No Sister of Mine (ARC)

by Vivien Brown

  they would be eating at the wake. And if Josh’s new woman, whichever one she was, would

  have had the cheek to turn up and eat sausage rolls and sip sherry with his widow.

  I walked about for a bit, shivering in my black dress and the thin roll-up mac I always

  kept in the boot, wishing I’d brought a proper coat, slowly drinking the coffee to warm me,

  then tossing the empty cup and the chocolate wrapper into a bin. The roses were still there, on the back seat. I could smell them as soon as I got back into the car. I needed to give them to

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  Josh. Not the crash site again. That felt too morbid, and too public. So I started the engine and headed back to the last place I had seen him alive.

  ***

  I was standing outside Josh’s door, gazing into the florist’s shop window. There was a certain

  irony in bringing flowers to a place like this that already had so many. I looked up to the flat above, its windows in darkness, and tried to picture him there, looking out, smiling, waving,

  but I couldn’t summon him up, no matter how hard I tried.

  I heard footsteps and there was Janey, walking slowly towards me. We seemed to have

  a habit of thinking the same thing, arriving at the same place at the same time.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at the wake?’

  ‘I was, but it’s all so serious and sad. I wanted to be with Dad.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Do you want to come in? I’ve got the key.’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  She opened the door. I pressed my lips to the roses and laid them down outside, propped

  against the wall, and we went inside together and up the stairs.

  ‘I’ve been coming here, boxing up his things. He didn’t have much here really, just

  clothes and soap and stuff, and a few files and papers. Mum says the landlord wants the keys

  back now so I probably can’t come again.’

  ‘That’s a shame, but . . .’

  ‘Yeah, I know. It’s just a flat. His real home was with me and Mum. That’s where I’ll

  remember him best. Do you think he would have come back? That Mum and Dad might have

  got back together one day?’

  ‘I don’t know, Janey. I don’t think so.’

  We stepped across the small landing and I could see she had been busy. No washing up

  in the sink, no clothes on chairs, no trace of him left. The heating wasn’t on either and I felt a shiver run through me.

  ‘You wanted to know how it happened,’ she said, turning to face me.

  I knew instantly what she was talking about. Not the accident. The pregnancy. It was

  as if our conversation from the last time we’d met had never been interrupted.

  ‘It was at Becky’s house.’

  ‘Becky? Becky O’Connor?’

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  She nodded, but she couldn’t look me in the eyes. She pulled out a dining chair and slumped into it, gazing out of the window into the street. ‘Becky wasn’t there. She’d been off

  sick and I went round after school, to see how she was, but she’d spent the day at her mum’s.

  She did that. Kind of split her time between two homes, like I was starting to. He said she might be back later, that I could stay. Wait for her. He hung up my coat, gave me a drink. We watched some TV.’

  ‘A drink?’ I didn’t sit down, just put a hand gently on her shoulder and hovered close

  enough for her to know I was there and that she could tell me anything, everything. ‘Alcohol,

  do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. I thought it was just orange juice, but I think now maybe it wasn’t. We

  sat next to each other on the sofa that first time. It felt nice, all warm and close, like it used to feel sitting with Dad, before he left. I felt sort of fuzzy, but happy, and safe.’

  ‘But it didn’t stop there? Things went further?’

  ‘He kissed me. That was all. I hadn’t expected it, but I liked it. I’d met him so many

  times, at the house, and he was always so nice to me, so friendly. He said I was looking very

  pretty. He held my hand, told me how soft it was. He made me feel . . . special.’

  ‘You said that was the first time? Were there other times, Janey?’

  She nodded again. ‘A few.’

  ‘When Becky was out?’

  ‘I started going round when I knew she wouldn’t be there. Just for half an hour

  sometimes, to say hello. And once . . . I stayed all night. I slept in his bed. I liked being with him, I liked it being our secret. I thought maybe he wanted me to be his girlfriend. He said he liked me. A lot.’

  ‘And you slept together that night, in his bed? Had sex?’

  She nodded. ‘Yeah. And sometimes in the car, when he drove me home, and we stopped

  off somewhere on the way. It felt nice, natural. Like it was meant to be.’

  ‘So natural he didn’t even use a condom?’

  ‘He asked me if I was, you know, on the pill. And I said I was. I didn’t want him to

  think of me as some silly child.’

  ‘Oh, Janey. That was silly though, wasn’t it? You took a terrible risk. And he should

  have known better. You’re only fourteen! And now he has the nerve to say he’s angry with

  you?’

  ‘He doesn’t want another child, that’s what he said.’

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  ‘ Another child? You mean he’s done this before? He’s already a father?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And he’s older than you by what? Only three years?’

  I looked down at my hands. One on her shoulder, now gripping her so hard I was afraid

  I might hurt her. The other still clutching the roses.

  She looked puzzled for a moment. ‘Three years?’

