Her Sister's Lie

by Debbie Howells

  “You don’t know the half of it.” I spat the words out, but it was true. She didn’t know anything about me, or Nina, or our past.

  Erin looked at me oddly. “How would I? When you don’t share anything with me?”

  “Everyone has stuff they keep to themselves.” What had happened in my life was none of her business.

  “I’m sure you’re right.” Her voice was quiet. “I wish you well, Hannah. I won’t come here again. I’d have liked to, but I don’t think I can help you.”

  Opening the door, she went outside, then closed it quietly behind her. As she walked away, I heard her footsteps fade, then a few seconds later, the sound of her car starting. I sat down heavily, going back over what she’d said. I should have listened to my instincts. I’d been right not to trust Erin. She was no different from anyone else. She’d lied, it was obvious. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to Abe about Cara Matlock. Erin must have found out from someone else. Unless . . . It couldn’t be possible. Was there something I’d missed? Could Erin have been behind the post?

  Her flowers were still lying on the worktop where I’d left them. Shaking with fury, I picked them up, then dumped them unceremoniously in the trash and went outside, breathing in the cool air, trying to calm myself down. I thought about taking Gibson for a walk, but I was put off by the thought of coming across that man again. Whoever he was, he seemed to know where to find me. I couldn’t take the risk. I wasn’t sure how much more I could cope with.

  Instead, I walked around the garden, breathing deeply and trying to shake off my anger with Erin, but there was a restlessness that wouldn’t leave me, even as my eyes scanned the spring flowers, taking no solace from the freshness of the colors and the delicate scent that hung in the air. There were weeds that needed pulling up, something I’d usually be onto straightaway, but I didn’t care about them right now. There were more pressing matters preoccupying me.

  The letters . . . As the thought flashed into my head, I turned and strode inside. I had time, I knew I did, before Abe was back. I needed to get to the bottom of what he knew.

  19

  After fetching the letters from Abe’s bedroom, I sat on my bed and carried on reading the next, hoping for something more conclusive than another of Summer’s bitter rants.

  February 26, 2007

  Dear Mother,

  I’m writing it all down so you don’t forget. A letter’s forever, isn’t it? A record of events you’ll never remember. It’s not just for you, though. It’s so one day everyone will know how it was.

  What I wish is that Abe could remember when the house was clean. We had that lovely old sofa—a rich jewel shade of turquoise, the color of optimism and laughter, which we’d pile onto, watching TV while you were in the kitchen, cooking supper for us all. Sausage and mash or shepherd’s pie to fill our hollow stomachs, followed by homemade cake or ice cream.

  Had you fooled, didn’t I?

  Didn’t I???????

  I truly wish Abe could remember it had been like that, but none of us can, because it never was. But I don’t need to tell you what home is. The leaky roof over our heads, the front door that flies open unless you bolt it. Walls that need painting, which you never get around to. A house full of drunk and stoned people. The dirt and filth that being high blinds you to. It stops you caring too. Was that your legacy from your parents? The only way to survive living with them? Get plastered. It works, doesn’t it?

  Was Summer suggesting that she’d followed in her mother’s footsteps? I folded the letter and put it away, then read another.

  April 2, 2007

  Oh Mother, you were good at so many things. At hanging up colored lanterns and smiling blankly at everyone, at throwing parties and gouging out huge chunks of the past, so that when the raw, gaping holes scabbed over and eventually healed, all that was left was a tiny scar.

  But those scars didn’t fade; you passed them on to us, Mother. The one across your heart called loneliness, the blank eyes that mask your inability to cope with the world. We all have those eyes. That same smile, which hides a thousand feelings, so that no matter what happens, it’s always the same.

  Remember that photo of the four of us? The split-second moment the camera caught, a snapshot of unreality.

  In the photograph I’m fine.

  But I wasn’t. None of us were.

  Because a picture paints a thousand lies . . .

