No Sister of Mine (ARC)

by Vivien Brown

  difficult. I suppose she saw her at school, but I didn’t want to know about any of that and I was hoping Eve had listened to me, for once, and was keeping any contact strictly professional and

  absolutely minimal. Miss Peters was acceptable. Auntie Eve was not.

  Eve’s speedy return to Wales would have suited me fine, but she was settling into the

  new school and once she’d got a mortgage and decided to buy her own place, I knew it wasn’t

  going to happen. Still, it wasn’t as if I would have to see her at all, if I chose not to, now she 188

  had moved. But then I realised she would once again have a private space, not a million miles away, where Josh could go, and where their meetings could remain unseen, undetected. And

  that bothered me.

  As the months went by, my worries lessened and I started to believe everything would

  be okay. Eve had a career again, a purpose in life, and I had warned her off in a way that I

  didn’t think she would try to fight against, especially now Dad knew and so clearly

  disapproved. She’d always been Daddy’s girl, and would hate the thought that she had let him

  down. I finally felt I could breathe again.

  For Janey’s twelfth birthday, which was coming up in September, we booked a week

  in Spain. It would have been wrong to keep her out of school at the start of a new school year

  so we went early, with Josh moaning about the exorbitant cost of fights and hotels as we were

  going in the school holidays, and about how many other screaming brats were likely to be there

  spoiling the peace and quiet because of it, but the break was something I felt we all needed.

  I loved watching the two of them splashing about in the hotel pool and throwing a ball

  and racing each other along the sand whenever we went down to the beach, Janey’s skin turning

  a lovely golden colour as the days progressed and Josh’s shoulders peeling in the places his

  haphazard sun cream spreading had not quite reached. We treated ourselves to ice creams every

  day, in at least a dozen flavours, tried some unfamiliar Spanish seafood dishes, and ate lots of oily salads and far too many chips, and Janey was allowed to sit with us in the bar in the

  evenings, something she had never done at home. She spent time curling her hair and choosing

  what to wear, took sneaky sips of our cocktails and laughed at the comedian’s risqué jokes,

  even though I felt sure she didn’t really understand most of them. We felt like a real family

  again and here, away from home, it was easier to push the spectre of my sister aside, much as

  they had probably pushed all thoughts of me aside when they were miles away in Wales.

  There’s something about distance that muddies the waters, wobbles the edges a bit.

  Although her periods had started a few months before, that holiday was the first time I

  fully realised how quickly Janey was growing up, small breasts starting to fill out her bikini, her eyes following one of the dishy waiters every time he passed our table and, worryingly, his following her too. She would be a teenager before we knew it and, if my own teenage antics

  were anything to go by, we would have our work cut out fretting over what she was doing, and

  who with, in the years to come. All I wanted right then was to hang on to her childhood as long as I possibly could, and to make sure it remained a happy and secure one. And that meant

  hanging on to Josh.

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  We had booked a suite, which meant that Janey’s bed, although not in a separate room, was at least tucked away around a convenient L-shaped bend that gave both her and us some

  privacy. Worn out from all the swimming and the late nights, she slept deeply and well, and

  we took advantage of that. Josh, mellowed by too much cheap booze and the effects of the sun,

  pounced on me most nights as soon as our clothes were off. I can’t say I was always in the

  mood, and it was hard to keep the thoughts of him doing the same thing to my sister away, but

  I closed my eyes and tried to live in the moment, letting his hands do their work. By the time

  the week was over I felt confident that some sort of bond had been reformed, and that, for now

  anyway, we were solid again. The danger had passed.

  ***

  Another Christmas was coming, the first since I had confronted Eve about the affair, and I

  wasn’t at all sure how I was going to deal with it. Thankfully, it was our turn to go up to Josh’s parents, so at least Christmas Day itself would be okay, but there was still the problem of Janey wanting to see the family all together and to spend time with Eve, and what we should do about

  buying her a present. I did wonder if, now the air had been cleared and the skeletons were out

  of the cupboard, and with a bit of distance between us, we might find a way to get past it all.

  How hard could it be, after all, for us to be in the same room for a few hours, having a drink, watching TV, opening presents? It had to happen sometime and, for Janey’s sake, I didn’t want

  there to be a nasty atmosphere.

  I went straight round to Dad’s after work one afternoon and asked him what he thought.

  ‘I think it’s time, Love,’ he said. ‘I can’t say I’m happy about what went on, but you’re

  both my girls and I hate to see you falling out. I’m not saying you should forget about it, but a fair bit of water’s passed under the bridge now and maybe a spot of forgiveness wouldn’t go

  amiss? Or a truce. For Christmas, at least. I know your mum wouldn’t have wanted—’

  ‘Oh, Dad. Don’t!’

  ‘Well, I still think about her and what she would have said, even if you don’t. Christmas

  is a time for families, and for being kind to each other. Eve’s not a bad girl, you know. She

  made a mistake, and she’s sorry for it. And, to be honest, Josh was just as much to blame, but

  he’s still welcome in this house, as long as you want him to be.’