  ‘Well, I assume we’re talking about Samuel, Becky’s brother, and he’s seventeen, isn’t

  he?’

  ‘No. It wasn’t Becky’s brother. Yuck! Why would you think that? It was her dad.

  Arnie.’

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  CHAPTER 32

  SARAH

  Janey disappeared for a while after the funeral. It had been a traumatic enough day already,

  and I couldn’t see any point in coming down hard on her, laying down the law. If she wanted

  to get out of the house, escape the claustrophobia for a while, I wasn’t going to stop her. It

  wasn’t as if she could get into trouble, was it? She’d already managed that. And that was the

  next worry I had to confront. Recovering from my surgery, the skin on my palms still sore, the

  flashback nightmares still invading my sleep, it had been all I could do just to get through the funeral, but now I knew something had to be done about Janey’s pregnancy, and the sooner the

  better. Every day that went by, every centimetre that baby grew, the decision would get harder.

  Or it would be too late for a decision to be an option at all.

  We hadn’t told Josh’s parents anything. Not even about our separation. Divorce was

  not a word that had been allowed to enter their world, let alone adultery, and neither Josh nor I had figured out how to broach the subject. As far as they were concerned, we had still lived

  together, happily married, in this house, until the end. The photos on the mantelpiece and his

  coat and shoes in the hall, retrieved from the flat just days ago, did nothing to dispel the myth.

  If I were to tell them about Janey, I already knew what they would say. Their church,

  their conscience, their rigid views, had played a huge part in the decision Josh and I had made all those years ago, and I couldn’t allow any of that to influence Janey’s choices now. Abortion was a much more real option this time, probably the only workable and sensible option at

  Janey’s age, but they woul
dn’t see things that way. I poured his mum another cup of tea, her

  hands trembling as she held the cup, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and watched his dad

  fiddling with his car keys. It was a long drive back. They wouldn’t be staying much longer.

  And then, hopefully, Janey and I could deal with things, and they need never know.

  Eve hadn’t hung around after the service, hadn’t approached us or tried to say anything.

  I couldn’t decide if that was her being diplomatic and caring, not wanting to risk a scene, or if she was just being downright cowardly. Yet a part of me longed for her to be here, the big sister I could lean on, the wise one who would know just what to do, taking over the nitty-gritty stuff I couldn’t cope with, as she had when Mum died, and injecting some of the strength I so badly

  needed but knew I lacked.

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  Janey loved her, and always had. Dad might be angry with her now, but he would come around. He had never been able to stay angry for long, not when it came to the precious

  daughters he had always insisted he loved in equal measure. No, Eve would be forgiven and

  welcomed back into the fold. And I wanted that too, to be supported and protected and loved

  as part of that close little group we called family, but she had lied to me. Again. I missed her so much, especially now, but I just couldn’t trust her.

  I closed the door on the final guests soon after seven. Kisses, hugs, condolences, all

  over again. It was a cold November evening, starless dark, the skies still heavy with the threat of more rain, and all I wanted was to curl up on the sofa and be by myself. To let the events of the day sink in, to give in to the many conflicting feelings that came flooding in, and were in danger of overwhelming me. Pain, disbelief, anger, sorrow, fear, exhaustion and, much as I

  knew I could never admit to it now that it was all over, a growing sense of relief.

  Colin had texted an hour or so before to see how I was, how the day had gone, but I

  hadn’t replied. This was Josh’s day and it wouldn’t seem right to spend any part of it

  communicating with the man I hoped might one day be his replacement. God, how callous that

  made me sound.

  When I heard the front door opening, I looked up, expecting it to be Janey. She’d been

  out for a while. She’d be hungry. What I hadn’t expected was to see Eve standing there beside

  her. They were holding hands.

  ‘Sarah . . .’ She hesitated, probably as unsure as I was about how I might react. ‘Can I

  come in? Only, there’s something we need to tell you.’

  We? Since when had she and my daughter been a we? Talk about feeling excluded in my own home. But there was something about the look on Janey’s face, and the way she clung

  to Eve’s hand, that made me relent. I nodded and sat myself up, beckoning them both in.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t . . . earlier. Well, you know how things are. I wasn’t sure I would be

  welcome, and all I really needed to do was say goodbye in my own way. I didn’t want to

  intrude.’

  ‘But you’re okay about intruding now?’

  ‘It’s not like that. This is about Janey, not you and me, not Josh.’

  ‘What about Janey?’

  Eve slid her car keys into her bag and perched herself on the edge of an armchair. ‘Has

  Dad gone?’

  ‘He was tired. We all were. There’s just me.’

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  ‘Janey’s told me something.’ She pulled Janey closer, their knees touching, although Janey seemed to want to remain standing. ‘About the baby.’

  ‘Has she?’ I turned towards my daughter who so far hadn’t said a word. ‘Janey?’ I held

  my arms out to her and she stumbled into them, the big gulping breaths as she sobbed out loud

  pressing up and down against my chest. ‘It’s all right, Janey. You can tell me. I love you. We’ve still got each other and, whatever it is, it will be all right, I promise you.’

