by Sue Fortin
I sit at the desk and take a sheet of writing paper. Despite Leonard’s warning about keeping home and work life separate, throughout the day I’ve been thinking about what to say to Alice.
Dear Alice
Delighted. Overwhelmed. Ecstatic. Euphoric. All these words can’t sum up how happy I was when Mum told me you had been in contact. It’s unbelievable! I keep pinching myself to check it’s not a dream.
I have thought about you so very often. My last memory of you is leaving with Dad, your little face looking out of the car window as it drove off down the drive.
I’ve never given up hope of finding you again and now you’ve found us. All this time I’ve often wondered where you are and what you’re doing.
Thank you so much for contacting us. I can’t wait to hear from you and to, hopefully, see you again. My darling little sister, you’ve come back to us.
All my love
Clare
xxx
I keep it simple. There’s so much I want to say, but can’t put it all down on paper. I want to see her in real life. To hold her and for me, Mum and Alice to all be together again. Luke’s warning hovers in the background but I push it aside. We have Alice back and, at the moment, that is all that matters.
I fold the letter in half and, retrieving Mum’s letter from the sitting room, I slip mine inside and seal the envelope, leaving it on the side ready to post tomorrow. A warm feeling of happiness stirs inside. I kiss my fingertips and transfer the kiss to Alice’s name on the envelope, smiling as I do so.
‘You’ve found us, Alice,’ I whisper, before turning the light off and heading up to bed.
The following morning is a scramble. I finally manage to haul myself out of bed on the third alarm. I’m never like this in the mornings.
Breakfast goes by in a blur as I play catch-up, but can’t quite make up the time. I’m saying hurried goodbyes and rushing out the door with that feeling that I’ve forgotten something.
I start the engine and run through my checklist. Phone. Bag. Purse. Briefcase. Yep, I’ve got all them.
It’s not until I reach the office and the postman walks up to the door, pushing his trolley, and takes out the mail, passing it to me, that I suddenly remember.
‘Shit,’ I say out loud. The postman looks taken aback. ‘Sorry, not you. I’ve just remembered I’ve forgotten to pick up a letter from home. Bugger.’
I send Luke a quick text message asking him to post Mum’s letter to Alice.
‘You’re looking a bit flustered this morning,’ says Tom, as I hand the mail over to the receptionist.
‘You know how to make a girl feel better,’ I say. ‘Why don’t you make yourself useful and put the kettle on?’
Tom gives a mock salute, clicks his heels together and marches off towards the kitchen. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
The coffee tastes good. I like a cup of tea at home, but at work I tend to thrive on the coffee buzz. ‘It always tastes nicer when someone else makes it,’ I say gratefully to Luke as we stand in the kitchen. ‘Thanks for that.’
‘Can’t have Mrs Calm-And-Collected Tennison all flustered and dishevelled, can we?’
‘Hmm. Feeling the effects of going through the proverbial emotional wringer,’ I say. My phone bleeps and I check my messages. It’s Luke telling me not to worry, he has it all under control. I put the phone down on the worktop.
‘You know you can talk to me, if you need to,’ says Tom. His voice is soft and I appreciate his kindness.
‘I feel like I’ve been wishing for this all my life, for Alice to get in touch,’ I say, looking down at the dark-brown liquid in my cup and breathing in the aroma of the coffee beans. ‘You know when you’re a kid and you blow out the candles on your birthday cake and you make a wish? Or at New Year when the clock strikes midnight or when you throw a coin into a magic wishing well? All those times, I’ve always wished for the same thing, that we would find Alice or she would find us, that someday we’d be together again as a family.’ I pause as I take a sip of my coffee to buy some time to blink back the tears.
Tom puts his cup down and rubs the top of my arm with his hand. ‘Is it a case of being careful what you wish for?’
‘No. Yes. Sort of.’ I can feel the strength to keep it together seeping out from me, as if Tom’s hand is absorbing all my powers of self-control. ‘Now it’s happened, I’m … I’m scared.’
