, Mia Wells, let me see,’ she said, trying not to think about all those years and milestones she’d missed from her childhood. ‘You must be fourteen now, right?’

Mia, who was pin thin and wearing skinny jeans with a black T-shirt, nodded without looking up at her.

‘So what school year are you in now?’

‘I’ve just finished Year Nine,’ she replied in a monotone voice.

‘Right,’ Hannah replied, nodding her head as she tried to work out what that meant, recalling that the naming system for year groups had changed since her and Diane’s schooldays.

‘It’s what we used to call Third Year,’ her sister chipped in, as if reading her mind. ‘From September she’ll be in the equivalent of Lower Fifth, working towards taking her GCSEs at the end of the following year.’

‘So have you finished for the summer now, Mia?’

‘Yes,’ the teenager replied.

‘They broke up earlier this week,’ Diane explained, looking at the fingernails she’d just been biting, frowning and then shoving both hands under her thighs.

Old habits die hard, Hannah thought. Smiling at her niece in case she decided to make eye contact, she added: ‘Wonderful. All that time off. I bet you’ve got loads of stuff planned. Are you going on holiday anywhere?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Right.’

‘Can I use your toilet, actually?’ Mia asked, adding a ‘please’ following a nudge and a glare from her mother.

‘Um, yes. Of course. It’s in the hall, next to the front door.’

Diane rolled her eyes. ‘Sorry about Little Miss Grumpy,’ she said once Mia was out of earshot. ‘She’s at that age.’

‘Listen, what the hell’s going on?’ Hannah hissed, unable to contain herself any longer. ‘You show up at my home after all these years of no contact and then you sit there, saying almost nothing. Why are you here? Is one of you in trouble? You need to give me something.’

‘I will, but not in front of Mia.’

‘She’s not here now.’

‘She’ll be back any minute, and it will be better if Mark’s around too.’

‘Mark? What—’ Hearing the toilet flush, Hannah changed tack. ‘Come on, quick. Just tell me.’

‘I can’t now. Sorry. It’ll have to be tonight – after Mia’s gone to bed.’

‘Gone to bed?’ Hannah repeated, as it dawned on her what Diane’s words implied. ‘Where are you staying?’

‘Um, well, I was hoping you might be good enough to put us up for the night.’

‘What? You don’t even have an overnight bag.’

‘Our things are in the car.’

‘You didn’t think to phone ahead?’

‘I didn’t have your number to start with and then … Well, I got your landline from Dad, but I wasn’t sure you’d take my call. Turning up here seemed a better option.’ Diane threw her sister a sheepish look. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask in the circumstances, but … please don’t make me beg.’

Mia walked back into the lounge at the same moment as Hannah’s mobile started to ring.

‘Sorry, you’ll have to excuse me,’ Hannah said, wondering whether her niece had overheard any of their discussion. ‘That’ll be a business call I’ve been waiting on. I need to take it.’ She slid the phone from its facedown position on the arm of the chair, knowing it was almost certainly Mark calling, and raced to the relative safety of the kitchen before answering.

‘Hi, love,’ she said, speaking quietly despite having shut the door.

‘Are you okay? I just got your message. Sorry, I was tied up in a meeting.’

Hannah brought her husband up to speed with what had happened so far.

‘The whole thing is totally weird, right?’ she said.

‘Definitely.’

‘So what do we do? Can they stay tonight or not?’

She heard the sound of Mark letting out a long sigh on the other end of the line. ‘It’s tricky, isn’t it, darling? Despite everything, they’re still family. And none of this is Mia’s fault. It’s hard for me to form a proper opinion without having seen them for myself. What’s your gut feeling? Do you think Diane’s here with good intentions or, I don’t know, that she’s up to something? How does she seem? Is she behaving strangely or—’

‘She’s like my sister, but older.’ Lowering her voice to little more than a whisper, Hannah went on: ‘She does look tired and anxious. Not chatty at all. There’s definitely something weighing on her mind. My guess is she needs our help in some way. Money, perhaps? That might explain why she wants to stay with us rather than in a hotel. You can see for yourself when you get home. Let’s wait until then and we’ll make a joint decision about them sleeping over. How long are you likely to be?’

‘I need to reply to a couple of emails and then I’ll head straight back. I’ll be home soon, I promise.’

‘Good. Please hurry. I’m running out of things to say.’

Luckily, Mark’s office was also located in the centre of Manchester, only a fifteen-minute walk from the apartment. True to his word, he returned home in around half an hour, although to a struggling Hannah it had felt like forever.

She’d almost resorted to turning on the television, although doing so in the presence of guests was one of her pet hates. Instead, she’d gone for an artificially extended trip to the bathroom before busying herself about the kitchen making another cup of tea for everyone.

‘There you are,’ she said, dashing to the front door as soon as she heard the key in the lock.

Mark was dressed in his usual work attire of a dark suit and open-necked shirt, his tan leather briefcase swinging from his left hand and his door key in the right. He looked as tall and handsome as always, his short but thick salt-and-pepper hair lightly ruffled, and a five o’clock shadow lining his square jaw. If anything, he’d got better looking with age. At forty-five, three years older than Hannah, he’d retained his slim and sporty physique, unlike some of his tubby contemporaries. But he’d done so in a natural rather than gym-crafted way, thanks to regular squash games and the odd run, combined with sensible eating and drinking.

Hannah had always been proud to call this dashing, intelligent and yet grounded man her husband. The fact he also had a good job as chief financial officer for a fast-expanding tech firm – well paid enough to enable her to pursue her literary ambitions – was the icing on the cake.

Now, with sibling rivalries suddenly back on the agenda, she recalled how she used to feel like she’d got one up on her sister by marrying such a catch. Looking at him standing before her in the hall today, she felt it again. Diane had Mia – but she had Mark.

In a loud voice meant for the ears of their guests, she asked: ‘Did you have a good day, love?’

‘Yes, thanks. It was fine.’

‘I have a surprise for you,’ she added, voice still raised. ‘We’ve got some unexpected guests. You’ll never guess who.’

Hannah really wished she didn’t feel the need to do this: to hide from Diane that she’d phoned for backup. But she did nonetheless, tumbling back into bad habits, because Diane had always been so independent and fearless, like she could single-handedly take on the world without breaking a sweat. And now – perhaps even more so than in the past – she absolutely did not want to look weak and needy in front of her sister.

‘Do we?’ Mark replied, his mouth going along with the ruse while his eyes begged to know what was really happening. ‘That sounds intriguing.’

CHAPTER 2

‘I think I’ll head to bed and read for a bit, Mum,’ Mia said after they’d finished eating. She looked across the dining table, first at Hannah and then Mark, adding: ‘Would it be all right for me to have a shower first?’

‘Of course,’ Hannah replied, even though the question hadn’t ultimately felt directed at her. ‘You know where the bathroom is. Help yourself to a towel from the pile in there and feel free to use whatever toiletries you need. The shower is pretty straightforward, but give me a shout if you need any help.’

She smiled at her niece, who pursed her lips and muttered, ‘Thanks,’ in response.

Mia still hadn’t shown much sign of coming out of her shell – at least not to Hannah. Mark, on the other hand, had had some success at getting the teenager to chat when he’d started asking her about what kinds of TV shows and films she liked. They’d both seen a lot of the Marvel superhero movies, apparently. Plus they shared an affection for this weird, nerdy cartoon about space, time travel and that kind of thing. Hannah had seen Mark watch it a few times and dismissed it as nonsense. She couldn’t remember what it was called, but it definitely wasn’t her cup of tea. Neither was the Marvel stuff, to be honest.

Her ears had pricked up, however, at Mia’s mention of reading. This was much more her field than Mark’s, who rarely found time to read anything but the paper these days. So before her niece disappeared from the dining room, she asked her what she was reading.

‘Oh, you wouldn’t have heard of it,’ Mia replied.

‘Try me,’ Hannah said, throwing Mark a glare designed to remind him not to say anything about the upcoming release of her own novel, which she’d warned him not to mention in front of Diane. It wasn’t something she was ready to share with her yet.

Mia let out a tiny, almost inaudible sigh. ‘Fine. It’s called Dust.’

‘Oh, you mean The Book of Dust by Philip Pullman?’

‘No. It’s called Dust.’

‘I see,’ Hannah replied, shaking her head. ‘You’re quite right, then. I don’t think I have heard of that. Who’s the author? Is it YA?’

Mia frowned. ‘He’s called Hugh Howey. It’s the third part of a post-apocalyptic sci-fi trilogy.’

‘She reads a lot,’ Diane explained after Mia had left the room. ‘She’s a proper bookworm, like you were at that age. A different kind of book, mind. She’s definitely not into the girly stuff. And it’s not only the arts that she does well in at school. She’s also really good at maths, computing and the sciences. She’s quite the all-rounder.’

‘Really?’ Mark said. ‘That’s interesting.’

Hannah said nothing. She knew the ‘girly stuff’ comment was a dig at the kinds of novels she used to tear through as a youngster: mainly love stories and classics by the likes of Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters, which Diane had regularly branded a waste of time. Such disparaging remarks were precisely the reason she didn’t want to mention her own book. Hannah was fiercely proud of her achievement; while a part of her wanted to boast about it, she also didn’t want to give her sister the chance to pooh-pooh it.

Diane had barely read at all as a child, so it was definitely interesting that Mia was a keen reader, especially with all the other distractions on offer these days.

Mark, obviously thinking along the same lines, continued: ‘I thought kids didn’t read books any more. That’s what you always hear in the news. They’re supposed to be permanently glued to their smartphones, right?’ He laughed, pulling his own phone out of his shirt pocket and giving it a little shake. ‘Just like the rest of us.’