  ‘Of course I do. He’s my husband. And Janey’s daddy.’

  ‘Then all I can say is that you’re a lot more forgiving than I could ever be. Sometimes

  it’s been all I could do to hold my tongue when I’ve seen him.’

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  ‘Don’t, Dad, please. No trouble. I don’t want it all dragged up again. And as for forgiving him – them – well, I’m trying, but I’m still not sure I can trust him. Or her. He’s got his work Christmas party tonight at some flash hotel. Tells me he’ll be staying the night so he can drink and enjoy himself, that no wives are going, that it’s just colleagues and clients, and that I’d hate it anyway. But . . .’

  ‘You’re not sure he’s telling the truth?’

  ‘Dad, I’m not sure I will ever be sure he’s telling the truth.’

  ‘Then call his bluff. Turn up.’

  ‘Without an invitation? He’d kill me.’

  ‘Turn up incognito then. Hide behind the Christmas tree, disguise yourself as a waitress,

  peer through the window from the car park. Whatever you need to do to see what he’s really

  up to.’

  ‘Dad! I’m not a spy.’

  ‘Maybe you should be. If you want to know what’s going on, you need to see it with

  your own eyes, but I don’t think even Eve would have the brass neck to go with him to

  something like that, in front of all his work friends.’

  ‘No, you’re probably right. And I’m not going to go crawling around in the dark looking

  like the neurotic wife with her nose pressed against the window. But I think I might just call

  Eve this evening, to make sure she’s at home.’

  ‘That’s my girl!’ Dad laughed and put his arms around me. ‘It will all be all right, you


  know. And as for Christmas Day, well, Eve will be here to keep me company and to pull a

  cracker or two, then she’s off to her pal Lucy’s on Boxing Day to coo over that new little baby of hers, so let’s say the day after that, when you’re back from Leeds, shall we? For a good old family get-together. I’ll even put up the tree this year. I don’t suppose you’d like to come here, with Eve, and decorate it, would you? Sometime in the next few days? Get the box out, untangle

  the lights, fight over who puts the angel on top, like you used to?’

  ‘That might be a step too far, Dad, but if Eve’s keen I’ll send Janey round to help her.

  How’s that? She does miss her auntie since she moved out, and none of this is Janey’s fault. I

  don’t want her to miss out, or to start asking too many questions. So far I’ve just palmed her

  off with stories about Eve being really busy at work and with settling into her own place. But

  she’s always asking to see her.’

  ‘Perfect.’

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  So that’s what we did and, although calling any of it perfect would have been a big stretch of the imagination, another Christmas went by and we all survived it. Josh got plastered and stayed out all night at his swanky hotel do, but Eve answered her phone and I could hear

  her TV in the background as I made some excuse about checking on what she was buying for

  Dad, so I knew they weren’t together. We all met up at Dad’s after Christmas as planned, and

  Josh sat with a perpetually refilled drink in his hand at the opposite end of the room from Eve, who spent most of the afternoon producing food and the evening playing Monopoly with Dad

  and Janey. The tree twinkled, with its little angel balanced on top, and Smoky the cat enjoyed

  playing with the screwed-up balls of wrapping paper. The only thing missing was Mum, but

  there was nothing any of us could do about that, and her absence made everything else seem

  petty and unimportant.

  ***

  I was at work, rummaging in my bag for a tissue, when I felt my phone vibrating from

  somewhere in its depths. The bosses didn’t like us to use our phones in the office and it was

  expected that all personal calls would be dealt with in our own time. Still, I always kept it

  switched on, but on silent. I think probably all mothers do, just in case.

  I peered down into my bag, dreading a call from Janey’s school to say she was sick or

  in trouble which would mean having to ask for time off to go and fetch her, but when I pulled

  the phone out the name illuminated on the screen was Carol. Also known as Colin! I felt my

  stomach do an involuntary flip and dropped the phone back into the bag unanswered. I hadn’t

  been in touch with Colin for months, ever since that afternoon in the pub. I wanted the chance

  to deal with my marriage in my own way. It was obvious that Colin disapproved of Josh, despite

  the fact he had never met him. But I was also ridiculously afraid of my own churned-up

  feelings. Colin was an attractive, single man who I really needed to stay away from for fear of letting myself get dragged – or, even worse, going too willingly – into something incredibly

  enticing but decidedly wrong.

  After a while the vibrating stopped and I carried on typing up the contract I had been

  working on all morning. Why was it that every few minutes I made a mistake and had to double

  back and correct it? My mind refused to stay on the job, so I gave up and went to make myself

  a strong cup of coffee. I couldn’t help thinking that I should have answered his call, and

  wondering why he had called at all. I looked at the screen again to check if he had left a text or a voicemail, but he hadn’t.

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  I was beginning to think it was just a one-off, probably to wish me Happy New Year or something, until he called again, a few days later. This time he had clearly chosen a time of

  day – around half past two – when he knew I wouldn’t be working, Janey would be at school

  and Josh safely ensconced at the bank, but even though I had been at home, I still missed the

  call. Only by a few minutes, while I’d been in the kitchen boiling a rather noisy kettle, but this time I didn’t have a boss breathing down my neck, and therefore no excuse not to call him

  back.

