Me moving into the main house to look after Alice felt like coming home and I took a strange satisfaction in relegating Lizzie to the other cottage, while Hope took her old room. Lizzie didn’t seem to mind as I’ve got the expertise to look after her mother, but it didn’t do me any favors in trying to get closer to her. Then again, if it hadn’t happened over the last eleven years, what difference would five months make?
The wind picks up as I make my way across the yard. It’s often blustery at night, when the waves crashing against the rocks at the base of the cliffs are particularly loud. There’s a full moon tonight and it bathes the house in an ethereal glow, as bright as if a light switch has been flicked, so I see Brooke let herself into the main house through the back door. Where has she been and why is she getting in so late?
I don’t like not knowing things and my sister has secrets I want to be privy to. I hated being left out when we were growing up too, and used to read her diary. Not that there was ever anything juicy; just endless pages about which boy said what to her, who she liked, who she didn’t. Boring, mundane stuff, with the occasional revelation to shake things up, like when she wanted to lose her virginity. I’d never been that stupid to write anything personal in mine but I had liked those journaling sessions when I’d sit with Brooke and Lizzie in the reading nook and we’d scribble in relative silence.
Brooke is sipping water from a glass as I let myself in and she jumps when she hears the door snick.
“What are you doing sneaking around at this time of night?” She places the empty glass on the sink, before a slow smile creeps across her face. “Actually, don’t answer that. You’ve got booty call written all over you.”
To my annoyance a blush surges to my cheeks. “I’m engaged. What of it?”
“Hey, I’m kidding.” She holds up her hands and they shake slightly, like she’s nervous. “What you two get up to after dark is none of my business.”
Something in her tone rankles; I hate being teased. “Speaking of business, you’re back awfully late for a trip to San Fran.”
“I had a few things to take care of.” Her gaze slides away from mine, deliberately evasive, and she’s gnawing on her bottom lip. She’s upset about something and I’m worried. It’s not like Brooke to be this cagey.
“Like what?”
“What’s with the interrogation?” She crosses her arms, her jaw jutting because she’s clenching her teeth so hard. “I’ve got a private life just like you.”
My eyebrows shoot up and I try to placate her. “Where’s that coming from?”
Indignation radiates off her before she gives a little shake of her head and unfolds her arms to rest her hands behind her, bracing against the sink. “I’m tired of this family and its secrets.”
My heart skips a beat. “What are you talking about?”
Her shoulders slump, like she’s shouldering a giant invisible weight, and when her gaze locks on mine, her concern is clear. “Before Aunt Alice got sick, did she ever confide in you about stuff she’s done in her past?”
I freeze. Surely she can’t know…
“I think Alice was in love with our dad.”
I exhale in relief. “What?”
“Yeah, and it doesn’t stop there…” She trails off, shaking her head again, and I’m gripped by panic again. Surely she can’t know the rest?
“You know you can confide in me, right?”
She nods, but she hasn’t lost the defeated posture. “I need to process it all before I tell you.”
Tell me what? I’m increasingly worried she’s stumbled onto the truth but if that’s the case, she would’ve confronted me already. This is something else and I’ll have to give her time rather than badger.
“That’s fine, Sis, I’m here for you whenever you’re ready to talk.”
She manages a tight smile in gratitude and turns away, so I barely hear her murmured, “You’re in for one hell of a surprise.”
I hope not.
Brooke and I have that in common. We don’t like surprises.
I’ve had enough to last me a lifetime.
Thirty-Six
Brooke
The next morning, Lizzie is curious to discover what I found in Verdant and as much as I want to tell her everything I don’t want to turn her world upside down until I have facts.
But to dig further I need to start with the basics and that means getting hold of Lizzie’s birth certificate.
“Hey, I’m doing a digital family album for Freya’s wedding and was wondering where all the birth certificates, old school grading cards, that kind of thing, are stored these days?”
I keep my tone blasé and thankfully Lizzie doesn’t suspect a thing. “They used to be in that monstrous cookie tin next to the fireplace but Mom put them into a filing cabinet in the den years ago.”
Damn, I’d already checked there and, while the folders for Freya and me are bulging with documentation, Lizzie’s isn’t and only starts around school age.
“Thanks, I’ve already had a look through that. Anywhere else she would’ve stored stuff?”
“Not that I know of.”
I try another tactic. “Have you traveled at all over the last decade? I was hoping to make a collage of pics too.”
My heart sinks when she shakes her head. To get a passport she would’ve needed a birth certificate and this is my roundabout way of asking if she has it.
“I’m a homebody, always have been.” She shrugs. “Guess I get that from Mom. She never traveled either.”
I know Lizzie’s date of birth so I have a place to start searching. But to get a copy of her birth certificate she’ll need to apply and who knows how long it will take? I could expedite the entire process by asking her for it but she’s not stupid, she’ll want to know why and I’m plum out of excuses. So I try one last time.
“Do you have your birth certificate? I can’t find Freya’s either and I really want to get this family album done.”
“Sorry, I have no idea where they could be. To be honest, I’ve never seen any of them.”