‘Good point,’ Hannah added. ‘I haven’t seen Mia on a phone once. Doesn’t she have one?’

‘Oh, she has one all right,’ Diane replied. ‘She usually spends more than her fair share of time on it, believe me. She hasn’t today because I confiscated it.’

Hannah and Mark both looked at her expectantly after this, the implication being that she should elaborate, but no further explanation came.

Anyway, now Mia was on her way to bed – a move quite possibly pre-orchestrated by her mother – Hannah assumed the reason for their journey up north was soon to be revealed.

Part of her dreaded what was about to come. And yet, anticipating it would almost certainly involve Diane eating humble pie and asking for her help in some way, the competitive-sister streak in her was, in a warped way, slightly looking forward to it.

Deciding to let them stay the night had been similar. If Hannah was totally honest with herself, the fact that Diane had seemed so desperate – like she had no other option – had appealed to her sense of one-upmanship, as well as her compassion.

It was hard to feel anything approaching love or affection for Diane now when Hannah considered the awful state she’d been left in by her departure and the resulting loss of contact with her niece. Gradually, with a lot of patience and support from Mark, she’d learned to cope. She’d grown numb. Once warm emotions had run colder and colder until they’d frozen solid; she’d finally accepted the harsh reality that, for all manners and purposes, she no longer had a sister.

Except suddenly here she was again … dining and soon to be sleeping in her home.

How was Hannah supposed to deal with that? No wonder she felt so confused and conflicted.

‘Well, who wants some coffee?’ Mark asked, clapping his hands together as he stood up from the table.

‘Good idea,’ Hannah added, also getting to her feet and starting to clear the plates. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’ She looked at her sister as she added: ‘Then we can all sit down and have a good chat, right?’

Diane nodded, her face looking very pale all of a sudden. ‘Of course. But could I be awkward and ask for tea instead of coffee?’

‘No problem,’ Mark replied.

She also made a move to get up and help clear the dishes, but Hannah told her it wasn’t necessary. ‘You go and grab a seat in the lounge,’ she said, keen to have a few moments alone with her husband before the big discussion.

‘So what do you think she’s going to say?’ Hannah asked Mark a few minutes later. She spoke in a low voice but was glad of the noise of the kettle and coffee maker to ensure they weren’t overheard.

He shook his head. ‘I really have no idea. She’s played her cards very close to her chest so far. It could well be money she’s after, I suppose. What kind of car has she got?’

‘I’ve not got a clue. I didn’t ask. Why would I? And I didn’t see them arrive in it. I don’t even know where she’s left it. A nearby car park, I suppose, although that won’t be cheap.’

‘Didn’t she ask if we had a space?’

‘Yes, when she first arrived, but I explained it was taken up with our own car and we didn’t discuss it further. I was too shell-shocked by her arrival at that point to even think about it. What’s her car got to do with anything anyway?’

Digging out some chocolates from the cupboard to serve with the drinks, Mark replied: ‘I thought if it was a battered old thing, that might be an indicator of money issues. Never mind. Most people buy cars on credit anyway.’

‘And if she does ask us for cash? She can see we’ve got plenty to spare, based on the apartment. So do we help her out or not?’

‘She’s your sister, darling. What do you think?’

Hannah peered at the coffee machine but saw it wasn’t quite finished yet. ‘Well, my first reaction would be to say no. She can’t just waltz in here after everything that’s happened and pretend like we’re still close. I’d send her to Dad, although I guess she’s already tried him first—’

‘Whoa, slow down, Han. You’re making a lot of assumptions here. Why don’t we wait and see what she has to say? It may not be what we think at all. And we don’t have to say yes or no to anything straight away. We can say we need a little time to discuss it with each other and think it over.’

Hannah let out a sigh. ‘The problem is Mia. I wouldn’t want her to suffer in any way, even though she doesn’t seem to like me very much.’

Standing behind his wife, Mark reached around and encircled her waist with a strong arm, planting a tender kiss on her neck. ‘What do you mean? Why do you think she doesn’t like you? You barely know each other. She’s a teenager, that’s all. They’re supposed to be grumpy. It’s in the job description.’

Mia popped her head into the lounge to say goodnight as they were serving up the hot drinks.

‘Sorry, you don’t want a tea or coffee at all, do you?’ Hannah asked her, feeling bad for not offering earlier, even though she was keen to get on with their adults-only conversation.

‘No, she’s fine,’ Diane answered. ‘You’ve already brushed your teeth, haven’t you, love?’

Mia nodded.

‘Enjoy Dust,’ Hannah added, immediately wishing she hadn’t, for fear of sounding like she was trying too hard.

Mia nodded again and, before disappearing off to her room, whispered something to her mum.

‘No, not now,’ Diane replied. ‘You can have it back in the morning, like we discussed. And don’t go rooting through my stuff for it, because you won’t find it.’

Hannah realised they were talking about Mia’s confiscated mobile and, although she left without saying anything more, it was clear from the stamp of the teenager’s feet that she wasn’t happy with the outcome.

They’d put her and Diane together in the larger of their two spare bedrooms, which contained twin singles. There was also a double bed in the third room, but it wasn’t made up and Hannah hadn’t felt like making the extra effort to do it.

Once they heard the bedroom door shut, Mark walked over to the lounge door and shut that too, signalling it was time to get down to business – whatever that meant.

Hannah was really glad he was here. Mark was her rock and she wouldn’t have wanted to do this without him. It helped that he knew all the ins and outs of what had gone on between the two sisters, having witnessed first-hand the detrimental effect it had had on his wife.

Mark could see her sister for what she was: an adept manipulator, who knew exactly how to wrap unsuspecting people – particularly men – around her little finger. Not that she’d shown much sign of that skill so far today. But why would she in the company of people already wise to her tricks?

Hannah was actually surprised how accommodating Mark was being. He’d made it clear long before the sisters’ falling-out that he neither liked nor trusted Diane – and the way things had ended up, he’d been proved right. Not that he’d ever said so. He wasn’t that kind of man. As for what was going through his head right now, she couldn’t be sure. Hannah didn’t even know what she thought about this weird, uncomfortable situation. It all hinged on what her sister was about to say.

‘So,’ Mark said, sitting back down next to Hannah on the couch and pouring some milk into his coffee.

From the armchair opposite, Diane cleared her throat before finally beginning to talk.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to get to the point, but, as I mentioned earlier, I really wanted to wait for Mia to be out of the way. This isn’t a conversation for her ears.’

She paused to take a sip of her tea as the others watched in silence.

‘So you’re probably wondering what I’m doing here after all this time. You must think I have a right nerve turning up like this – I get that. But here I am anyway and, as you’ve probably guessed, I need to ask for your help.’

Diane stood up and walked over to the window. She stared out over the city and gave a dramatic sigh, leading Hannah and Mark to flash each other a confused sideways glance.

‘I’ve missed this place,’ she went on, continuing to gaze outside with her back to the others. ‘I didn’t think I would, but it’s true what they say: home is where the heart is. It’s been far too long …’

Diane paused again, running a hand through her short hair. Hannah could feel Mark getting edgy, his knee jumping up and down next to her. She was on the verge of saying something herself – telling Diane to stop messing around and get to the point – when her sister turned back to face them with tears running down her face.

Despite everything, seeing this instantly made Hannah want to jump up and give her a hug. It was instinctive, particularly because crying wasn’t something she’d witnessed Diane do many times as an adult. But Mark must have sensed what she was feeling; he pressed a firm hand on to her knee and whispered in the tiniest of voices: ‘Don’t.’

So she didn’t. She stayed put and told herself, even though her heart said otherwise, that they were probably crocodile tears. She waited for Diane to carry on, which, after taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes with one hand, she did.

‘So the reason I’ve come here isn’t to ask you to do something for me. Not directly anyway … It’s for Mia.’

These words sent Hannah’s mind racing, because they weren’t at all what she’d expected to hear. Maybe the visit wouldn’t turn out to be about money after all, she thought. Unless Diane wanted to enrol Mia in a private school or something and she needed help paying the fees. Was she being bullied perhaps? Gosh, it would be hard to say no if that was the case.

‘Would you like a tissue?’ Mark asked, as Diane’s emotions got the better of her again. He reached into a drawer under the coffee table, pulling out a box and handing it over.

‘Thank you,’ Diane replied, accepting it, then wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.’

Was this all for show? Hannah wondered. She knew what her sister was capable of, but this was very convincing. If it wasn’t for Mark’s hand, clamped back on her knee after getting the tissues, she’d have definitely got up to comfort her by now. ‘It’s okay, take your time,’ she said instead, not wanting to appear totally cold-hearted.

‘Right,’ Diane said, sitting back down after a long moment, placing a hand on each arm of the chair and slowly exhaling. ‘I can do this.’

Hannah wasn’t sure whether this was meant for herself or for them, but either way it appeared to work. Speaking slowly and steadily, her eyes darting between her two-strong audience and occasionally into the distance, Diane finally got to the point.

‘I’m in a big mess,’ she said. ‘As you can probably see. I’m afraid I’m not in a position to tell you why right now, for reasons that will become apparent later, but I’ve got some things I need to sort out: really important things. I can’t emphasise that enough.

‘Both of you must know deep down that I wouldn’t be here if that wasn’t the case. I mean, I could totally understand you thinking this to be some kind of bullshit, but it’s not. Honestly, from the bottom of my heart, it’s not. I’m backed into a corner and I’ve literally nowhere else to turn.

‘So what I’m here to ask you, to get to the point, is whether you could possibly look after Mia while I get this mess fixed. Above all else, I want her to be safe and, well, I can’t think of a safer place for her to be than here. I realise you hardly know her, or her you. I take full responsibility for that. But … you’re family.’

