The Lost Sister

by Tracy Buchanan

  ‘That’s great!’

  He shakes his head. ‘It was too late. He passed away just a few weeks before. If I’d only done it years ago when I first started considering it, I might have had a few more years with him as my friend.’

  Becky’s heart goes out to her dad. ‘I’m so sorry, Dad.’

  ‘The reason I’m telling you this is I don’t want you to live with the same regret. And this is bigger, this is your sister.’ Becky has never seen him look so animated. ‘I remember sitting downstairs while you hid away in your room after your mum left. You don’t know how many times I thought about coming up and talking to you, really talking. But it’s hard for your old dad, I’m not used to it. Your mum did all that. I knew you missed the female touch. Maybe your little sister did too? She’s been without her mum all these years too, remember.’

  Becky thinks back to those years after her mum left. First the confusion: why wasn’t her mum living with them? Her parents had tried to explain it: Mummy and Daddy just can’t live together any more, though she’d wanted to shout at them, But what about me? Maybe if her dad had told her how much her mum fought for her, even going to court, things would have been different. But quickly that confusion had turned to pain, tears wetting her pillow each night as she tried to figure out what she’d done wrong to drive her mum away. Anger soon took over, the teasing she got at school fuelling it. Better to blame her mum than herself, especially as everyone seemed at pains to tell her it wasn’t her fault.

  When she moved to Busby-on-Sea with her dad, she decided the best route was numbness. Just try not to care. So she disappeared into the romance books her mum left for her, was quiet at school, making one or two friendships but none deep enough to get invites over for dinner or to many parties. She told herself it suited her. She liked her own company, had learnt silence and calm was better than what her mum represented: chaos and erratic behaviour. But she missed female company. The softness, the giggling, the non-stop chatter. There was no way she could talk to her sweet but awkward grandmother, nor her distant aunt. Her dad coped the best he could – he’d given her a book on puberty, and even discreetly left packs of sanitary towels in her bedroom when she started her period.

  But it just wasn’t the same.

  Becky imagines what it would have been like to have a sister to share all that with. Had her own sister yearned for someone to talk to when she reached those special milestones too, like bra shopping and getting her first period? Maybe there were other girls she could talk to as she travelled around with Idris, people she could turn to. But the girl in the picture, if indeed it was her sister, had looked sad, lost.

  Becky remembers that feeling. She’d felt it herself so often over the years, and not just when she was younger. If her sister had come looking for her, maybe things would have been easier. Maybe they will be now, for both of them, if they find each other. There are still so many years left to share, so much opportunity to provide that much-needed female support to each other, a lifetime of milestones to come.

  Becky takes a deep, determined breath. ‘I think you’re right, Dad. I think I need to go and find my sister.’

  Her dad smiles, grasping her hand. ‘Good. Your mum would be pleased. I think that’s why she finally told you before she died, you know. A hope you might find the daughter she lost.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Selma

  Kent, UK

  28 July 1991

  Idris led me to the back of the cave, past the sleeping people. Now I could see it in daylight, I realised it wasn’t just sleeping bags that people were lying in, but there were mattresses too, slung over wooden pallets to keep them dry. Donna and her two children lay together on a double mattress, Oceane looking like a young child, curled up against her mum. They were surrounded by Maggie’s paper flowers, some of which were now draped across the walls of the cave. Caden was stretched out on a single mattress nearby, his arms above his head, a book open on his chest. Julien was lying on his front, his dog in a ball beside him.

  I wondered where Idris slept. If he slept. I shook my head.

  He isn’t a god!

  We stopped at a clean single mattress right at the back of the cave. It was partially covered with a floral sleeping bag, a soft white pillow. There was a cheap-looking bookcase next to it adorned with several books and a comfortable-looking floor cushion, all of which I was sure hadn’t been there the night before.

  ‘Yours,’ Idris said, gesturing to it all.

  ‘How did you get all this overnight?’

  ‘I have my ways.’ He nodded towards the mattress. ‘You look tired. Sleep. It’s not even six yet.’

  I shook my head. ‘There’s no way I can sleep right now.’

