No Sister of Mine (ARC)

by Vivien Brown

  I pulled away from him. ‘You can’t ask me that!’

  ‘I just did. Do you love him, Eve? The way you loved me? More than you loved me?’

  ‘I never said I loved you.’

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  ‘You may not have said it, but you did. I know you did. Why else would you have been so hurt, so angry, that you’d leave home, move right down here and not come back? You loved

  me and you couldn’t bear to see me and Sarah together. You still can’t!’

  ‘God, you are so arrogant, so bloody sure of yourself. And, no, I don’t love Simon. Not

  in that way. I’ve told you, he’s a friend. My best friend. But I have no idea what he’s like in bed. What anyone’s like in bed—’ I shouldn’t have said it, blurted it out like that, but now I had I couldn’t take it back.

  ‘Anyone? What do you mean? That you still haven’t . . . ?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it. I’m going to make us some lunch.’ I stood up and headed

  for the kitchen, but he was up immediately and right behind me, reaching for my waist, stopping me in my tracks, turning me round to face him.

  ‘Yes, I’m still a virgin, okay?’ I could feel my face flaming. ‘Is that what you wanted

  to hear?’

  ‘But you’re almost twenty-six, Eve.’ He looked confused, his brow furrowing. ‘A

  beautiful, sexy, grown woman. Why on earth . . . ?’

  There were tears now, rushing up into my eyes, and nothing I could do to stop them.

  ‘Why do you think?’

  ‘Tell me.’ His face was close now, his eyes searching mine for answers.

  ‘Okay, have it your way. Make me say it. It’s because of you, okay? You. I didn’t want

  to be – couldn’t be – with anyone else. It’s only ever been you.’

  He pulled me into him, my wet face pressed against his shirt, his fingers moving up

  from my waist and curling into my hair. ‘Oh, Eve.’

  My arms went around him as if a magnet had pulled them in, and I clung to him as I

  cried.

  ‘And what about Simon?’

  ‘Simon’s gay, you numpty.’ And that was when I lifted my head away from him and

  laughed, and suddenly Josh was laughing with me.

  ‘Got that wrong then, didn’t I?’

  ‘Totally.’

  ‘But not the rest of it? Because you did love me? And you still do? I didn’t imagine that

  bit?’

  ‘Of course I love you. I was angry with you, so angry, and I couldn’t forgive you, but

  that didn’t stop me loving you.’

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  ‘So, what are we going to do about it?’

  ‘Well, I’m going to make lunch, and you’re going to sit here in the sun and wait for me

  to come back. You can read my newspaper, watch the bees, even wear the hat if you want to.

  And after that . . . I don’t know, Josh. I really don’t know.’

  I took my time in the kitchen, letting my breathing slow and my thoughts start to clear.

  When I came back, we picked at our food, leaving as much as we managed to eat.

  ‘It’s because I’m only hungry for you,’ Josh said, taking my hand in his, and we both

  laughed at what a corny line that was, but I knew what he meant because I felt it too. Somehow

  I wasn’t afraid anymore. Maybe it was the passage of time, or the heat of the moment, or just

  knowing that this was it, finally, my chance to take back what I had lost, and that I couldn’t let it pass by, couldn’t waste it.

  We left the plates, the flapping parasol, the solitary straw hat, and walked back into the

  flat, my hand still cradled inside his as I led him through the hall and into my bedroom. The

  bed creaked as we sat on it, and I felt myself shiver as Josh very gently removed my clothes,

  his fingers lingering on my skin, taking his time, making sure I was with him, willing, wanting this as much as he did. No rush, no panic, no fear, just a warmth that crept over me and a feeling of coming home, of being where I had always belonged.

  If only I had allowed this to happen the first time around. If only I hadn’t let thoughts

  of that scumbag Arnie hold me back, colour my judgement, ruin my life . . .

  But none of that mattered now. I was older. Wiser, perhaps. No, not wiser. This was far

  from wise. But I was certainly more confident, and more accepting. The past couldn’t be

  undone, but this was now, and Josh was here, where I had so badly wanted him to be. I didn’t

  stop to think, to question, to let common sense in. I went with my heart, and we made love,

  slowly, tenderly, his hands guiding me, showing me where to go, what to do, while he took me

  to places, sensations, heights I had had no idea existed. And not for one moment did I think of Arnie, or of Sarah. Or even Janey, and what this could do to her. Just Josh. Only Josh.

  Later, when I woke from a warm, wet, wonderful sleep to find Josh gone, there was one

  of those small plastic bags that the banks use, full of fifty pence pieces – maybe twenty or thirty of them – lying next to my face on the pillow, with a scribbled note beside it. I held it up to the fading evening light coming in from the window, and read the words:

  [handwritten note]

  More sorry than I can say.

  [/handwritten note]

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  I had almost forgotten our rule about not saying sorry and having to pay up if we did. I held the note against my chest and smiled, all the old memories flooding back. I just wished I

  knew, this time, what it was he was so sorry about. Was it the afternoon we had just spent

  together? Oh, God, I hoped not. I didn’t regret a single moment of it. Or did he just mean he

  was sorry for the mistakes of the past? For abandoning me for my conniving, back-stabbing,

  teenaged sister?