Diane continued talking, but Hannah didn’t listen to the rest. She was too busy trying to absorb what she’d just heard. It was almost an anticlimax after what she’d been expecting, and yet it was also huge.

Her long-lost sister was essentially begging them to take in her pride and joy: the child Hannah had always secretly envied her having; the niece she’d mourned the loss of; the teenager with whom she’d so far struggled to bond. Wow. She really hadn’t seen this coming.

It was actually flattering that Diane found this the safest place to leave her. But why here and not with their father or one of the friends she must have made during her time in self-imposed exile? And what was this trouble she’d got herself into that she couldn’t discuss?

‘You’re both very quiet,’ Diane said, pulling Hannah back into the moment. ‘What do you think?’

‘Um.’ She looked over at her husband. ‘I think it’s something we’ll need to discuss privately, right, Mark?’

He nodded. ‘Definitely. And I’m sure you have a few questions, Hannah, because I know I do. This has obviously come as quite a surprise.’

‘Sure,’ Hannah replied, her mind already a whirr of thoughts, examining the ins and outs of having her niece coming to holiday with them.

Although some of the practicalities were of concern, such as how she’d find a way to bond with Mia and whether it would affect her writing schedule, on balance she actually felt pretty excited about the idea.

Mark was staring at her, an expectant look upon his face, so she indicated that he should fire away with his own questions first.

‘Well,’ he said, appearing a bit thrown by this, ‘for a start I was wondering when you were thinking of. We were considering taking a couple of last-minute trips away this summer, so there’s that to bear in mind. Also, how long are we talking about: a few days; a week? Obviously, it would be nice to have some kind of idea about that.’

Mark cleared his throat. ‘And as for this mess you say you’ve got yourself into, it’s all very vague. It’s not going to result in any, er, problems landing at our door, is it?’ He blushed, hesitating before adding: ‘Um, don’t get me wrong, I’m not referring to Mia as a problem. What I mean is … I’m simply concerned one or both of you might be in some kind of danger.’

Mark nudged Hannah at this point – a gesture obviously meant as a request for her support. But all she could manage was to nod her head and say: ‘Yes, quite.’

Hannah wasn’t surprised by his questions. They were very practical and a far better reflection of his views on children than his successful chat with Mia earlier might have indicated. Clearly the idea of their niece staying alone with them for any amount of time concerned him. This was no surprise to Hannah. Mark wasn’t into kids. He’d been that way for as long as she’d known him. He wasn’t particularly interested in them and he’d never wanted one of his own.

To be fair, this was something he’d made clear to Hannah from an early stage in their relationship. At that point she had hoped to have a family one day and, naively perhaps, thought she’d eventually be able to persuade him otherwise. But as they’d got to know each other better and moved from dating to living together, with marriage becoming a possibility, Mark had re-emphasised that having children wasn’t something he ever wanted.

She still remembered what he’d said to her during one particularly intense conversation, which had proved to be a crossroads event in her life. She’d been twenty-four at the time. It was a frosty January night in Didsbury, south Manchester, where they’d been living then. They’d been out for dinner at an unremarkable Italian restaurant that no longer existed and, having shared a couple of bottles of red, their talk on the way home had turned serious.

‘You know how much I love you, don’t you?’ Mark had said, squeezing her hand through her leather glove.

‘Of course,’ she’d replied, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek. ‘Me too.’

‘Well, because of that I need to say something, before it’s too late.’

These words had made Hannah’s heart stand still. She’d felt a sudden sense of panic rise up in her chest. ‘That sounds scary,’ she’d replied in a small voice, fearing that Mark was about to break up with her.

‘Sorry. It’s about kids. It’s been on my mind for a while. I’ve told you already I don’t want to have them, but before we take things to the next level, I need you to understand that I absolutely mean it. It’s just … I don’t really get children and I don’t want to be responsible for bringing another life into this world. I’m one hundred per cent serious – and I’m afraid that’s never going to change.

‘The thing is, Han, that I know you would like a family. And because I love you so much, I can’t let you stay with me thinking I’ll be able to give you that. I won’t. So as much as it would break my heart to lose you, I’m giving you a get-out-of-jail-free card. I don’t want to be the one who stops you getting what you want out of life.’

The conversation had continued for a while, and much soul-searching on Hannah’s part had followed it. During this difficult period, she focused on the fact that she’d never felt anything close to the love she did for Mark for anyone else before. She simply couldn’t imagine a life without him, as her recent panic at the prospect of being dumped had demonstrated. Plus there were solid reasons for Mark’s standpoint, rooted in his past and a tragedy that had ripped his family apart. So ultimately Hannah had decided their relationship was worth the sacrifice.

A few days after she’d told him this, he proposed, and the following year they were married.

Since then, there had been a few private regrets along the way – particularly when, out of the blue and with no father on the scene, Diane had announced she was pregnant with Mia. However, for the most part, Hannah hadn’t looked back. She and Mark still had a wonderful relationship; they enjoyed the kind of varied, glamorous, spontaneous lifestyle that only a childless couple of their age could.

It was this her husband was keen to protect, she assumed, with his queries about the details of Diane’s request. But despite her antagonism towards her sister, Hannah was feeling increasingly excited at the prospect of Mia coming to stay. What could be the harm in it?

Diane was just about holding things together. In answer to Mark’s questions, after wiping her eyes again and then blowing her nose, she said: ‘I, um, was hoping you might be able to take Mia right away. It shouldn’t be too long until I get things sorted: hopefully only a few days. And, no, there’s no chance of any danger, as you put it, following us here. You’ve nothing to be concerned about.’

‘What about you?’ Hannah asked her. ‘Are you going to be all right?’

‘I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself, but please don’t push for any details because I can’t provide them. It’s better that you don’t know anyway.’

‘And Dad? Why did you come to us rather than him? Or did you try him first and we were second choice?’

‘Dad’s about to go away on a cruise around the Med. But even if he wasn’t, I couldn’t bear the idea of bloody Joan getting her claws into Mia. Believe it or not, you two were always first choice.’

Well, at least we still agree on something, Hannah thought. Joan was their father’s second wife, who’d appeared on the scene far too soon after their mother’s death for her liking. Hannah had always thought of Joan, who was nine years younger than sixty-seven-year-old Frank, as a gold-digger. And despite the fact they’d been together for a long time now, she’d never taken to her. Joan had been a widowed neighbour of her parents, who’d rather quickly turned into something else after Maggie’s death. Once she and Frank had got married, she’d convinced him to move to a village near Cambridge to be close to her family yet far from his northern roots. That said, he was at least living much closer to Diane and Mia in Bournemouth than he had been previously.

Hannah could understand why Diane wouldn’t want Joan manipulating her daughter like she had their father, who was a different man now than he had been with their mother. He was henpecked, basically, living the life she wanted him to lead and never daring to contradict her.

After a few more quickfire questions and answers, Diane said she’d give them some time alone to discuss the situation and followed Mia off to bed.

‘So,’ Hannah said to Mark once it was just the two of them in the lounge, ‘what do you think?’

CHAPTER 3

Mark Cook knew his wife well enough to see she was already sold on the idea of having Mia come to stay.

When Diane had finally got round to explaining the reason for her visit, there had been a distinct change in Hannah’s attitude towards the situation. He’d sensed it immediately – and he even understood why. Her problem was with her sister, who under this proposal wasn’t going to be around. Hannah had been expecting a plea for cash, but instead she’d been offered the chance to bond with her long-lost niece.

Of course she was keen on the idea, even though Mia hadn’t exactly been friendly to her earlier. His wife had been devastated by what had gone on between her and her sister all those years ago. It had nearly broken her beyond repair. It surely would have, had she known the whole truth. And losing access to her niece – who she’d doted on, like a surrogate child of her own – had been especially hard.

The toddler Hannah had loved to spoil rotten was long gone, replaced by a fourteen-year-old stranger. But despite Mark’s major reservations about the request – based on a deep-seated distrust of Diane and his knowledge of her full potential to wreak havoc – he had little confidence in his ability to convince his wife. Despite what he felt, he couldn’t risk sounding more negative about her sister than she was, nor could he be seen as the one to put his foot down and say no. It was too risky. Diane was too much of a wildcard, especially after all these years. It had been such a relief to have her out of their lives for so long. Now she was back, he had no idea what was going through her mind – and the more he thought about this, the more it terrified him.

Sure enough, as soon as her sister had left the room, Hannah’s eyes lit up. ‘Well, that was unexpected,’ she said in a low voice. ‘What do you think, love? I have to admit I’m pretty excited by the idea. It would be amazing to get the chance to reconnect with Mia.’

Mark smiled. ‘I had a feeling that’s what you were thinking. It is all a little bit odd, though. And what about this mysterious mess Diane’s got herself into? Any idea what it might be?’

‘I don’t know,’ Hannah whispered. ‘I’m not too interested in that, to be honest. I’m mainly relieved she’s not asking us for money or planning to stick around herself. The last thing I expected was that I’d want to agree to anything Diane asked of me. But I do really like the prospect of having Mia here for a bit. What’s the harm if it’s only for a few days? She’s changed so much from the little girl I remember. I’d love to get to know her again. What do you think?’

‘You seem quite set on the idea. Diane’s your sister, so I think it should be your decision.’

‘That’s nice of you,’ Hannah replied, squeezing his hand, kissing him on the cheek and gazing into his eyes. ‘But this is your home too; I won’t agree to anything you’re not happy about.’