Tom takes the cup from me and rests it next to his. He steps closer and puts both arms around me. ‘It’s okay to be scared. It’s a big life-changing event. You have to try to harness that fear and turn it into a positive emotion.’ He rubs his hand up and down my back. ‘And, just for the record, this is a hug between friends. Thought I’d clarify that before you jump away from me like you’ve been electrocuted.’
I laugh into his shirt, grateful the mounting tension has been broken. ‘As if I’d do anything like that.’
Tom gives me a squeeze before stepping back, his hands moving to mine. ‘Honestly, Clare, I know what all this means to you. I haven’t forgotten. How could I?’
I smile and nod. ‘I know and I do appreciate you being here.’
‘I’ve always been here for you. I haven’t forgotten all those hours we spent huddled round your laptop, trying to trace Alice. And those phone calls! Do you remember the private investigator we hired to organise a search for her?’
I nod and smile at the memory. ‘That first one was bloody useless. What a waste of money that was.’
‘If only we’d known then that your dad had changed his and Alice’s surname.’
‘I can’t believe that having that one single piece of knowledge would have, potentially, made a difference so much sooner. Looking for Alice Kennedy was a complete waste of time and money,’ I sigh. ‘Now, if we’d been looking for Alice Kendrick …’
‘Hey, let’s not go there. It’s not constructive. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.’
‘No, it’s okay, really. And please don’t apologise. You’re absolutely right, bemoaning it all won’t actually help now. I said as much to Mum. I should start taking my own advice. We mustn’t get hung up on the past.’
We stand there for a moment, holding hands, looking at each other. I’m aware of Tom’s thumb stroking across my knuckles, a gesture from yesteryear. My last comment was referring to attempts to find Alice, but now I wonder if Tom is reading more into it. I go to speak, but change my mind, aware that I could make a complete arse of myself again. More likely it’s me who is reading too much into everything.
Tom keeps his eyes on mine when he speaks. ‘I meant what I said, about being here for you. I do understand. I’ve been down that road with you.’ His voice is quiet and low. ‘Practically all your life you’ve had this weight on your shoulders and it’s now being lifted; you’re bound to need time to adjust. Your world has been turned upside down and it will take a while for you to consolidate everything not just your feelings and emotions but your sense of place in your family. Try to be less uptight. Relax. Let Alice back into your life.’
‘You make it sound so easy.’ I break eye contact and attempt to withdraw my hands, but Tom tightens his grip.
‘Hey, hey. Come on.’ He pulls me back into his embrace. ‘You just have to take your finger off the control button for a while. I know it’s not in your nature, but as I always said, I think you being ordered and controlled as an adult stems from the emotional chaos in your childhood. You have to make an effort to switch that control off and go with the flow a bit more, otherwise you’re going to drive yourself mad.’
I laugh and return the hug he gives. ‘Thanks. I’ll do my best.’
‘I mean it, Clare. Remember what happened at Oxford?’
I wince inwardly at the memory. Of course I do. You don’t forget having some sort of blackout and not being able to get out of bed for three days. We’d both had a few drinks to drown my sorrows at yet another fruitless report from the private investigator and, for some reason, I had reacted badly
to the alcohol. Or that was my theory.
Tom, on the other hand, felt it was down to stress caused by my dogged determination to find my sister. For three days Tom had looked after me as if I was a child. He’d covered for me during lectures and afterwards helped me catch up on the work I’d missed. I certainly wouldn’t have been able to pass the exam the following week without his support.
I let out a long breath in an attempt to blow away my anxieties and to show Tom that I’m already trying to relax. I don’t want him thinking I’m a basket case.
‘That’s better,’ says Tom. ‘As soon as you stop fretting and analysing everything to the nth degree, you’ll find it all so much easier to deal with. Trust me, I know these things. Now, come on, we’d better get back before Leonard finds us. He’s the last person you want poking his nose into everything.’
‘Yeah, come on,’ I say, although I’m not entirely sure I agree with Tom about Leonard. I wouldn’t go as far as saying he’s poking his nose in, although it is true he has always taken an interest in what I’m doing, but I put that down to him being Mum’s adviser and long-time family friend. ‘Leonard’s heart is in the right place, though,’ I add in his defence.