  That smile again. ‘You will. Sleep is essential, unless you’re in the current of course.’

  ‘The current. Always about the current,’ I said with a smile.

  ‘You’ll see. The bathroom is there,’ he said, gesturing to a dark corner of the cave with a shower curtain concealing it. ‘It’s just a portable camping toilet for now, and there’s a jug of clean water to wash with. We’re working on getting a bath, and a better toilet too. I’ll wake you for breakfast. You’ll enjoy it, it’s a proper feast. Before you sleep though, can I ask something?’

  ‘Sure.’

  He looked at my watch. ‘Please can you remove that? We don’t allow watches or clocks here.’

  I frowned. I only ever took off my mother’s watch at night-time or when swimming. But Idris was giving me this look like I had no choice in the matter, so I unbuckled it and placed it in a pocket in my overnight bag.

  ‘Happy?’ I said as I zipped the pocket up.

  Idris smiled. ‘Thank you. See you at breakfast.’

  I watched as he padded quietly through the cave, his body casting a huge shadow over the walls and the sleeping people around him. Then I quickly took the watch out again, slipping it into my pocket. It was a silly rule. How on earth would I be able to tell the time, there were no clocks there? I had the right to know the time, if I wanted to!

  And how on earth was I going to sleep after everything that had happened with Mike? I leaned back on the bed anyway and was surprised when a feeling of exhaustion overwhelmed me. Before I knew it, I was fast asleep.

  I woke to the smell of sizzling fish and the sound of laughter. I stayed where I was for a moment, taking a few seconds to drink it in. The cave looked surreal in the daylight, a strange mixture of earthy chalk, green vegetation and black rock set against the pastel paper flowers hanging from the walls. I looked above me at the ceiling which sloped up towards the entrance. It had holes carved into it by time and weather, looking like a dark ancient map of the world. I breathed in, smelling moss and the sea all mingling with the food that was being barbecued.

  Was I really here?

  I pulled myself up, looking around me. There were indents in the walls, turned into shelves by the occupants, filled with various framed photos, vases, books, dots of colour against the mossy clay. Maggie was working at her urn nearby, Julien shaving using a mirror by his bed with a towel around his waist, his dog at his feet. At the front of the cave, Donna was cooking at the barbecue, the long narrow table beside her adorned with food: heaps of fresh fruit, large bowls of what looked like granola and jugs of orange juice. Caden sat at one of the chairs, bleary eyed as he sipped a mug of coffee, his guitar propped on the side.

  Outside, the sun was shining bright. Tom traced patterns in the sand, completely naked. By him was Anita, stretching her lithe body into yoga positions as she looked up at the sun.

  I wiped the sleep from my eyes and slipped out from the sleeping bag.

  ‘Good morning.’ I looked over to the wall opposite me to see Idris standing on a ladder, watching me. He smiled and turned his attention back to painting.

  I dragged myself up and walked over to him, raking my fingers through my hair. People nodded in greeting, but didn’t make a fuss, as though I’d been there forever. When
I got to Idris, I realised he was painting the outline of a woman with soft curves wearing a summer dress like mine. In her hands she held a notepad and a beautiful pen, just like the one I had.

  ‘It’s me,’ I said.

  ‘Yep.’

  It felt irritatingly presumptuous of him. ‘What if I don’t stay?’

  He turned to look over his shoulder at me. ‘What if you do?’

  ‘Questions being answered with questions again.’ He smiled at this, the white of the morning sunlight highlighting the crinkles around his eyes and the bristles on his cheeks. I couldn’t help but smile back. ‘You’re very talented. You must have done this before you came here.’

  ‘What does it matter what came before? All that matters is now.’

  ‘Mysterious. So how do you make sure the paint doesn’t come off? It can get pretty damp in here.’

  He gestured towards a small paint-splattered table filled with colourful bottles. ‘Weather-proof liquid pigments.’

  ‘You seem to know your stuff. You painted stone in your previous life then?’

  He shot me a wicked grin. ‘There you go again, asking more questions.’