  Do you remember why you had children, Mother? Don’t most mothers want to protect and nurture, give their children the world? A bigger, better world than the one you grew up in? Be a better parent than your own? Don’t you realize you’ve done the same as your parents did to you? You’ve decided what’s right for us, taken away our choices. You don’t think you have, but you’ve clipped our wings, Mother.

  Like you, we have nowhere else to go.

  I knew the photo she was talking about. I’d seen it in Nina’s shoe box, a typical family snapshot in which they’d all looked so happy. Nina had tried so hard to do the right thing for her children. I was filled with sadness that Summer couldn’t see that, but she’d been a victim of the same abuse Nina and I had been exposed to. Out of everyone, Nina and I should have understood.

  The next letter was more of the same rant against Nina. However, this time it made my blood run cold.

  May 9, 2007

  Dear Mother,

  How much longer does this go on? The hideous charade of your life? The meaningless people, the parties that are simply an excuse for getting stoned until you don’t wake up until the day after the day after. Who looked after us then, Mother? Not you. Ask Hannah, you breathed to me the last time, as I recoiled at the stink on your breath, your unwashed skin. Saw the clothes you hadn’t changed for two days.

  One of your better ideas, Mother. To ask another damaged, fucked-up grown-up who’s still a child. The one who throws up in the garden, who uses you whenever it suits her, blundering in with her tight clothes and failed music career. Who has the same blank smile as you.

  You have a blind spot, Mother. Her name is Hannah.

  When is a lie not a lie? When everyone around you believes it’s true? Or when it’s watertight, nailed-down, buried under a ton of shit for so long that everyone’s forgotten what the truth is.

  Not everyone, though.

  You’re not the only one with secrets. I have one too. You didn’t know I knew, did you? But don’t worry. I haven’t told anyone. Not yet.

  Are you worried? You should be. I’m onto you. I know what you and Hannah have been hiding, the lie you’ve been living. But the truth never stays buried forever.

  The time is coming, Mother.

  I put the letter down, mortified. I had no idea Summer had seen me that way. But it wasn’t just that. It was the thinly veiled threat that lay in her words. What had she known? I hoped to God it wasn’t what I thought it was.

  I read the letter again, a sense of foreboding building in me. It was obvious that Summer had been jealous of me. Jealous of the attention Nina gave me. Summer had been better off than Nina and I at her age. She’d had a home and a mother who loved her. But I knew also that Lenny ruined that for her.

  And Summer could have had no idea what I’d been going through. I sat there, not knowing what to do. I was faced with a dilemma. I had to put the letters back or Abe would know I’d found them, but if the police got hold of them at some point, there’d be more questions, questions I couldn’t answer.

  Remember the script, Hannah.

  Frowning, I knew there were gaps in Summer’s narrative. Were there more letters? Still hidden back in Nina’s house somewhere? Or maybe Abe had them. After putting back the ones I’d taken from his room, I was thinking of Nina’s shoe box. I’d yet to finish going through it, and it was the obvious hiding place. Hurrying back to my bedroom, I sat down and started emptying its contents onto the floor, removing old photos, keepsakes, a lock of hair from one of the children. Right at the bottom was an envelope.

  It was simil
ar to the others. My hands were shaking as I opened it. I knew Nina must have had her reasons for keeping it separate. As I unfolded it and started reading, I felt my jaw drop. There was no misinterpreting what Summer had written. But how could she have known?

  It was as though the years were unraveling around me, until I was seventeen again, in hiding at Nina’s cottage after having just run away from our parents. I’d gone to the one person in the world I thought I could trust, and I’d believed Nina and I had been alone, but Summer must have heard me talking to her mother.

  Suddenly I got it. Summer must have shared what she’d discovered with someone. Someone who, after her death, felt they had to carry out Summer’s threat to disclose Nina’s secrets.