A big part of Mark wanted to say no at this point. He had a bad feeling about the whole business, but as this wasn’t based on anything he could communicate to Hannah, he bit his tongue. ‘If it’s what you really want, then you have my blessing. But I’d sleep on it, rather than saying anything to Diane tonight while she’s still awake. That way you can be sure.’

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘You know I love you, don’t you?’

‘I do. And I love you too, which is why I want you to be careful.’

‘I will.’

Hannah made the announcement at breakfast the next morning, when all four of them were again sitting around the dining table.

‘So, Mia,’ she said, after taking a long sip from her coffee. ‘Your mother asked us last night whether you might be able to stay here for a short holiday. Of course we’d be only too delighted to have you.’

‘Both of us, you mean?’ Mia asked, the frown on her forehead revealing she clearly didn’t know anything about this.

‘Um, no. Just you, love,’ a flustered Diane replied, clearing her throat several times. ‘I have a few things I need to sort out. I thought this might be a nice break for you.’

‘What kind of things? You said we were only going on a quick trip. I have plans with my friends.’

‘We’ll talk about this in private after breakfast,’ Diane said. ‘I was waiting to see if it was possible before mentioning it to you.’

Mia raised her voice. ‘But this is so not fair. I—’

‘Do you want your phone back this morning or not?’ Diane snapped. ‘I can take it with me if you like.’

‘No, Mum, please—’

‘Eat your breakfast then and drop it.’

Mark was as surprised to see this work as he was about Diane not telling Mia in advance about the request she’d made of him and Hannah. Mia barely said another word for the rest of the meal and looked on the verge of tears.

Hannah’s move to announce their decision this way, rather than speaking to Diane privately first, was – Mark assumed, even though they hadn’t discussed it – designed to unsettle her. He had to admit it was a decent way of emphasising the fact that Hannah was no pushover, despite agreeing to help. And yet seeing Diane baited in this way made him feel uncomfortable, as of course did Mia’s less than ecstatic reaction to the news.

Later, after the pair had had their private discussion, from which mum and daughter had both emerged red-eyed but reconciled, the teenager seemed to have accepted what was happening. She still didn’t look over the moon about it, but why would she? She was essentially being left with two strangers. At least he and Hannah both remembered spending time with her as a toddler; she was unlikely to recall that now.

Meanwhile, Diane hadn’t wasted any time in packing her things ready to leave. It was almost like she was keen to get out of there before they changed their minds. There was a stilted goodbye with Hannah, which focused on practicalities like the swapping of mobile numbers in the absence of affection. Then, in sharp contrast, Diane gave her daughter a tender, lingering hug with whispered final words and tears.

As for Mark, he’d been tasked with accompanying his sister-in-law down to her car to pick up some further things for Mia and to give her directions on how best to drive out of the city.

It started to feel awkward as soon as the metal doors slid shut and the two of them were standing next to each other in the lift. Staring at the red LED level indicator, Mark willed it to move faster or even to stop at another floor so someone else could get in and break the tension. Neither of these things happened and not a word passed between them.

It was Diane who’d suggested he should be the one to accompany her to the car, and this bothered him. She’d conveyed it as being down to his strength and a presumed familiarity with the best routes in and out of the city centre, which looked very different to the last time she’d been here. However, Mark suspected it was more to do with her wanting a word with him in private, which was precisely the reason why he wasn’t facilitating a conversation by making small talk.

There was only one subject he and Diane had ever needed to talk about in private – and just thinking about that made him very nervous, particularly after she’d been out of his and Hannah’s lives for so long now.

Thankfully, she gave no indication of wanting to say anything as they left the apartment block and stepped out into a pleasant summer’s morning: warm but with a fresh breeze. Mark was dressed in khaki shorts and a red polo shirt; Diane was in the same navy leggings as yesterday but with a fresh sky-blue T-shirt. Speaking only for functional purposes, such as to discuss which car park they were heading to and the quickest way to get there, they walked at a brisk pace. He had offered to carry her backpack for her, but she had politely declined, saying it weighed very little.

The multistorey NCP where Diane had parked was only a couple of streets away. When they got there, it was already chock-a-block with cars, presumably belonging to early-bird Saturday shoppers or, like Diane, people who’d spent the previous night staying nearby. Her car was a white Vauxhall Astra, a couple of years old and in decent nick. This didn’t give much away about her financial status, although, as she hadn’t asked them for money, that wasn’t particularly relevant now.

Diane opened the boot to reveal two suitcases: one black, one navy. She indicated that the black one was Mia’s, so Mark lifted it out. Feeling its considerable weight, he was relieved to note it had a set of wheels and a telescopic handle. He certainly wouldn’t have fancied carrying it back to the apartment.

‘Is this all Mia’s stuff?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘It’s heavy. Does she really need so much for a couple of days?’

‘Teenage girls have a lot of stuff. Trust me: she’ll be happier this way than not having enough.’

Trust her, Mark thought. That was something he would never do.

‘Right, well, I’d better get going anyway,’ Diane said, to Mark’s considerable relief. ‘What’s the best way to the M60?’

He gave her quick directions back to the motorway ring road around Manchester, from which she claimed to know the way. ‘It would be easiest with a satnav,’ he said. ‘Don’t you have one?’

‘I do, but it’s a bit temperamental and several years out of date,’ she replied. ‘I prefer not to rely …’

At this point, standing at the side of the car next to him, looking at a map he’d printed out from the computer to help her, Diane’s voice faded out.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked, looking over and seeing she’d closed her eyes and that her hands were tightly gripping the roof of the car. It was hard to tell for sure in the artificial light, but he could swear she looked paler than before. ‘Is there anything I can—’

‘I’m fine,’ she replied through gritted teeth. ‘It’s just stomach cramps: time of the month. It’ll pass in a minute.’

‘Oh, right.’ Mark felt more awkward than ever now. He didn’t know whether to look at her or away from her, so instead he found himself staring at the map and hoping his face hadn’t turned bright red.

Sure enough, a few moments later Diane declared that she was ‘all right now’. She unlocked the driver’s door and sat down behind the wheel, accepting the map as Mark handed it to her. To his relief, she made no effort to kiss or hug him or shake his hand as they said their goodbyes, with her remaining seated and him stooped at her side, peering into the car through the open window.

‘Thank you for taking in Mia,’ his sister-in-law said. ‘She really means everything to me.’

Mark was surprised to hear her voice waver as the words came out. There were fresh tears in the corners of her eyes too.

‘No problem,’ he said, wondering for the umpteenth time what kind of trouble she’d got herself into. ‘Take care. We’ll keep her safe for you, so no need to worry. You concentrate on sorting out whatever it is you need to do and get yourself back here in one piece. See you in a few days.’

He stood back from the vehicle, wheeling Mia’s case with him. As Diane pulled the Astra out of the parking space, he thought he must have misjudged her reason for bringing him here. Perhaps she’d changed over the years she’d been away. But it would take much more than this to convince him – and he really struggled to picture a future in which the sisters got along again and were back in regular contact. However, there was a reason time was said to be a great healer. A couple of days ago he could hardly have imagined the possibility of her and Mia staying the night at their flat. Never mind Mia staying on alone for a short while.

Before driving off, Diane called him over. He assumed she wanted to check something to do with the directions he’d given her, but instead she reached out and handed him a white envelope with his name handwritten on the front.

‘What’s this?’ he asked.

‘I’m sorry,’ she replied, driving off without saying another word.

Mark was dumbstruck. He wanted to shout after her. He even considered chasing her on foot to the exit. But instead he stood there, open-mouthed, alone in the middle of the car park, one hand on Mia’s suitcase and the other holding the letter-sized envelope.

What the hell was this all about? What was Diane up to? Why bother to get him alone only to hand him this message, or whatever it was? Surely she could have slipped it to him at some point while they were in the apartment?

He was torn between ripping the envelope open immediately to find out what it contained, or waiting until later. The truth was that it scared him to think what he might find within.

He remained there, contemplating this, for several minutes until eventually a large SUV came along, wanting to drive by, forcing him to move out of the way. So he stuck the unopened envelope into the side pocket of his shorts and wheeled the hefty case to the nearest lift.

He made it halfway home before curiosity got the better of him. He stopped at a vacant bench, sat down and pulled the envelope out of his pocket.

He took it in both hands, one holding each side like he was watching a video on his mobile, and raised it to eye level. The quivering of his limbs made the flimsy paper jiggle backwards and forwards. He told himself this was down to the breeze, but his raised heartbeat and shallow breathing were dead giveaways of the real reason.

Mark scrutinised the four letters of his name, which were scrawled in a large, loose hand using blue biro. The writing style wasn’t dissimilar from Hannah’s; if there was any other information to be gained from examining it, Mark wasn’t the person to do so. He had absolutely no clue whether it had been written in haste, anger or whatever. As for what it contained: not much, by the feel of things; probably one or two sheets of paper.

The only way forward was to open it, of course. He knew that, but it took a few more minutes of staring at the envelope – building up to it – before he felt ready to do so.

His heart raced faster still as he finally ran a finger under the seal and pulled out the contents: a single sheet of plain A4 paper, folded three times and with writing on both sides.

Taking a deep breath and then slowly exhaling, he unfolded the letter and read what Diane had to say to him, penned in the same blue ink as the envelope.

Dear Mark,

If you’re reading this, that means I’ve chickened out of speaking to you in person. I apologise. In my defence, my head’s all over the place right now.

I’m writing this in the spare room of your lovely apartment. It’s after three in the morning. Mia is asleep in the bed next to me and, apart from the city noises that float in through the open window behind me, everything here is calm and still.

Everything except me, that is. I can’t sleep tonight. I wonder if you and Hannah can after what I’ve asked of you.

I really hope you’ll say yes. If you’re reading this, then you must have, so thank you for that, from the bottom of my heart.