  ‘Sarah!’ He sounded so glad to hear me. ‘Thanks for calling back. I didn’t know if you

  . . . well, if you were deliberately avoiding me, or just busy. Anyway, I’ve got you now. Look, could we meet up, do you think? I’d love to hear about your Christmas and just how you’re

  doing, really. I would have liked to send you a card or bought you a little something, but then I realised that was probably not such a great idea. Questions asked, and all that. But I wanted to talk to you. There’s . . . well, there’s something I need to tell you.’

  ‘Oh. Sounds serious. Can’t you just tell me now, on the phone?’

  ‘You’re not keen to see me then?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. Of course I am! Oh, go on then. It will be good to catch up. When and

  where?’

  ‘Same pub as last time? Tomorrow lunchtime? Around one thirty? My treat.’

  I sat holding the phone for ages once he’d gone. I liked Colin Grant, probably a little

  too much, and the butterflies were already fluttering away inside me at the thought of seeing

  him again. I hoped he wasn’t about to tell me he had landed some hot-shot job at a hospital

  miles away and that I was never going to see him again, or that he had met someone and was

  about to get engaged or, worse still, married. I knew I had no claim on him, no right to a say in his future, but I wasn’t quite ready to lose him.

  ***

  When I got to the pub he was already there at the bar, a bottle of wine and two glasses in front

  of him and a menu tucked under his arm as he tried to pick everything up and head for

  somewhere to sit.

  ‘Here, let me help you with those.’

  He turned and smiled at me, letting me slide the menu out from the grip of his arm and

  pick up the bottle as he leaned in for a kiss on the cheek.

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  I tilted the bottle and read the label, feeling myself blushing at his touch. ‘Hmm, Merlot.

  A good choice.’ I turned my back quickly, leading the way across the pub to a free table. ‘How

  is it that you know me so well?’

  ‘Lucky guess,’ he said, putting the glasses down and ushering me into a corner seat.

  ‘And a good memory. It’s what you asked for last time.’

  I laughed and we settled ourselves down, side by side.

  ‘Good Christmas?’ he said, staring at me as if he expected me to tell him it was dire.

  ‘Okay, I suppose. The usual family stuff.’

  ‘And the other-woman problem? Your sister? Did you resolve it?’

  ‘Yes and no. I went to see her, told her what I knew, and she didn’t deny any of it. We

  had a blazing row, in front of Dad, which wasn’t ideal, but I don’t think she’ll go near Josh

  again. So, it was all a bit upsetting but I survived. Still here, still married . . .’

  ‘And your husband? What did he have to say about it all?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘I haven’t spoken to him about it.’ I knew it sounded stupid, and Colin’s face told me

  he thought so too. ‘Didn’t mention any of it. According to Eve, it’s been over for a good while now, and I decided to let it lie. I didn’t want to start a war I might not win, risk my marriage, upset Janey, put her in the firing line . . .’

  ‘So he got away with it? You let him off scot-free? What on earth is wrong
with you,

  girl? Are you a glutton for punishment, or what?’

  ‘I knew you’d have a go at me. That’s why I’ve kept my distance. Look, Colin, it’s my

  marriage, my life, and I know you mean well but . . .’

  ‘But it’s all sorted, right? He’s going to be a good boy for evermore, never do anything

  like it again? For God’s sake, Sarah, you’ve as good as given him bloody permission. You

  blame it all on your sister, tear a strip off her, yet say absolutely nothing to him. The man can get away with anything and you don’t just put up with it, you decide not to even tell him you

  know.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘There is no but, Sarah. No possible circumstance where this can be considered right,

  which is why I’m going to tell you something I’ve known for a couple of weeks. I wasn’t sure

  if I should say anything, but honestly, your head-in-the-sand attitude gives me no bloody

  choice. You need to know what he’s really like, what he’s capable of.’

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  I could feel my face drain of colour, my hand start to shake. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to hear it.

  ‘I saw him, Sarah. I saw him, at a hotel, just before Christmas. One of those huge places

  where they have all the corporate parties. The Georgian. I was there for a hospital-staff do,

  sitting at the bar in the lobby, getting a bit of air away from the party, waiting to get served, and I saw him. I wasn’t a hundred per cent sure at first. I’ve only ever seen him in a few photos on your phone, but I followed him – them – up the stairs. He had his arms around this woman, his hand resting on her bum. They were laughing, staggering a bit, probably tipsy, and he took

  out a key and led her into one of the bedrooms. Room 112, not that that’s particularly relevant, but it does mean you could probably ring and check, if you needed to. I waited a while, but

  they didn’t come back out. And when I went back downstairs I checked the board by the door,

  and there it was. The bank, his bank, booked into the Embassy Room, while my lot were in the Carlton Room on the other side of the hotel. So it was him, Sarah. No doubt. And I bet he didn’t come home that night, did he?’