Her astute gaze focuses on me and I know she’s figured out I’m not being entirely truthful.
“What’s this really about, Brooke?”
I don’t want to hurt her. Discovering Alice lied to us is hard enough. But Lizzie will find out her mom is her aunt, that our mom gave her up but kept us. It could be devastating. I don’t want to tell her but I see by the determination in her blue eyes so like my own she’s not going to let this go.
“Okay, I’ll tell you, but this information could be wrong so don’t freak out.”
A dent grooves her brows. “You being evasive is freaking me out.”
I take a deep breath and let it out, steeling myself. This is what comes of delving into the past and I of all people should know secrets are best left hidden.
“You know I caught up with Mom’s best friend Amy Cresswell when I went to Verdant yesterday.”
“Yeah, and you still haven’t told me what you discovered.”
“Amy told me a lot about Aunt Alice. According to Amy, she was in love with my dad and was jealous of Diana.”
Lizzie gives a little shake of her head. “She’s always been a great mom, I can’t imagine her being jealous of anyone.”
“That’s not all.”
Lizzie leans forward, waiting for me to continue, and I swallow the trepidation clogging my throat.
“Amy said Diana slept with Cameron the first night they met. She got pregnant and went away to have the baby.”
Lizzie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Why would she do that? You and Freya are only eleven months apart so if something bad happened between her and your father they must’ve made up pretty quick.”
“As far as Amy’s aware I wasn’t the baby she went away to have in secret.” I eyeball Lizzie, silently imploring her to understand. “You are.”
Lizzie’s reaction isn’t what I expect. She laughs, slightly hysterical, until tears seep from her eyes.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
The seriousness in my tone sobers her up and her amused smirk fades.
“You really think there’s something to this?”
I nod. “Amy has no reason to lie. She was Mom’s best friend and I saw a stack of photos that showed how happy our parents were, with Aunt Alice always left out, hovering in the background, staring at them with longing. And Amy had a lot to say about Aunt Alice. Apparently nobody knew about Diana going away to have a baby apart from her and Alice.” I hesitate, knowing what I say next will hurt her but needing to tell her all of it. “She said Diana gave you up for adoption, then came home and ended up rekindling things with our dad again, and having me and Freya pretty quickly.”
Pain, raw and real, contorts Lizzie’s face for a moment. “But if I was adopted, how did Alice get hold of me?”
I note she’s switched from calling my aunt “Mom” to “Alice” and it breaks my heart I’m tearing her world apart.
“I don’t know. I guess we have to do some more digging.”
She frowns and swipes a hand over her face before leaping to her feet. “This is ridiculous. Why would she lie for all these years?”
“Probably to protect you.” I stand and go to her. I envelop her in my arms and she tolerates my hug, stiff and unyielding, before shrugging me off.
“Protect me from discovering my real mom gave me away while keeping her other two better kids?”
Her bitterness is audible and I wish I could hug her again.
“We don’t know what happened back then, Lizzie. Don’t forget Diana would’ve been eighteen when she had you and probably freaking out over being pregnant in a small town.” I shrug. “From what I saw Verdant is tiny and stuck in the middle of nowhere. Everyone would know everyone else’s business and, while I never knew our grandmother, Amy said she pushed Diana into ‘taking care of things’.” I make inverted comma signs with my fingers. “Amy also said Diana changed after she gave you up, that she came back a different person and was really cut up about it. I know we can’t make assumptions, but whatever Aunt Alice did, I’m sure she did it out of love.”
“I could’ve handled the truth.” Lizzie lashes out and kicks the nearest thing, the back of the sofa, her face flushed with fury. “She could’ve told me at any time but she chose not to and now I can’t bloody ask her.”
Her anger is understandably focused on Aunt Alice but I want to distract her, to make this easier for her if possible.
“I guess it explains why I’ve always felt close to you,” I say, with a wry grin. “You’re my big sister and I think that’s pretty damn wonderful.”
The tension bracketing her mouth softens. “I’ve always loved you like a sister anyway.”
This time she moves toward me and we hug tight, sniffling into each other’s shoulders.
But I can’t ignore the niggle of worry; what will Freya make of this? She’d resented my closeness with Lizzie growing up.
Will this shatter the bond we’ve re-formed?
Thirty-Seven
Alice
THEN
It’s true what people say, that when you have kids time flies. I’ve lived in Martino Bay for over a decade, pretending I’m content with my life.
I’m luckier than most. I have a great house in a picturesque spot, I have three gorgeous girls who adore me and I have enough money to live comfortably.
But I can’t keep the memories at bay and some nights I wake drenched in sweat, gulping in lungfuls of air, seeing Diana’s lifeless eyes staring at me and Cam walking toward me with open arms. When I wake from this nightmare I never know what upsets me most: the fact I may have inadvertently killed my sister or that Cam died with her.
I never should’ve contemplated tampering with Di’s brakes, shouldn’t have touched them even if I didn’t do anything. I was young, stupid and insanely jealous, determined to take back what’s mine. But technically Cam never was mine. I let her have him the night they met and I didn’t put up a fight. I should’ve ranted and raved and clawed her eyes out for making a play for my man. I should’ve staked my claim. Di may have snagged Cam but the blame lies with me for being passive, and I’d lost him.