  ‘Okay everyone, breakfast!’ Donna called out, bringing a huge platter of barbecued fish to the table.

  But Idris and I held each other’s gazes. He was the first to break away, stepping down from the ladder he’d been using to paint and cleaning his hands in a bowl of water.

  ‘Come on, you must be hungry,’ he said.

  ‘Ravenous.’

  We walked to the table along with the others, each taking one of the mismatched seats. Tom took the seat next to me, gazing up at me with a smile. He was wearing shorts now, his face grimy with sand. I imagined Becky sharing breakfast here with us all and felt a pang. I missed her.

  ‘This looks amazing,’ I said, admiring the feast before me.

  ‘Donna is a culinary genius,’ Maggie said.

  I went to grab some fruit but Donna gently put her hand on my arm. ‘Not yet. We have to do the morning prayer first.’

  My stomach sank. ‘Prayer?’

  Caden laughed. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not what you think.’

  ‘Your caution is understandable,’ Idris said. ‘Religions have hijacked the word prayer. But in its simplest form, it means to ask.’ Everyone nodded. ‘I’ll start. As you know, yesterday I asked for Selma and – well, you can see for yourself she’s here.’

  I looked at him quizzically. ‘You asked for me?’

  ‘I asked for someone who would enlighten me, teach me something new. That turned out to be you. Thank you for coming, Selma.’

  ‘Thank you,’ everyone murmured, smiling at me.

  I tried to smile back but I imagine it was an awkward smile that displayed how overwhelmed I was. It all still felt surreal.

  ‘I sense Selma has crossed paths with us for a wonderful reason,’ Idris said. ‘She’s on the brink of producing a masterpiece and, by teaching her to enter the current, we can help her do that.’

  ‘Masterpiece? No pressure then,’ I said with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘You will do it though,’ Oceane said. ‘Honestly. I’ve been producing the best work I ever have since learning to be in the current.’

  ‘Me too,’ Caden said.

  Others nodded in agreement.

  ‘And we can’t wait to see what our famous author has in store,’ Anita said. More nods, eager looks in their eyes.

  ‘As you can see, we’re all really excited to have you here,’ Idris said with a laugh.

  ‘Wow, that’s quite a welcome,’ I said, not quite sure what else to say. ‘Thank you, all of you.’

  ‘So, let’s start with the morning prayer,’ Idris said. ‘Any volunteers?’

  Maggie put her hand up.

  ‘Maggie,’ Idris said.

  ‘Today I plan to finish three vases,’ Maggie said. ‘Oceane will pick some sweet-smelling flowers she’s seen nearby, make the cave smell and look delicious.’

  ‘That’s great. I love to hear about collaboration,’ Idris said.

  As everyone else went through their ‘asks’ for the day – the composition of a new song for Caden, a new recipe for Donna, a poem and flower picking for Oceane, a new yoga inversion for Anita, the creation of a driftwood desk for Julien … and an ‘awesome sandcastle’ for Tom – I found myself drawn into their creative ambitions, despite how weird the whole set-up was. The fact was, it was refreshing to be surrounded by creatives, and so early in the day too. I was so used to starting the morning in a rush, with Becky moaning about her ‘boring breakfast’ and Mike reeling off a list of tasks for me if I was writing from home, as if I didn’t have work to do myself.

  As I thought that, I felt a rush of guilt, imagining Becky asking Mike where her mum was right in that moment.

  ‘Selma?’ Idris asked. ‘What about you? What’s your ask for the day?’

  Everyone looked at me. I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I guess I usually set myself daily word counts so—’

  Idris shook his head. ‘No numbers.’

  I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Okay, fine, no numbers. Then I guess my ask is to really get into my writing, no interruptions.’

  As I said that, I felt a surge inside. I could have gone to a hotel when Mike told me to leave, but I went to the cave. Deep down, I knew why.

  To write.

  I wanted to try it out, to see if what they all said about ‘getting into the current’ proved true. God knows I had to try something to get my writing going again. It wasn’t just about the writing though. It was more than that. I needed to feel something again. I’d felt so numb lately.