  It was only as I reluctantly got out of bed and headed for the shower that I realised he

  must have brought the coins with him, that the apology had already been planned before he

  even arrived. I might never know whether what had just happened between us had been planned

  too, but that wasn’t what he was saying sorry for. And, rapidly pushing aside the image of

  Sarah that had suddenly popped into my head, I knew I wasn’t sorry about it either. After all,

  she was the one who had stolen him from me. All I was doing, in some small secret way, was

  reclaiming what was rightfully mine.

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  CHAPTER 16

  SARAH

  There was no doubt that Janey was the invisible glue that held our little family together. We

  had wanted a baby so badly. Not to replace the one we had lost exactly, but to give some sort

  of meaning to our situation, to justify our marriage, not only to everybody else but to ourselves too. We had married so young, and so quickly, and for one reason only, yet the baby we lost

  had left an emptiness I had never expected to feel. Trying again seemed like the only way to

  make things right.

  It had taken us so long to make baby number two that I had started to worry there was

  something wrong. I knew I was okay. I must be. I had already been pregnant, and without even

  trying, but what if it was Josh? What if he wasn’t producing good enough sperm, or any sperm

  at all? If he was ever to be told something like that by some well-meaning doctor he would

  inevitably start asking questions about my first pregnancy. How it had happened so easily then, when now it wasn’t happening at all. But, in the end, we were lucky and Janey came along

  before we had reached the dreaded infertility investigations stage, and before we decided to

  give up and go our separate ways, which I had started to believe was a real possi
bility.

  I often wondered why he had stayed with me so long, when it was obvious he didn’t

  love me. Not deep-down love me, anyway, the way I had come to love him. But Josh took his

  responsibilities seriously. It must have been his Catholic upbringing, or perhaps just that he

  had no real reason to rock the boat, but it was his career that so clearly mattered the most. Not me. His job at the bank gave him status, fulfilment, ambition, and if he looked to his own

  parents for a role model marriage, then that was the kind of marriage we ended up with too.

  Practical, comfortable, functional. He worked and earned. I cooked and cleaned and lay on my

  back a couple of times a week, enjoying what he gave me but always desperately hoping for a

  level of passion that never quite materialised. The cracks had definitely started to form, like those tiny hairlines that appear on a ceiling and gradually get wider, while you’re not even

  looking, until one day the whole lot comes falling down. But Janey turned up just in time, and

  changed things.

  Janey became the reason Josh came home at night. He doted on her, right from day one.

  It didn’t hurt that she looked so much like him either. Two peas in a pod, the absolute image,

  apples not falling far from the tree, and all those other silly phrases people kept coming up with 121

  as soon as they saw them together. For the first time, I saw true love in his eyes, but it wasn’t directed at me.

  As his career progressed, Josh worked harder and longer, often going away on business

  trips. Up north, Birmingham, Wales, the south coast . . . I lost track after a while. To be honest, I never really understood why an assistant bank manager, or loans adviser, or whatever it was

  he called himself, would need to go to quite so many courses and conferences, but I felt it best not to question him too much and, if I had, I knew he would just have told me it was too dull

  and boring to explain. In truth, although I still worried that he might be seeing other women,

  getting close to one – or maybe more – of his young glamorous colleagues behind my back, on

  the whole I enjoyed the times when he was away. Janey was turning into a real daddy’s girl,

  always sitting on his knee or clinging to his legs, always wanting Josh to take her up to bed or fetch her a drink or play with her in the bath. I knew it was wrong to be jealous. She was his

  child just as much as she was mine, but sometimes I just didn’t get a look in, and it was only

  when he was not there that I got the chance to have her all to myself.

  One Sunday afternoon, once Josh had put his case into the boot and driven off to some

  place in the Midlands that I had never heard of and couldn’t be bothered to look for on a map,

  I decided to take advantage of what was left of the sunshine and wheel Janey out in her

  pushchair. Not that she really needed it anymore, unless she was in a lazy mood or got tired on the way back, but it was always handy for carrying stuff. She looked so cute that day, in her

  little T-shirt and shorts, with a white sunhat falling over her eyes, clutching a cuddly toy rabbit.

  In the bag hanging on the handles I had packed a ball, a couple of books, a picnic blanket, and all her favourite snacks, with no intention of going home until dinner time.

  Halfway round the park we ran straight into a man. Quite literally ran into him or, more

  accurately, he ran into us, as he came tearing round a bend in the path, tinny music seeping out of headphones attached to a small player clipped to his T-shirt, and almost knocked me over.

  ‘Sorry. Wasn’t looking.’ He pulled the headphones down around his neck, quickly

  switched the loud music off and stopped to catch his breath. ‘Sarah? Sarah Peters. Well, I never.

  It is you!’

  It took me a few moments to recognise the once chubby, shy boy I remembered from

  that day I’d tripped over on the bus as this now rather slim and handsome man out jogging in

  the park. Colin Grant!

  ‘Oh, Colin. Fancy seeing you after all these years. How are you?’

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  ‘Good, thanks. And I obviously don’t need to ask what’s been happening in your life!’