Tom opens the kitchen door and turns to look at me, raising an eyebrow as if unconvinced. ‘If you say so.’
Chapter 6
It’s Saturday and I welcome the weekend with open arms. And an empty bed. I turn over and through bleary eyes inspect Luke’s side of the bed. The pillow is as puffed up as when I got in it the night before and the fitted sheet is smooth; not a crease to be seen. He clearly didn’t make it to bed last night.
He’s having a creative spurt. He’s been working on an abstract landscape for a gallery in America. He was commissioned by a client who was visiting the UK last year and saw one of his pieces on display at the Pavilion in Brighton. Luke has been both excited and distracted by it. When I got in from work yesterday, he was already in his studio, having got the girls ready for bed and left them with Mum.
It’s still early, not even six o’clock, but my own body clock doesn’t appear to be able to factor weekends in. I get up, slip my dressing gown around me and, bare-footed, sneak along the landing, poking my head in at the girls to make sure they’re both okay. They’re still asleep, although I probably only have half an hour before Chloe will begin to stir.
I avoid the creaky stair, second from the top, and also the one halfway down, level with the spindle that has a small scratch at the bottom from where I’d dropped a toy car down the stairs when I was about six years old. Living all my life in this house, I am fully aware of its quirks and how to avoid detection when nipping up and down the staircase to get midnight snacks or to stay out of Dad’s way when he was in one of his moods.
Luke’s studio is at the end of the hallway that runs at a right-angle from the main hallway. While it is still very much part of the house, it’s far enough away so that he doesn’t get bothered by the comings and goings of the rest of the house.
I tap on the door and go in without waiting for him to answer. Sometimes he’s so lost in his work that he doesn’t always notice me at first. Today is one of those days. His back is to me and he is facing the canvas, brush in one hand, paint palette in the other. He’s wearing a pair of slouchy cotton trousers and a white T-shirt. His feet are bare and various splodge marks on his toes give a clear indication as to what colours he has been working with. I dread to think when he last brushed his hair, the untamed curls are all over the place. It could really do with a cut but I usually have to make the appointment and frogmarch him down there. Mum says it’s like having another child and I should let him look after himself. Most of the time I let the little remarks go over my head. I like looking after my family. They are everything to me.
I lean back against the wall, admiring my husband as he waves the paint brush back and forth, from palette to canvas and back again. The radio plays quietly in the background. I think it’s Strauss, but I’m not sure.
‘You’d never make a spy,’ says Luke after a few minutes and I hear the amusement in his voice. He continues with the paintbrush, working on an area of sky. It looks perfect to me, but then I don’t have a trained eye.
I push myself away from the wall and move behind Luke, slipping my arms around his waist and kissing his shoulder blade. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you. I just woke up feeling a bit lonely. You never made it to bed last night, then?’
Luke turns in my embrace and kisses me. ‘Sorry, but I wanted to get on with this. There’s been an exciting development.’
‘With the painting?’ I let go of Luke and look at the canvas and acrylics. I don’t really know what I’m looking for.
Luke lets out a small laugh. ‘Not with the painting itself.’ He puts the palette on the sink over by the window, along with the paint brush. ‘I had a phone call in the night. From Teddy Marconi.’
I wrack my brains trying quickly to locate the significance of Teddy Marconi. ‘Your American client?’
‘You got it. Well, he’s only invited me over to his house in Miami.’
‘Miami! Wow!’ It’s not unusual for Luke to meet with clients in their own homes, but usually it’s the UK. Luke likes to see where his paintings are going to be displayed; he says it helps him get a sense of what they want. The painting he’s working on now is for Marconi’s London apartment. When Luke had gone to meet with Marconi in Kensington, I had taken the opportunity to do a bit of sightseeing and we had met up afterwards for a night away in a hotel. It was a very romantic evening, as I remember.
‘Yeah, can you believe it?’ says Luke.
‘So, do I get to go with you again?’ I tease. A trip to London and leaving the girls with Mum for the night is one thing, but both of us away to America for at least three nights would be too much to expect of Mum.