I don’t deserve your help – but Mia does. She’s an innocent party in everything that’s happened to bring us to this moment and I honestly believe there’s no better or safer place for her to be right now than here with you. Please don’t blame her for my mistakes.

Now to get to the point. There’s no easy way to say this, which is why I’ve been waffling and, of course, why I’m writing this letter in the first place. I already know there’s a good chance I won’t dare to tell you in person tomorrow.

I know you suspected this previously. I know you came right out with it and asked me, yet I denied it to your face. Honestly, I thought I was doing the best thing by everyone in telling you that. But it was a lie – and now it’s time for the truth.

Your suspicions were right: Mia is your daughter.

I know. That must be a shock to read. You probably don’t even believe me. I can totally understand why you’d think it’s yet another lie.

But it’s not. I swear it on my own life, for what that’s worth.

I’m afraid I can’t bring myself to swear anything on Mia’s life. She’s too precious to me. Look at her, though, and then look in your heart. Spend some time with her, like you did before, and I think you’ll see that what I’m saying is true.

Why am I telling you this now? Well, for one thing, because it’s the right thing to do. Secrets and lies are no good. They eat you up inside.

There’s more to it than that, of course, but I think I’ve given you quite enough to digest for now.

For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry for everything I’ve put you through.

Diane

Mark read the letter three times in total, one immediately after the other. Even then he didn’t feel like he’d truly absorbed its contents.

It was worse than he’d expected. Much worse. He’d been pretty sure it would be something to do with that one night they’d spent together. That huge mistake he’d made around fifteen years ago and regretted ever since. But not this. Not Mia.

He’d feared maybe Diane was looking for money after all; that she’d been planning to blackmail him by threatening to tell Hannah unless he coughed up some cash.

That was the most likely scenario he’d been able to come up with after she’d handed him the envelope.

But not this.

How could he be Mia’s father?

He knew it was technically possible, but … if he actually was, how could Diane have kept that from him for so many years? Naturally he’d been suspicious once, because the dates were too close for comfort. He’d asked her outright on several occasions and, as her letter specified, she’d always been adamant that Mia wasn’t his child. Eventually, he’d believed her. It had been a relief, to be honest.

He’d never forgotten their night of passion – and not in a good way. It was still a regular source of nightmares, which usually ended with Hannah walking in and discovering them in bed together. But in recent years, with so much water under the bridge, he’d barely thought about the possibility they might have conceived a child together. Had Mia been around and in his life, it may well have been a different story. He could have seen things in her to make him wonder, as had happened when she was younger.

Having kids had never been on Mark’s agenda. He’d ruled it out long ago, thanks in no small part to a devastating experience he and his family had been through when he was still a child himself. It was something he avoided discussing or even thinking about to this day. He preferred to tell people he simply wasn’t a paternal kind of man, which was also true. It wound him up when parents fussed on social media over things like their child’s first day at school or the outfit they’d dressed up in to go trick-or-treating on Halloween.

So after more than a decade of not seeing Mia – a girl Mark had been assured was only his niece by marriage – she’d been pushed far from his thoughts.

Until now.

At this moment Mia was right at the heart of his thoughts. He had no idea what he was going to say to her when he returned to the flat. How could he look at her or Hannah without giving away what he’d just read? What if Diane had already told Mia or given her some kind of hint? And how was he supposed to know for sure she wasn’t making it up?

Mark’s mind leapt frantically from one thought to another. This was a potential disaster. No wonder Diane hadn’t wanted to tell him in person, although how he wished she had. There were a million questions he wanted to ask her. Not least, he needed to know if she’d told anyone else so far or planned to do so in the near future. Frank, his father-in-law, was a terrifying possibility. But even that paled into insignificance compared to the prospect of Hannah finding out.

He knew how heartbroken she would be to discover he and Diane had slept together. He’d already imagined that scene countless times. And for Hannah to find out now, all these years later, knowing they’d kept it from her and lied to her face. It would be truly awful.

But this was so much worse. The very idea of him fathering Mia – giving Hannah’s hated sister a child while denying his wife the same – that would devastate her.

He’d have to get Diane’s mobile number from Hannah’s phone, preferably without her realising, and contact her directly. More secrets and lies, in other words; digging himself deeper. But what choice did he have?

Mark read the letter through a fourth time. He was hoping to miraculously uncover some further answers or explanation: a little detail perhaps, which he might have missed on the previous occasions due to shock. But he found nothing of the sort.

Letting out a long, frustrated sigh, he folded the paper up, slid it back into the envelope, folded that in half and shoved it firmly into his pocket. Destroying it would probably be the wisest thing to do, but Mark knew he’d want to read it again. No, he’d have to hide it somewhere that Hannah, and Mia for that matter, wouldn’t find it. His work briefcase would probably be the safest option. As usual, it was full of business-related paperwork he’d brought home in the hope of finding a spare moment over the weekend to catch up on a few things. Hannah was extremely unlikely to look in there and, for extra peace of mind, he could also lock it with a small key. Then on Monday he could stash the letter somewhere in his desk at work.

So there was one tiny problem solved. If only that was all he had to worry about.

Mark held his head in his hands and fought to clear his thoughts.

He knew there was no point in feeling sorry for himself, or wishing none of this was happening, because it was. Fact of life.

His only option at this moment was to put on a brave face and pretend everything was all right. He had to do his utmost not to give the slightest indication to Hannah or Mia of there being a problem. Otherwise he was finished.

‘Come on!’ he said under his breath, slapping both cheeks with his hands to shock himself into action. Keeping a cool head in a crisis was the kind of thing he did at work all the time. He could manage this. It was the only way.

So Mark jumped to his feet.

Standing tall, willing his mind to follow his body’s example, he paced purposefully in the direction of home.

CHAPTER 4

Hannah was standing outside the spare bedroom, or Mia’s room as it had now temporarily become, with her right ear to the closed door.

She was listening to see if she could hear any sound from within; trying to work out whether her niece was awake yet. It was 10.05 a.m. on Monday: two days since Diane had left Mia in her and Mark’s care.

Hannah had been awake since just before 7 a.m. when Mark had kissed her goodbye as he left for the office. She always found it hard to sleep in when it got light so early during the summer months. Blackout curtains or blinds would fix that. But she actually quite liked to be up early: to gaze out of the window and watch the city below move through its own morning routines while she did the same from the comfort of the apartment.

Off her and Mark’s bedroom, as well as an en-suite bathroom, was a small balcony with a table and two chairs. Sometimes she liked to drink a cup of tea or coffee there and enjoy the sounds as well as the sights of Manchester. There was a communal garden on the roof, which had sounded wonderful when they’d moved in, although in practice they rarely ever used it.

If Hannah was going properly outside – actually leaving the apartment – she preferred to do so at street level. There was so much more to see close up: not least a bottomless supply of characters and dialogue to feed her fiction.

Unfortunately, the weather today didn’t make her want to go outside at all. Not even on to the balcony. The sunshine of the past few days had vanished, replaced by grey skies and incessant drizzle. Typical Manchester weather.

It made Hannah feel sorry for all the schoolkids, like Mia, who were finally free from the constraints of education and deserved better. It was the end of July, for goodness’ sake. Mind you, if Mia was planning to stay in bed all day, the weather didn’t really matter.

Hannah tiptoed away from her position in front of the bedroom door, having stayed there for at least a minute without hearing any sign of life whatsoever. She walked through to the lounge, shutting the door behind her and finally feeling like she could make some noise again. Just as well this wasn’t one of the typical open-plan apartments that were so prevalent nowadays. Hannah and Mark had specifically sought out one like this, with separate rooms around a central hallway, which they both preferred. In the last few days, thanks to their unexpected visitors, it had proved useful.

But what was she doing, creeping around her own home? It was ridiculous when she thought about it. And in doing so, rather than making the noises she normally would at this time on a Monday morning, she was only increasing the likelihood of Mia staying in bed longer.

So what should she do: start hoovering? No, that would be a bit over the top. She hadn’t had breakfast yet, thinking it rude to do so without her guest; how much longer was she going to have to wait? Until what time did fourteen-year-olds usually sleep? Mia had been up of her own accord by 9 a.m. yesterday, although the sound of Hannah and Mark moving around and chatting had probably roused her.

What if the poor thing was lying awake in her bed, waiting to hear Hannah moving around, and, because she’d been so quiet, still hadn’t got up?

Wow. Who would have guessed how awkward this was going to be?

Hannah made a decision: she’d switch the radio on here in the lounge, not too loud but enough to make it obvious she was up and about. If that hadn’t worked by 10.30 a.m., she’d start making breakfast and knock on Mia’s door to let her know.

Meanwhile, after tuning the hi-fi in to Radio 2, she looked over at the desk in the corner of the room. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the laptop lying there on top of it, gathering dust next to the printer. That was where she ought to have been for the last couple of hours. Instead of worrying about what time her niece would get up and how they would spend the day together, she could have used this quiet period to get some writing done.

Hannah’s first novel was due to be published next January. Although that was still a way off, she’d finished working on it now, at least in terms of writing and editing. However, from what her editor and publicist had told her, there would be plenty more to do promotion-wise near to release. She didn’t even want to think about that yet. It made her nervous. Meanwhile, her mind was on the next novel: the second part of the two-book deal she’d signed, which she was due to deliver next March.

She hadn’t even got halfway through her first draft yet and, although her editor had been enthusiastic about the synopsis she’d written initially, Hannah was far from happy with how it was going. There was still plenty of time, but she wanted to get ahead of the game, particularly as she feared not being able to produce something as good as her debut release.

Chatting in bed last night, Mark had asked her how she was getting on with it.