  He bent down to take a closer look at Janey, who beamed up at him as if he was a long-lost and

  much-loved uncle and made a sneaky grab for his headphones. ‘So, who is this gorgeous little

  lady? And who’s the lucky man? Don’t tell me you ended up with that jerk, Jacobs?’

  ‘This is Janey. She’s nearly four. And, no, I did not!’

  ‘Glad to hear it. He was never good enough for you. And he’s a used-car salesman now,

  you know. I bumped into him when I was looking for my latest. Needless to say I didn’t buy it

  from his place! Anyway, enough about him. I don’t suppose you fancy a coffee or an ice cream

  or something? If you’re not in a hurry to be anywhere, that is. It’s thirsty work, this keeping fit lark. We’ll sit in the sun and you can tell all.’

  ‘Nothing much to tell. Marriage. Motherhood. Busy, but boring. And I’m a Cavendish

  now, by the way, not a Peters. I married a banker. Josh. Not much else to say really. But I’m

  dying to know what you’re up to these days. So, yes, please. I’d love a coffee, and Janey adores ice cream. Assuming she’s included in the invitation?’

  ‘Of course she is. Come on. The kiosk by the playground should be open. We might

  even be able to have a go on the swings, if nobody’s looking!’

  We walked side by side, Janey kicking her legs and singing to herself in her buggy all

  the way to the kiosk. Colin waved away my offer to pay, pulled out a ten-pound note that had

  been tucked inside his sock and bought us coffees in polystyrene cups and a couple of Penguins, with a small cornet for Janey that gradually dripped its way down her arm as we sat opposite

  each other on wooden benches in the sun.

  ‘So?’ he said, putting his cup down on the table in front of us. ‘You want to know what

  I’ve been up to? Everything since we last met? It could take a while.’

  ‘Okay, maybe just the edited highlights then.’ I laughed. ‘I would like to get home

  before dark!’

  ‘Well, I suppose the biggest thing – the most important thing – is that I’m a doctor now.

  Well, almost!’

  ‘Wow! Really?’

  ‘Not quite consultant yet, mind. Very much a junior. Still in training, so to speak.’

  ‘But I’m impressed, even so. Beats my one and only part-time job, behind the counter

  at the dry cleaners’, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Ah, but look what you’ve done. Brought a little life into the world. That outranks any

  achievement of mine. Something I’ll never be able to do.’

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  ‘Oh, come on, Colin. So men don’t have wombs. That’s just biology. That’s not to say you can’t have kids of your own one day. Assuming there’s a Mrs Grant in the picture,

  obviously.’

  ‘There isn’t. No wife, no girlfriend. Or boyfriend, before you ask! No, I’ve just been

  too busy, too focused on my studies, and too damn knackered to be honest.’ He picked up his

  cup and took a sip. ‘Was that Mrs Grant thing your way of finding out if I’m available, by the

  way?’ His eyes danced with merriment.

  ‘No! I am a respectable married woman, I’ll have you know.’

  ‘Shame. But you can’t blame a man for trying. I may be one-hundred-per-cent single,

  but for you I would definitely make an exception.’

  It was just banter, I knew that, but I could feel myself blushing just the same. ‘Come

  on, get that drink down
you. You promised us swings, remember?’

  The next hour passed by in a flurry of fun, Colin chasing Janey up the slide steps and

  then running back round to catch her at the bottom, pushing her higher than I could ever have

  managed on the swings, and whizzing the roundabout, with all of us on board, so fast I thought

  I might be sick.

  Back in her buggy, Janey’s eyelids were drooping. Colin walked with us as far as the

  park gates and leant forward to kiss me on the cheek. ‘It’s been lovely seeing you again, Sarah.

  We must do it again. Soon.’ He took my hand in his, his fingers warm, his thumb pressing

  against my rings. ‘A walk, lunch, coffee, or maybe something a tad stronger . . . whatever suits.

  I’m sorry I don’t have a card or a pen or anything to give you my number, or to take yours. I

  don’t even have my phone with me. When you go out running, you don’t normally carry a lot

  of stuff. Well, I don’t. Just money, for emergencies.’

  ‘Like having to buy ice cream!’ I pulled my new mobile phone out from the bottom of

  my bag. ‘Here. Tap your number in for me. But call yourself . . . oh, I don’t know. let’s say

  Carol, shall we? I wouldn’t want Josh to see I’m collecting men friends in my contact list!’

  ‘Jealous type, is he?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. It’s just easier somehow. No questions asked.’

  Colin handed the phone back. ‘There! Now you have my number – or Carol’s anyway

  – but I don’t have yours. So whether we ever speak, or meet, again will be entirely up to you.

  Our future is in your hands.’

  I laughed. ‘Such power!’

  ‘You will though, won’t you?’ He was still holding my hand. ‘Call?’

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  I nodded, slipping my hand out from his. ‘Yes. I can’t promise when, and I have no idea of your shifts, so you’ll probably be in the middle of an operation or something, but yes, I will call.’

  ‘Bye then. And bye to you, little Janey.’ He laid his fingers gently on the top of her

  sleeping head and stroked her hair. And then he was gone, jogging away from us along the