  Perhaps that was the real reason Nina moved without telling me. She’d been concerned for me, cutting me off because she didn’t want me exposed to the same threat that she was. It was the kind of thing I could imagine her doing for me. But whoever knew our secrets had found her in the end. And having got to Nina, now they were coming after me.

  That was why those two strangers were here. They were part of it. Abe’s presence in my home had led them to me. I could feel my heart racing. I hadn’t imagined a conspiracy against me. It was real. Then paralyzing fear struck me. If I was right, I was in danger. But if I told the police, I would have to explain how Summer had died. And the situation was more complicated than that. As with the births of Nina’s children, Summer’s death had never been recorded. I could explain that it had been an accident, but what if they didn’t believe me?

  I needed to talk to Abe, find out exactly what he knew. Maybe between us, we could work out what was happening. But then last night came back to me and, with it, words that haunted me. I saw what happened. What if Abe had been there that night and seen what happened to Summer?

  There was nothing I could do. I couldn’t go to the police and face the questions I knew they’d ask. When they dug into the events leading to Summer’s death, they might establish me as an accomplice. I had to be careful what I said to Abe too. But apart from him, there was no one I could talk to.

  I could see I had no choice but to stay silent. I was caught in the web of stories Nina had concocted, unable to break free, forced to watch the past closing in around me. I was a sitting target. Trapped.

  * * *

  Nervously, I waited for Abe to get back from school, my stomach lurching as I heard his footsteps outside. Coming in and closing the door behind him, appearing not to notice me, he started to head toward the stairs.

  “Abe?”

  He froze, then turned to face me. “What?” His face was expressionless.

  “Could I talk to you?”

  He shrugged. “What about?”

  “Everything that’s been happening. I’ve been trying to make sense of it all. I’ve even been thinking it’s all linked to Summer.”

  Abe was frowning at me.

  “I know we were talking about her the other night. I’m sorry . . . It was after the accident, and I can’t remember what you said exactly. These painkillers I’m on make me drowsy.” I looked helplessly at him.

  “I don’t remember.” There was disdain on his face. I waited for him to accuse me of being drunk again, but he didn’t.

  “Not any of it?” I faltered.

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Yeah, you weren’t with it. You were fucking out of it.”

  “Abe . . .” I gasped at the harshness of his words, but his face was implacable. I remembered the Facebook post. “Erin said it was you who told her about Cara Matlock. But I know you couldn’t have because I didn’t tell you. I mean, I meant to, but I forgot. How did you know, Abe? Answer me that?” I was beginning to sound hysterical, but I couldn’t help it.

  He shook his head slowly. “You think that stuff came from me? Why?”

  “How else would you know about it?” My eyes didn’t leave his face.

  “Just maybe it was something to do with the rumors flying around my school.” His voice was dangerously quiet. “Embarrassing rumors. I talked to Erin because she was your friend. But you wouldn’t have thought of that, would you? I know you think there is, but there’s no conspiracy against you. It’s addiction that’s doing this to you, just like it did with Mum.”

  I stared at him. I wasn’t like Nina. Desperate for him to believe me, I tried again. “But there is a conspiracy. It has to do with Summer. It’s why those strangers are hanging around. You have to believe me, Abe.”

  But he shook his head in disgust. “This is pointless.” He started walking out of the room.

  “Abe,” I called after him. “Please . . . I’ve no one else . . . I need your help . . .”

  He stopped briefly in the doorway, then, without even looking at me, carried on walking.

  Pouring myself a drink, I didn’t hear Abe come back in, just heard his voice behind me.

  “You’ve been in my room.”

  I turned around, sloshing the contents of my glass. “I haven’t, Abe—only to open the window earlier,” I lied.

  “It’s closed.”

  I floundered. “I . . . I shut it again. I didn’t want your room to be too cold.”

  “You’re lying.” There was no doubt in his voice. “You’ve been going through my things.”

  It was the moment to mention the letters, but suddenly I felt vulnerable, intimidated by the strength of his reaction. It was easier to lie. “The police were in there the other day—you know, when I reported you missing.”