  ***

  I so wish Eve had told me, all those years ago, about Arnie O’Connor. How had she gone

  through something like that, a sexual assault that had frightened the life out of her, and not told anyone except Lucy? Not Mum and Dad, not the police, not even me, her own sister. I tried to

  think back to that night, but nothing stood out. Nothing brought it to mind as any different from other nights. She must have come home from the party late, gone to bed as normal and just

  kept it all inside, all that hurt and confusion and shame, and I hadn’t noticed a thing. Fast asleep, probably. And the next day, the next night, the next week, too busy with my own life, my petty

  jealousies, my hurt feelings because she was about to go off to uni and leave me behind, to see what was right in front of my face. What sort of a sister did that make me?

  It explained a lot, of course. Her hiding away those last few weeks before she left, the

  absence of boyfriends, both then and now, the way she had kept even Josh, the so-called love

  of her life, at arm’s length for so long he’d turned to me instead.

  And now, here he was again. Arnie O’Connor, all grown up, but still that same evil self-

  centred man. Without a woman in his life – oh, how I would love to know why his wife left

  him – and no doubt needing to feed his ego, his appetites . . . Not needing to resort to force this time, but putting on the charm, pretending to be kind, smarming his way into a young girl’s

  affections, into her knickers, into his bed. And not just any young girl. His daughter’s best

  friend. How sick and twisted is that? How could he do it? Why would he do it? Did it make him feel more of a man? The big comforting father figure he knew full well she was missing?

  Being what she needed, making her believe he cared? I shuddered to think how much worse it

  might have been if she had tried to resist him, the way Eve had . . .

  The police took it all very seriously. Took statements. Brought in a specialist officer, a

  woman, who asked Janey questions, gently, sensitively. He denied it, of course. Put it all down to the wild imaginings of a silly young girl with a crush. What evidence did they have, after

  all? But the evidence was there, growing inside her, and with it the DNA that we knew would

  prove it was all true. So what if she was willing, what if she gave consent? He made out the

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  whole thing had been her idea, that she had taken the lead. Would anyone really believe that?

  The lies and excuses poured out of him, but the facts were indisputable. He was thirty-eight.

  And she was fourteen. It was against the law, and the law was not going to let him get away

  with it.

  Six months later

  Becky didn’t go back to school. We heard that, since Arnie’s arrest, she and her brother had

  moved back permanently to live with their mother and had been enrolled elsewhere. Janey

  wrote her a long letter, telling her she missed her and didn’t blame her at all, but it was never answered.

  Eve’s boss had a stroke and decided to retire, and she was offered the headship which,

  after a few anxious days of self-doubt, she agreed to accept. She’s been seeing a lot of Lucy, I think mainly because she loves playing with her little godson so much. Simon and Gregory

  drive over regularly to visit now too, and Eve tells me they are thinking of trying to adopt, so hopefully she’ll soon have another godchild to dote on. I do feel sorry that she never had

  children of her own, but she’s not forty yet. It’s not too late. Maybe, in time . . .

  With both her best friends back in her life and a new challenging job to really get her

  teeth into, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her more settled and more positive about her life. The
statement she gave to the police about what Arnie did to her when she was eighteen might all

  come to nothing. It’s not easy to prove something from that long ago, but just doing it has made her feel better, freer, more in control, and he’s going to prison anyway, no matter what.

  There’s still no love interest in her life, but I think it’s going to take her a long time to

  get over Josh (longer than it will take me, that’s for sure) and she’s always been more than a

  little in love with her career. Janey is in her English class now, coming home waving paint

  charts and poetry books about, and loves every minute.

  And Janey’s baby? She couldn’t go through with having it. Not once she knew the truth

  about its father and had had time to consider the effect it would have on her life, her education, her future. It was her decision, not mine, just as it had to be, although I admit I breathed a

  massive sigh of relief when she made it. It was probably the decision I should have been brave

  enough to make for myself when I’d been in her position all that time ago, if only the Catholic in-laws and the raging hormones and the stupid trying to get one up on my sister hadn’t led me

  in the opposite direction.

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  The abortion was traumatic and emotional, as I’m sure any abortion must be, but we both went with her, Eve and me, and saw her through it, tears and all. And then we went home

  and put her to bed and sat up for hours drinking and reminiscing. About the good times we’d

  had as kids, walking old Buster the dog, the two of us decorating the Christmas tree, and how

  much we still missed Mum. Josh’s name wasn’t mentioned at all.

  Slowly, we’ve slipped back into sisterhood. The only thing that had kept us apart, put

  us at loggerheads on so many occasions, made us into suspicious rivals and reluctant enemies,

  had been Josh, and now he’s gone.

  The evening I introduced her to Colin, I watched her every move. I couldn’t let her