‘Ah, sorry, Babe, I was just getting to that bit,’ says Luke. ‘Marconi wants me there next week, Tuesday in fact. He’s paying for the flight and everything. Said all I have to do is turn up. So, unless you can get the week off work, I’m flying solo.’
I pull a mock-sad face. ‘So you’re leaving me behind while you go and have fun in Miami.’ I slip my arms around his neck. ‘I hope you’re going to make this up to me.’
Luke pulls gently at the belt of my dressing gown and slides his hands inside. ‘I’m sure I can do that.’
After our little interval, Luke decides that he has probably worked as much as he can for the day. It’s not unusual for him to work twenty-four hours solid when the mood takes him. However, he’s going to have a snooze for a couple of hours.
‘I’ll take the girls out for breakfast,’ I say. ‘Shall we take a walk along the seafront? It’s such a nice day for the time of year, would be a shame to waste it. We could get the girls an ice cream?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ says Luke. ‘Come and wake me up at lunchtime.’ He yawns and we pad out of the studio together, just as Chloe comes down the stairs.
‘Right, we’re going out for breakfast,’ I say, scooping her up in my arms. ‘Let’s go and get dressed.’
Upstairs in my bedroom, I dive in the shower quickly while Luke entertains Chloe. I can hear them playing the tickle-monster game. It’s a simple game but Chloe loves it and it keeps her entertained until I’ve got myself dressed.
I hear my mobile ping to tell me I have an email from the charging dock on the bedside table.
My heart gives a double beat as I see the sender’s name.
‘You all right, Babe?’ asks Luke, rolling over onto his front and looking up at me.
‘It’s an email.’
‘And what do you usually do with emails? You read them and reply to them.’ Chloe squeals and jumps onto Luke’s back. He makes an umph sound as she knocks his breath out.
I pick up my phone. I don’t know why I’m suddenly apprehensive about looking at the email. I have such a mix of emotions flying around inside me about Alice getting in touch. I suppose it’s the reality chec
k now. First there was shock, then happiness and now caution. I wonder if there are stages of emotion for being reunited with a family member, a bit like there are supposed to be stages of grief. I’ll Google it later.
‘It’s Alice. It’s come through on the email account I set up for Mum,’ I say. ‘I’ll get her to open it on the computer downstairs.’
‘Don’t you want to vet it first?’ says Luke.
‘Why?’
Luke swings his legs off the bed and plants his feet on the floor as Chloe hangs around his neck. ‘I don’t know. Just in case you have to prepare your Mum for bad news.’
I frown. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Forget it. It doesn’t matter.’
‘No, what did you mean?’
Luke stands up, Chloe still hanging on like some sort of circus act. ‘In case Alice has changed her mind or something.’ He gives a shrug and unhooks Chloe’s arms from his neck. ‘Like I said, forget it. I’m sure everything will be okay.’
I pause while I think about what Luke has said. He may have a point. ‘Okay, I’ll just have a quick look.’
I sit on the bed and tap the email to open it. There’s a paperclip icon indicating an attachment and it takes a bit longer for the message to download. Before I can read what Alice has said, I find myself scrolling down to look at the attachment. It has to be a photograph of her, surely. I’m going to finally see what my sister looks like. I close my eyes for a moment, thinking back to the last time I saw her. Her little face looking out at me from the back of a car window.
I open my eyes, expecting to see a young woman. I’m surprised when two faces appear smiling out at me. They look to be sitting on a sofa. It’s not a selfie as the shot is too long. Maybe taken with a camera on a timer or maybe someone took their photo. They both have the same dark coffee-coloured hair, which has been curled into big, loose waves and one cut slightly shorter than the other. The two young women look to be the same sort of age; early twenties. I zoom in to have a closer look at their faces, their eyes in particular. I’m looking for those beautiful blue eyes which have haunted me all these years. The picture becomes pixelated and I can’t make out their eye colours. I look back at where Alice has signed off and the P.S. underneath her name. I’m the one on the left.