‘Um, okay, I guess.’

‘That doesn’t sound too convincing, Han. What’s up? Anything I can help with?’

‘Not really, unless you want to write it for me.’

Mark had crossed his eyes at this and pulled a wonky face. ‘Hmm. Maybe not. Don’t think I’ve got that in me like you, darling. I could read what you’ve got so far, if that would help.’

‘No, thanks,’ she’d replied, somehow finding a way to grin despite her frustration. ‘It’s not fit for human consumption yet.’

‘Hey, I never said I wanted to eat it,’ Mark had replied, deadpan. ‘I love you a lot – but not that much.’

‘You know what I mean. I’m just not very happy with it at the moment. I suppose I’m anxious the publishers will be disappointed. And that March deadline somehow doesn’t feel very far away.’

Mark had reassured her, as he was always so good at doing, that such doubts were only normal in the circumstances. He’d recommended she have a chat with her literary agent, Bruce Wilks, about them.

‘Yeah, maybe,’ she’d replied. ‘But I don’t want him to start doubting me too. Plus he’s on holiday at the moment. I’m not going to bother him while he’s away.’

Hannah was embarrassed by her doubts and fears. She still struggled to refer to herself as an author, although she hoped that would change soon. Once she’d held a physical copy of one of her books in her hand – seen it on the shelves in stores – surely that would change.

As for her second novel, pushing on with it was all she could realistically do. She considered writing a few words now. There wouldn’t be time to do much before she had breakfast with Mia, one way or another. But something was better than nothing.

Hannah sat down at the desk and opened up her laptop, buoyed by a wave of optimism. Then she proceeded to spend the next ten minutes on the Internet looking up the sleeping patterns of teenagers. She read that most tended to fall asleep and wake up later than they had as children, with their sleep patterns varying from one day to another. Teens usually required eight to ten hours of sleep per night to function at their best, apparently.

Well, that’s interesting, Hannah thought. However, she wasn’t sure what to do with the information and felt annoyed she’d looked at it rather than write.

‘Stuff it,’ she said, slamming the laptop shut and striding over to Mia’s bedroom.

She knocked on the door three times before announcing: ‘I’m making us some breakfast, Mia. See you in the kitchen in ten minutes?’

There was a slight pause before a gravelly voice replied: ‘Right.’

‘Would you like tea or coffee?’

‘Um, coffee.’

‘A boiled egg?’

‘Sure.’

‘Great. See you soon.’

Hannah smiled to herself, pleased with how her wake-up call had gone. Mia’s replies could have been a bit more polite: a please or thank-you wouldn’t have gone amiss. But in her niece’s defence, it had sounded like she’d just woken up.

As Hannah walked to the kitchen, she wondered how to keep Mia occupied for the rest of the day. She and Mark had spent much of the previous forty-eight hours trying to make their visitor feel welcome and at ease. They’d told her to call them both by their first names, rather than Aunt Hannah and Uncle Mark. Considering her age and the fact that they’d not been in her life for such a long time, it seemed more sensible – less forced – than the alternative; hopefully it would help her to feel comfortable in their presence.

They’d also spent a good amount of time showing Mia around Manchester. On Saturday they’d strolled around the city centre, pointing out the location of the main shops and so on, before grabbing some food at a new pizza restaurant that had recently opened near Deansgate.

Yesterday, they’d gone out in the BMW to give Mia a flavour of some of the countryside around Manchester. They’d walked around Hollingworth Lake in Littleborough, a short drive out of the city, although Mia hadn’t given much away in terms of whether she’d enjoyed it or not. She hadn’t spoken a great deal on either day, mainly responding to their questions rather than making conversation.

This wasn’t a huge surprise, considering her age and the fact she was only now getting to know her aunt and uncle. But it did mean Hannah was feeling apprehensive about being alone with her today. She really hoped to avoid a return to the awkward silences of last Friday, when Mia and her mum had first turned up.

Mind you, over the weekend, Hannah had done much more of the talking than Mark. He’d seemed more reserved than usual – not quite himself – but she guessed that made sense, considering his views on children. He probably needed time to adapt to Mia’s presence.

As she put two eggs on the hob to boil, Hannah’s mind turned to her sister, wondering when she was likely to contact them. Surely she’d phone or text today, having so far remained quiet since her departure on Saturday morning. If not, Hannah decided she probably ought to make contact herself soon.

She switched on the kitchen radio and laid two places at the small table. This was where she and Mark usually ate when they didn’t have company. She had considered using the dining room again, as they always had with Mia so far, but it seemed silly when there were only the two of them.

After a couple of reminder calls that breakfast was ready, Mia eventually appeared. Bleary-eyed and with her dark hair tied up in a messy bun, she was wearing grey jogging pants and a creased pink crop top.

‘Good morning,’ Hannah said. She smiled despite feeling annoyed at how long it had taken Mia to emerge. ‘Grab a seat and I’ll pour you some coffee.’

Mia stifled a yawn as she sat down on one of the two chairs.

‘Did you sleep well?’

‘I woke up a few times.’

‘Oh dear. Did you hear Mark getting ready for work?’

Mia shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

‘He left just before seven, so …’

Hannah thought Mia might respond to this information, but instead there was a long silence.

As Hannah poured some coffee into her niece’s cup, it occurred to her that maybe this wasn’t an appropriate drink to serve a fourteen-year-old. How was she supposed to know? She struggled to remember at what age she’d started drinking coffee, and it wasn’t like Diane had left her with an instruction manual.

She’d definitely had coffee with them yesterday morning, but Hannah couldn’t recall what she’d had on Saturday morning when Diane was still around.

‘Sorry, is coffee what you usually drink for breakfast at home?’ Hannah asked as Mia added milk to her cup. ‘It occurred to me that … well, I’ve no idea what the norm is for someone your age.’

‘Coffee’s fine,’ Mia replied.

Hannah nodded. She handed Mia a boiled egg, instructing her to help herself to some of the toast she’d already placed on the table. ‘There’s cereal too, if you’d like some,’ she added without getting a response.

‘So, um, your mum’s all right with you drinking coffee? It’s just that … I wouldn’t want to step on any toes.’

‘Uh-huh.’

Hannah, feeling awkward at the lack of interaction, took a slow sip from her own cup of coffee, which she enjoyed black as usual. Once upon a time she used to be able to knock back coffee all day long, but nowadays she had to be careful not to drink too much, for fear of the caffeine making her edgy.

She heard an unfamiliar pinging sound all of a sudden, which had her looking around the kitchen, wondering where the noise had come from.

Then she saw Mia pull her mobile phone out of her trouser pocket; she realised it must have been the sound of her receiving a message.

‘Oh, would you mind not using your phone at the table, please?’ Hannah asked before she had the chance to look at it.

Mia turned bright red and shoved the mobile back into her pocket without a word, staring down at her plate. A moment later Hannah noticed tears trickling down her cheeks, which made her feel awful.

‘There’s no need to get upset, Mia,’ she said in a gentle voice. Part of her wanted to reach out and squeeze her niece’s hand or similar, but it felt like the wrong thing to do in the circumstances, like she would be overstepping boundaries. ‘I’m sorry if I sounded like I was snapping at you. If it makes you feel any better, I’d have said exactly the same thing to Mark, had he taken his mobile out during a meal. It’s a pet hate of mine. Everyone’s glued to their phones enough as it is, rather than talking to the people around them. So under this roof mealtimes are a phone-free zone, I’m afraid.’

Mia continued to look down at the table in silence. She refused to meet her aunt’s eye while painstakingly peeling the shell off her egg. Finally she placed it on her buttered toast, slicing it up and spreading it out.

The sight tickled Hannah, who recalled Diane switching to eating a boiled egg like this in her late teens, having picked up the method from a boyfriend. Previously, she’d always cut off the top and dipped soldiers inside or scooped out the contents, as they’d learned at home. As far back as Hannah could remember, if a chance had ever presented itself to do things differently – particularly from the rest of the family – her sister had always jumped at it. Classic Diane.

Hannah wondered if Mia was the same way. She’d not known her long enough yet to be able to tell.

After a short period of listening to the radio and eating in silence, allowing Mia time to get over the phone incident, Hannah decided to try to make fresh conversation. ‘So is there anything you particularly fancy doing today, Mia?’

‘Not really.’

‘Well, as you must have noticed, it’s not very nice weather this morning. And according to the forecast, there’s little chance of any improvement later on. In other words, we’re probably best doing something indoors.’

Mia nodded, keeping her eyes on her plate and the food she’d been poking and prodding with her cutlery more than eating.

‘There are several nice art galleries and museums nearby, but … well, I’ve honestly got no idea whether that’s the kind of thing you would enjoy doing or not. I wouldn’t want to drag you around somewhere you’d find boring.’

There was a long pause before Mia replied. ‘I, er, I’m not actually feeling that well. My stomach hurts. I think I might be starting my period.’

This threw Hannah somewhat, as it was a long way from the response she’d expected. Despite the evidence right in front of her, she still hadn’t got used to Mia being fourteen. Mind you, it wasn’t like she’d had any preparation for this. Until a few days ago, the only Mia she knew – apart from the odd photo she’d spotted at her dad’s house over the years – was the pre-schooler she’d been when Diane moved her away.

‘I see,’ she replied. ‘Sorry to hear that. Do you, um, have everything you need: tampons, pads, paracetamol, perhaps? Because if not, I can always—’

‘I’m fine,’ Mia said. ‘But can I chill in my room for a bit and read my book?’

‘Of course. That’s fine. I thought you’d want to be out and about, rather than stuck here with me, but if that’s how you’re feeling, I understand. I’ve had my fair share of period pains over the years. Why not take it easy this morning and then see how you feel later on?’