But I have his girls. I’m older and wiser now, and the guilt I may have contributed to Di and Cam’s deaths has grown exponentially over the last ten years. It will consume me if I let it so I focus on being the best mother I can be, trying to make amends for robbing them of their parents.
The girls are fine overall. Lizzie is lovely: sweet, unassuming, unaware of her beauty. She’s a nurturer, enjoying nothing better than taking care of her younger siblings. Not that they know it. Brooke and Freya idolize their cousin and I’m glad they’re close.
Brooke is a beauty, able to charm anyone and everyone. She’s an extrovert, her vivacity as captivating as her big blue eyes and sunny smile. She and Lizzie are a lot alike and they gravitate toward each other.
Freya is the one I worry about. She reminds me of me, always hanging off Brooke, wanting to be like her, wanting what she has. I need to watch her because I don’t want her making the same mistakes I did.
Today, I’m particularly worried. Lizzie is taking Brooke to a friend’s party at a local fair but because Freya is under twelve and won’t be allowed on some of the rides she can’t go. She doesn’t like being excluded from anything and I know a storm is brewing.
I drop Lizzie and Brooke at the fairground and greet the parent in charge, a woman who’s only recently moved to town. But the girls know everyone there and are quickly absorbed into a group of fifteen giggly, chattering girls.
I glance in the rearview mirror and Freya’s face is contorted with resentment as she glares at the happy group. I quickly pull away from the curb and say, “How about we grab your favorite ice cream then head to the movies?”
She doesn’t answer for a moment and I can almost see her trying to get her breathing under control.
After thirty seconds she finally mutters, “I want to go home.”
She sounds disappointed, and I want to distract her. “Perhaps we can watch a movie and have ice cream at home?”
“Whatever,” she murmurs, her petulance audible, and she’s sullenly silent until I pull the car into the drive and switch off the engine. When I turn to face her, she’s still sulking, arms folded, shoulders rigid with tension, frowning.
“Freya, you can’t always accompany your sister—”
“Leave me alone!” she yells, before flinging open the door and bolting, running across the lawn toward the backyard.
I should go after her but I’m weary, thirty-four going on fifty. These girls consume my life and I don’t do much beyond parenting. After the Toby saga I avoided men for an entire year. I eventually lost my virginity at the ripe old age of twenty-four to a single dad I met at a toddlers’ playgroup, but I didn’t like him enough to pursue anything. Since then I’ve had a fling with an artist passing through town and a substitute teacher at the girls’ grade school, but I ended up feeling guilty for abandoning them to extra hours with Marie so I walked away from both those relationships.
I keep telling myself I don’t need a man. I’m content, happy even, but when that familiar nightmare comes and I see Cam walking toward me I know I would give anything to have that happen for real. I’m doing right by him, raising his girls, loving them as he would’ve wanted them to be loved. But I miss him, even after all these years, and I feel stupid pining for a ghost.
I’m lost in my musings and realize I’ve been sitting in the car for five minutes. As I get out, I hear a sob coming from the makeshift cubby house the girls built in the backyard many years ago. They don’t use it anymore but as that sound comes again I know where to head.
The cubby house has a mirror inside it, an old one taken off the back of my bedroom door. The girls loved having it in the c
ubby house so they could do fashion parades in front of it, dressing up in oversized old clothes, prancing around in wobbly high heels. When I round the back corner of the house Freya’s in front of the mirror, tears streaming down her face, a pair of scissors in one hand, Brooke’s favorite jacket in the other. It’s bright pink with diamanté edging at the collar and cuffs. I think it’s gaudy but Brooke fell in love with it the moment she saw it in an online catalogue and pestered me to order it. Predictably, Freya wanted one just like it but it had been a sample, a one-off, and I know she’s coveted it ever since.
Now, the jacket hangs in tatters. I watch as Freya slashes at the jacket over and over, stabbing with a ferocity that makes my heart ache. I should stop her. I should do something to ease her pain. But I know from personal experience nothing I say will help so I let her take her fury out on a piece of material.
Better that than her sister.
Thirty-Eight
Freya
When I get home from work the next day, Brooke and Lizzie are waiting for me. Tension radiates off them but their expressions are shuttered and I can’t get a read. They want to talk to me and I agree to meet them by the back of the property near the cliffs once I get Hope settled.
I’m edgy as I listen to my daughter prattle on about the circulatory system she started learning about in school today, between demolishing a banana muffin and a glass of milk. She barely takes a breath between mouthfuls, her excitement palpable. She’s exceptionally bright and I’m proud but all I want to do is rush out of the house and head for the cliffs.
When she eventually winds down and takes out her homework, I press a kiss to the top of her head. “You make a start on that while I go chat to your aunts, okay?”
“Sure thing, Mom.” She waves me away, already engrossed in the various chambers of the heart and how oxygenated blood is pumped around the body.
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