  He looked incensed. “They went through my stuff? Fucking great.” He threw his hands up in the air. “You’re insane, d’you know that? Look at you. It’s just past four o’clock, and you’ve nearly finished a bottle of wine already. What about your students? Or have you canceled them, again?”

  I was shaking my head. “It’s not like that. I’ve had a glass, that’s all.”

  His eyes swung around to the empty bottle. He didn’t say anything. “Just so you know, I don’t even know a Cara Matlock.”

  “Nor do I. What’s happening, Abe? First your mum, then those people hanging around, the Facebook post, my accident . . . The police don’t believe anything I tell them.” I hated the tears welling in my eyes.

  “Then stop drinking,” he said harshly. “If you did, you might find things change.” He walked toward the back door. Then he stopped suddenly. “Where’s Gibson?”

  Wiping my face, I looked up through my tears. “I don’t know.”

  I started walking toward the back door, but Abe was there first. Flinging it open, he marched outside. “Gibson? Gibson?”

  I waited for a scurry of feet as my dog ran up the path, but there was silence. Abe came back in. “When did you last see him?”

  I tried to think. He’d barked when Erin arrived. Had he slipped out when I opened the door to let her in? “This morning? Erin was here briefly.”

  As I thought about the row we’d had, I felt sick. Would she have taken him? Out of spite? It was ridiculous even thinking that, I told myself. “I’ll call her—just in case she remembers seeing him.”

  “I’m going to look for him.” Abe disappeared back outside.

  Fetching my phone, I found Erin’s number, but my call didn’t even go to voice mail. Instead, I heard a recorded message, and the truth sank in. Erin had blocked me.

  20

  Abe and I searched the surrounding fields for Gibson, walking farther than I usually went and reaching the edge of the woods. Standing under the canopy of branches, I called, then listened, but heard nothing. Eventually, the light started fading around us, the cooling air growing damp, and I turned back. Even as it grew dark, I stood in the garden, calling his name, but there was no sign of him.

  “Either he’s trapped somewhere or someone’s taken him.” Forced to give up, we stood outside the house. In the distance, I heard an owl hoot. I was worried. Gibson had never gone off like this before. I was sure something must have happened to him.

  “You don’t
know that.” Abe shook his head. “Maybe he went after a rabbit.”

  “He’s never run off like this. Not once.” I paused. “I’m going inside to call the police. See if anyone’s found a missing dog.” I turned and started walking back to the house, finding my phone and calling the number of the local police station.

  But when I got through, no dogs had been found. I knew it was too late to try ringing local vets. I’d have to resume my efforts in the morning.

  Gibson’s absence forced an uneasy truce between us, and Abe silently cooked beans on toast for us both, a gesture I was grateful for. After, he went outside again. I didn’t ask, just assumed he’d be stargazing.

  “Will you listen out for him?”

  He nodded.

  I was in bed by the time Abe came in. I listened hopefully as he shut the back door, then clattered around in the kitchen for five minutes. Then I heard his footsteps on the stairs, and my hopes sank. If he’d found Gibson, I was sure he would have told me.

  I slept intermittently that night, finding myself awake uncharacteristically early the following morning. As the dim light filtered through the curtains, I remembered Gibson, hurriedly pulled on some clothes and went downstairs, hoping that maybe there’d be a hungry, grateful terrier waiting on my doorstep.

  When I opened the back door, relief filled me as I saw his familiar shape across the garden, lying underneath one of the trees.

  “Gibson? Here, boy . . .” I waited for him to get up and come trotting over to me. When he didn’t move, I called him again. Feeling my heart lurch, I pulled on my boots and ran over to where he was lying.

  “Gibson?” But I knew before I reached him, from his unnaturally hunched shape, that he wasn’t going to get up. I fell to my knees beside him. “Oh Gibson . . .” Tears streamed down my cheeks. “What happened to you?”