Mia nodded, looking teary again all of a sudden.

Oh dear, Hannah thought. Surely she wasn’t still upset about the mobile phone reprimand. Unless she was afraid Hannah might confiscate it, as her mum had the other day. She could understand how that might be a scary prospect for a young teenager staying with people she barely knew, miles away from home.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘You’re not still upset about what I said earlier, are you? There’s no need to be. I’m not cross, particularly as you put it away so quickly.’

‘It’s just … I thought it might be Mum at last.’

‘Oh, right. I see. Haven’t you heard from her today?’

Mia shook her head. ‘Not since Saturday evening when she sent me a text to say she’d got home.’

‘Oh dear.’

I’ve sent her a few messages since then and I’ve tried to call her, but she’s not answered.’

‘Right. Well, I’m sure there’s a good explanation. She’s probably busy. She said she had a few things to do while you were staying with us, so that’s most likely it.’

Hannah eyed the food in front of her niece, which she’d barely touched, and then looked down at her own plate, which was empty save for a few crumbs. She helped herself to another piece of toast, which was cold now, and slapped on some butter and marmalade. This was as much about giving her something to do with her hands as it was about still being hungry.

She cut the toast into two triangles and, before taking a bite, asked: ‘Aren’t you feeling hungry?’

Mia said not, sliding her plate forward on the table to emphasise she was done and then nursing her coffee.

Seeing her niece so downhearted proved too much for Hannah. ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I can waive the no-phones rule this once, seeing as it’s obviously upsetting you not knowing if it’s your mum or not. Go ahead and have a look.’

Mia’s face instantly brightened, only to sour again after she pulled out her mobile and read the message.

‘What’s wrong?’ Hannah asked.

Mia shook her head, slipping the phone back into her pocket. ‘It’s not from Mum. It’s one of my friends.’

‘Never mind. I’ll try and get hold of her later, if you like. Is there anything in particular you need to ask her?’

She hesitated, frowning and scratching her head before continuing. ‘I, um, was wondering when she was coming back for me. She did say it would only be a few days.’

Hannah couldn’t help feeling dismayed by this, although she did her best to hide the fact by smiling and nodding. ‘Of course. I totally understand. I was your age once. It’s only normal that you’d rather be at home with your friends and so on than here with us.’

Later, when Mia had returned to her bedroom and Hannah was in the lounge, glad of a break from struggling to make conversation, she pondered Diane’s lack of contact with her daughter.

It was odd she hadn’t been returning Mia’s calls and messages, especially after leaving her alone here with a strange aunt and uncle. What was Diane up to?

Hannah stared at her number: the latest entry in her smartphone’s long list of contacts. The last time Diane had featured would have been on a much simpler device – something clunky by modern standards, with a rubbish camera. The world of technology had moved on a lot in the years they’d been apart, as had Hannah. She could only assume the same applied to her estranged sister.

Her thumb hovered above Diane’s name on the touchscreen. She knew all she had to do to call the number was press down. And yet, for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Was this because she dreaded having to talk one-to-one with her again? Or was she afraid of not getting an answer?

Hannah decided it was probably a combination of the two, although the latter was of particular concern in light of Mia not being able to reach her. It was strange they’d not heard anything yet about when she was coming back for Mia.

God, what if something had happened to her? What would they do then?

No sooner had she decided to stop dithering and call the number than her mobile began to ring of its own accord.

CHAPTER 5

‘Hello?’ Hannah said, answering the phone in a clipped tone, as if Mark had caught her in the middle of something. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Hi,’ he replied. ‘Yes, I’m fine, thanks. What about you? You sound busy.’

‘Oh? I’m not really.’

‘How’s everything going with Mia? Are you finding it okay on your own with her?’

Hannah brought Mark up to date about Mia sleeping in, their stilted breakfast chat, and lastly her niece’s claim to have period pains.

‘I see,’ he replied, glad not to have had that particular conversation with their guest. He knew it would have embarrassed him, even though modern men were supposed to be able to talk comfortably about the time of the month. Dads in particular, he thought, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten. The knot that had been there since he’d read Diane’s letter.

But it was Hannah’s next comment that really got Mark’s attention. Lowering her voice, she said: ‘I think the real reason Mia’s feeling off this morning is because of her mum. Diane’s not been replying to her calls or messages, apparently.’

‘What? Not at all?’

‘She sent her one message on Saturday to say she’d got home; nothing since.’

This surprised Mark, who’d assumed mother and daughter had been in regular contact. He’d certainly seen Mia typing and receiving various messages on her phone while she’d been staying with them. These must have been to and from her friends at home.

Unbeknown to Hannah or Mia, he’d also tried and failed to get hold of Diane several times yesterday.

He’d grabbed her number from Hannah’s mobile. When Diane hadn’t answered, his mind had gone into overdrive, reading all kinds of potential meanings into this. Now he had a new perspective on the situation.

‘That’s a bit odd,’ he said into his phone, which was tucked between his chin and right shoulder as he made a brew for himself and a handful of colleagues in the kitchen at work. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this, but judging by the shocked looks on his co-workers’ faces when he’d offered, it was long overdue. In truth, he’d wanted an excuse to make this call away from prying ears in the open-plan office, since all the meeting rooms were occupied. Mark wasn’t one for sharing personal information with colleagues; the last thing he wanted this morning was to face nosy queries about who Mia was and why she was staying with them.

At times like this he’d have appreciated having his own private office, but that was far too traditional to fit in with the firm’s modern, open ethos.

‘What’s that noise?’ Hannah asked.

‘I’m brewing up. It’s probably the kettle you can hear.’

‘What? I thought you said you never had time for that. Are you feeling all right?’

‘Very funny. So where’s Mia now?’

‘In her bedroom, reading. I mentioned the art galleries and museums, but she said she didn’t feel up to going.’

‘Look on the bright side: at least you might get the chance to do some writing.’ Mark bent down to get the milk out of the fridge as he spoke, cricking his neck in the process, forcing him to switch the phone back into his hand with a groan.

‘What was that?’ Hannah asked. ‘Are you all right?’

‘It’s nothing. I’m just trying to do too many things at once. So what do you think is going on with Diane?’

He heard the sound of his wife sighing down the line. ‘Who knows?’

‘It certainly seems strange for her to go silent like this … assuming Mia’s telling the truth.’

‘What do you mean?’

Yes, good point. What did he mean? The idea that Mia might be fibbing had only occurred to Mark as he’d said it. It was based solely on a paranoid, unsupported fear that she might be working against him – in cahoots with her mother.

‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Ignore me. I’m, er, just thinking out loud.’

‘Why would she make such a thing up? You weren’t here. You didn’t see how upset she was. I felt so sorry for her that I even let her check her mobile at the breakfast table.’

‘You what?’ Mark replied, grinning in spite of the guilt and fear that had been eating him up ever since Diane’s flabbergasting revelation. ‘That can’t be right. You must be going soft in your old age. You’ll be answering a call in the cinema next.’

Hannah had long had a bee in her bonnet about people using mobiles at mealtimes. She found it the height of rudeness and, although Mark wasn’t quite as offended by it as she was, over the years she’d converted him to the cause. He hadn’t spotted Mia doing it so far, perhaps because Diane had similar feelings to Hannah, which she’d instilled in her daughter.

That didn’t sound like the Diane he remembered, who’d always been far better at breaking rules than following them. Maybe motherhood had changed her. She’d confiscated Mia’s mobile for some reason when they’d first arrived, so there were obviously boundaries in place.

‘And you’ve still not heard anything from Diane either?’ Mark asked.

‘No. I told Mia I’d try to get hold of her. She wants to know when her mum is coming back for her.’

‘That’s understandable. She is only fourteen. She’s probably homesick. So are you going to try calling Diane yourself?’

She cleared her throat. ‘I guess so.’

Hearing reluctance in Hannah’s strained tone of voice, Mark spotted an opportunity. ‘You, er, don’t sound very keen.’ He held his breath for a moment before adding: ‘Would you rather I tried to get hold of her instead?’

‘You’d do that?’ she asked, already sounding happier.

‘Of course, if it makes life easier for you.’

‘That would be amazing. You’re the best.’

Mark winced at this, wishing it was true, before forcing himself to add: ‘Could you text me her phone number?’

Once he’d dished out the brews to his bemused colleagues – one of whom actually took a photo of him handing over their cup ‘to prove it really happened’ – he returned to his desk and tried to distract himself with work.

When lunchtime came around, Mark popped out, having taken Diane’s letter from his briefcase and stuffed it into a trouser pocket. He read the contents over again at a crumb-covered table in a quiet back-street sandwich shop where no one knew him.

Diane’s words hadn’t got any better or less terrifying with time. As Mark’s eyes scanned the letter’s contents, the cheese-and-pickle sandwich he’d ordered lying untouched next to his can of cola, he felt his heart pounding at the prospect of what he might say if he managed to reach her by phone.

He didn’t have the slightest clue what Diane was up to, but he was desperate to know. He needed to discover whether she was definitely telling the truth in her letter and, if so, why she’d chosen to tell him now. Something specific must have sparked her recent actions – and Mark was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Meanwhile, he’d done as she’d asked. He’d looked at Mia to see if he could see himself in her. He’d scrutinised the girl, as surreptitiously as possible, over the last couple of days. He’d examined her physical appearance, from her eyes and smile right down to the shape of her feet. He’d considered the way she walked and talked; her gestures; the type of things she said and did; what made her laugh; what made her frown.

At certain moments, he’d thought he’d seen hints of himself or other family members, such as his mother. At other times, he’d become convinced these were mere projections and there was nothing concrete at all.