  ‘Good ask,’ Idris said. ‘Right, tuck in everyone!’

  Everyone started piling their plates high with food. ‘Make the most of this,’ Oceane said to me, spooning granola into her bowl. ‘We won’t get to eat again until this evening.’

  ‘What?’ I asked in surprise.

  ‘Idris says lunch isn’t conducive to getting into the current,’ Caden explained. ‘Tea and water are fine, even wine. But no food until six in the evening.’

  ‘I can’t survive without eating that long, seriously …’ I said, reaching for some more fish. It certainly wasn’t what I was used to eating for breakfast but it was delicious and that was what counted.

  ‘You will,’ Donna said, brown eyes sparkling. ‘Wait and see.’

  I looked at her. She was really falling for all this, wasn’t she? I peered around the table. They all were. Was it just Idris? He had something about him, there was no doubt about it. But there had to be more than that to drive what seemed like reasonably normal people to live in a cave.

  ‘Well, I’d better make the most of breakfast then.’ I bit into a forkful of fish, its meaty goodness filling my mouth. ‘This is delicious, Donna,’ I said in between mouthfuls.

  ‘Thank you. I try to make everything while in the current.’

  I tried not to roll my eyes.

  ‘That way it seeps into the food and helps everyone else get into the current,’ Donna continued.

  ‘She’s even started a vegetable patch,’ Maggie said, pointing to a small squared-off area outside the cave, soil mixed in with sand and a scattering of green buds.

  ‘Pulling veg out of sand,’ I said. ‘What next? Five thousand fish from two? You really are Jesus, aren’t you?’ I said to Idris.

  But he didn’t smile back. I bit my lip. Maybe I’d taken it too far? I resolved to keep my quips to myself a bit more before I got kicked out. They were all clearly taking it very seriously.

  ‘Everything we’re going to cook here will be aimed at getting the creative juices flowing, Selma,’ Idris explained in a serious voice. ‘So yes, in a way, you are right. A multitude of creativity from just one fish,’ he said, gesturing to the fish I was eating. ‘Cold-water fish like salmon and mackerel are known to enhance one’s creative thinking, as does lots of fresh fruit and veg. And coffee, of course. Lots of it!’ he added with a smile as he lifted
his mug. ‘Caffeine gets bad press but the truth is, it’s wonderful for pushing the mind to think creatively.’

  ‘It’s quite the set-up here already,’ I said, taking a sip of my own coffee. ‘How long’s it been now? Just over a week? And all this established, including the routine, in that short time?’

  ‘That’s what Idris does,’ Julien said. ‘It’s his talent, making things happen quickly. No point wasting time.’ That was the first time Julien had spoken that morning. He seemed so reserved compared to the others.

  After we’d all eaten, people gradually disappeared from the table, taking spots outside the cave or inside, setting about their work. I watched them for a bit, not quite sure what to do with myself. Maggie was working miracles again, this time at her urn. Oceane rocked back and forth, scribbling on her notepad. Caden sat cross-legged, staring out to the sea as he whispered lines from a song over and over.

  Did they think they were in the current?

  Donna passed by, a bowl of water in her hands.

  ‘Don’t you have work today?’ I asked her.

  ‘Oh, I packed my job in,’ Donna replied breezily as she placed it on the table.

  ‘You did what?’

  She smiled slightly. ‘We don’t need money here. Why deal with the stress? I’m so much happier now.’

  ‘What about your house?’

  ‘I own it outright. My grandparents passed it down to me, so it’s always there if I need it.’

  Lucky you.

  ‘What made you come here?’ I asked her.

  She shrugged. ‘I can’t explain it.’ But her gaze drifted towards Idris, who was looking out to sea, shirtless.

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘What does your husband think about it all, especially his child living in a cave?’

  ‘My ex-husband.’ Donna sighed. ‘He’s not happy about it. But he has no choice.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  Donna shrugged. ‘A story to tell another time.’ She cocked her head, examining my face. ‘You say living in a cave like it’s a negative thing. Do you see anything negative?’ she asked, sweeping her hand around her. ‘This is a child’s dream.’