There was plenty of Diane, though. Over the years, particularly before the big falling-out, Mark had seen loads of old snaps of Diane and Hannah together as girls. Fourteen-year-old Mia could easily pass for their sister.

But could she pass for his child?

Could she really, truly be his daughter?

And if so, why had Diane lied to his face about it when he’d asked her previously?

His mind jumped back to one particular conversation. It had been in 2008 during those awful, raw days following the death of her and Hannah’s mother, Maggie, and before the disintegration of the sisters’ relationship. Little had he known at that point how much was about to change, and how drastically it would affect all of their lives.

The sisters had spent a couple of days at their parents’ home. They’d both wanted to be there to console and support their dad, who was so devastated he could barely function, and to start planning the funeral. To make things easier for them, Mark had agreed to move into Diane’s house, a small terraced property in Withington, to look after Mia while they were away. This was despite him being pretty clueless when it came to children.

Mia had recently turned three and had at least stopped wearing nappies during the daytime. With the help of a list of instructions left by her mum, detailing mealtimes, toilet habits and other daily routines, he’d just about managed, thankful she had a placid temperament for a young child.

However, unbeknown to Diane, there had been several phone calls to his mother, Alma, along the way. Having no grandchildren of her own, she’d been only too happy to give him tips and advice. She’d even offered to come over and lend a hand, but he’d said that wasn’t necessary.

That afternoon there had also been a minor incident in his car. He’d taken Mia out to the park and, while stuck in traffic on the way back, she’d announced she needed a wee ‘right now’.

‘You can wait a few minutes, can’t you?’ Mark had asked.

Her only reply had been to shake her head vigorously, turn bright red and do it there and then in her car seat before starting to cry.

Luckily, he’d managed to keep a cool head and, somehow, to juggle cleaning the car and putting Mia in the bath and then bed before Diane arrived home.

‘Thanks so much for looking after her,’ she said after popping up to give her a kiss goodnight. ‘She’s zonked. You must have kept her busy.’

‘I did my best. I’m pretty shattered too. Maybe I should text Hannah and ask her to run me a bath.’

Diane smiled. ‘She’s probably in there herself. It’s been a tough couple of days.’

‘I bet. How’s Frank managing?’

‘He’s not. He’s in a mess. Mum might have been ill for ages, but it’s like Dad never faced up to the fact this would happen one day. I mean, it’s not something you can really prepare yourself for, is it? But the way he’s acting, you’d think she’d been fighting fit and her death was a total shock. He’s all over the place. He’s even said things like there’s no point in him carrying on without her.’

‘How’s he going to cope now you and Hannah are no longer there with him? Do you think he’ll want to move back to Manchester?’

Frank and Maggie Wells had lived in the Altrincham area for most of their lives, where the sisters had grown up in a large Victorian family home in a leafy, well-heeled street. But two years ago, after both taking early retirement, they’d sold up and moved to a bungalow close to the sea in Southport. Although this had always been a shared dream of theirs, it had come as a surprise to the rest of the family, particularly in light of them recently becoming grandparents. However, soon after the move, they’d revealed the devastating news that Maggie had been diagnosed with stage four breast cancer; she’d effectively relocated there to die.

Mark knew how hard it had been for Hannah to watch her mother gradually fade away, slowly getting more frail and less like her old self; increasingly reliant on the various drugs she’d been prescribed. He assumed Diane’s experience had also been tough, although he knew Hannah thought her sister hadn’t been as supportive or visited as often as she had when Maggie had got closer to the end.

Ultimately, her death had been a release, for Maggie, but also for her family. As painful as it was to lose her, at least they no longer had to watch her suffer, losing a little more of herself every day. Now they could finally move on to grieve for the strong woman she’d once been, rather than the dying patient she’d become.

‘Dad will have to manage,’ Diane replied, ‘like the rest of us. As to whether he’ll stay there or not, that’s up to him. It’s way too early to talk about that yet. At least he seems to know plenty of people around there now. One of the neighbours, a woman called Joan, even brought him a lasagne over this afternoon.’

While they spoke about this and the funeral plans, Mark’s mind wandered. Spending so much one-to-one time with Mia over the past couple of days had affected him in ways he hadn’t predicted.

Despite usually feeling disconnected and indifferent towards children, Mark had been surprised to find he really enjoyed spending time with Mia. Okay, the weeing in the car hadn’t been much fun, but apart from that she’d been consistently cute. There hadn’t been the slightest hint of a toddler tantrum.

Little Mia, who was usually too busy with Hannah to notice him, had hung on his every word. She’d made him feel special in a way he hadn’t experienced before. At certain moments she’d unexpectedly planted a kiss on his cheek or climbed on his knee for a ‘huggle buggle’, as she called it, melting his heart.

Occasionally she’d pulled an exaggerated sad face and mentioned her late grandmother, clearly trying to process what Diane had told her before leaving. ‘Granny’s gone, Uncle Mark. I miss her,’ she’d said several times, shaking her head and shrugging in a way that made her look far older than her years.

When he’d tucked her up in bed that evening, having read her the same story three times – about a cat who was scared of going to the vet – a very earnest Mia had told him: ‘I love you, Uncle Mark.’

‘Thank you, Mia,’ he’d replied, overwhelmed. ‘That’s nice of you to say. I, um … I love you too.’

And even though he’d only said so because she’d said it first, there had been a certain truth in his words that had got Mark thinking.

It was this he was still mulling over as he and Diane spoke in the kitchen later. He felt a fondness for Mia unlike anything he’d experienced towards a child before; he wondered if it might in fact be something biological.

Despite falling pregnant alarmingly soon after that awful night – the one Mark wished he could banish from his memory forever – Diane had always fervently denied any chance of his being Mia’s father. Of course he’d asked her. As much as it pained him to dig up what had happened between them and despite having no desire to be a dad, Mark wasn’t the kind of person to bury his head in the sand. He was a man who faced up to his responsibilities. Ironically, this had been ingrained in Mark by the same tragedy from his past that had shaped his desire not to be a father, having been badly let down as a child by someone who should have watched over him.

But Diane had always seemed so dismissive, like it was a ridiculous suggestion. Eventually, he’d accepted it and moved on. The fact it was easier this way had been an added bonus.

And yet, as far as he knew, Diane had never told anyone the father’s identity, not even Hannah or their parents, which was weird. She’d not been in a relationship around that time – not publicly anyway – and had taken the stance that it was no one’s business but hers.

‘Would you like a drink before you head off?’ Diane asked, having described to Mark the type of coffin they’d agreed on for Maggie’s funeral. ‘I’ve got plenty of wine and beer,’ she added, gesturing towards the fridge, ‘unless you’ve drunk it all while you’ve been here.’

Normally he’d have said no and headed home. He usually avoided being alone with Diane at all costs, in light of their chequered past. But he needed to address his thoughts about Mia.

‘Go on then,’ he replied. ‘I’ll have a quick beer. And don’t worry: there’s plenty left. I’ve not had a drop while I’ve been responsible for Mia.’

Diane raised an eyebrow. ‘Great.’ She walked over to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of Grolsch.

Mark fought to keep his breathing steady.

As his sister-in-law opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a bottle opener, he noticed she was wearing a green top very like one his wife had.

‘You and Hannah must have similar taste,’ he said, making small talk in a bid to calm himself down.

‘Oh?’ she replied, turning around and pouting in a way that made him uncomfortable. ‘How so?’

Mark cleared his throat, wishing he’d chosen his words more carefully. ‘I, er, just mean what you’re wearing. That, um, top. I think she might have the same one.’

Diane laughed. ‘Oh, okay, I get you. Well spotted. She does have exactly the same top – this one, in fact. I borrowed it from her this morning. Nice, isn’t it?’

Mark managed an awkward laugh, shuffling his feet on the tiled kitchen floor.

‘So you managed all right with Mia?’ Diane asked after they’d moved through into the small lounge. ‘Everything seems in good order. Hannah and I were surprised not to get more phone calls from you.’

‘Yes, we muddled through. The instructions you left were a big help.’ He paused before adding: ‘She’s a lovely little girl.’

Mark’s mind skipped into overdrive. He asked himself repeatedly why exactly he thought Mia might be his child, apart from the obvious fact that he and her mother had slept together soon before Diane fell pregnant.

Did he see himself in her? God, that was a hard question to answer. She had green eyes, like he did, but a lighter shade. They were piercing in a way that reminded him more of the pale blue eyes that Hannah and Diane shared. Her hair was dark brown, like his. But that was also her mother’s natural colour and Mia’s hair was straighter than either of theirs. Just like some other man’s hair, perhaps.

As for the rest … who could say?

Maybe he was being stupid, delusional. Could spending time with only a three-year-old for company mess with your mind? Plus there was the fact that Diane had just lost her mother, which probably made this an inappropriate moment to raise such a sensitive issue. He was tempted not to say anything after all.

Then he remembered how it had felt to hear Mia say she loved him; to hold her cool little hand in his while walking through the park that afternoon. There was definitely a connection between the two of them. He felt it in his gut – and he had to know the truth. So he grabbed the bull by the horns.

‘Listen, Diane. I need to ask you something about Mia. I’ve really enjoyed spending time with her. More than I ever imagined. I know you’ve said otherwise in the past, but … she’s mine, isn’t she? I know she is. I can feel it. Please tell me the truth.’

Diane stared at him for a long moment, poker-faced. She slowly began to nod her head and then, in a voice that sounded so calm it was almost menacing, she said: ‘Well, this is a surprise. Your timing is lousy, but fine, I get it. I’ll tell you the truth if that’s what you really want, Mark.’

CLIENT SESSION TRANSCRIPT: HCOOK290719