My Sister's Lies

by S. D. Robertson

  For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry for everything I’ve put you through.

  Diane

  Mark read the letter three times in total, one immediately after the other. Even then he didn’t feel like he’d truly absorbed its contents.

  It was worse than he’d expected. Much worse. He’d been pretty sure it would be something to do with that one night they’d spent together. That huge mistake he’d made around fifteen years ago and regretted ever since. But not this. Not Mia.

  He’d feared maybe Diane was looking for money after all; that she’d been planning to blackmail him by threatening to tell Hannah unless he coughed up some cash.

  That was the most likely scenario he’d been able to come up with after she’d handed him the envelope.

  But not this.

  How could he be Mia’s father?

  He knew it was technically possible, but … if he actually was, how could Diane have kept that from him for so many years? Naturally he’d been suspicious once, because the dates were too close for comfort. He’d asked her outright on several occasions and, as her letter specified, she’d always been adamant that Mia wasn’t his child. Eventually, he’d believed her. It had been a relief, to be honest.

  He’d never forgotten their night of passion – and not in a good way. It was still a regular source of nightmares, which usually ended with Hannah walking in and discovering them in bed together. But in recent years, with so much water under the bridge, he’d barely thought about the possibility they might have conceived a child together. Had Mia been around and in his life, it may well have been a different story. He could have seen things in her to make him wonder, as had happened when she was younger.

  Having kids had never been on Mark’s agenda. He’d ruled it out long ago, thanks in no small part to a devastating experience he and his family had been through when he was still a child himself. It was something he avoided discussing or even thinking about to this day. He preferred to tell people he simply wasn’t a paternal kind of man, which was also true. It wound him up when parents fussed on social media over things like their child’s first day at school or the outfit they’d dressed up in to go trick-or-treating on Halloween.

  So after more than a decade of not seeing Mia – a girl Mark had been assured was only his niece by marriage – she’d been pushed far from his thoughts.

  Until now.

  At this moment Mia was right at the heart of his thoughts. He had no idea what he was going to say to her when he returned to the flat. How could he look at her or Hannah without giving away what he’d just read? What if Diane had already told Mia or given her some kind of hint? And how was he supposed to know for sure she wasn’t making it up?

  Mark’s mind leapt frantically from one thought to another. This was a potential disaster. No wonder Diane hadn’t wanted to tell him in person, although how he wished she had. There were a million questions he wanted to ask her. Not least, he needed to know if she’d told anyone else so far or planned to do so in the near future. Frank, his father-in-law, was a terrifying possibility. But even that paled into insignificance compared to the prospect of Hannah finding out.

  He knew how heartbroken she would be to discover he and Diane had slept together. He’d already imagined that scene countless times. And for Hannah to find out now, all these years later, knowing they’d kept it from her and lied to her face. It would be truly awful.

  But this was so much worse. The very idea of him fathering Mia – giving Hannah’s hated sister a child while denying his wife the same – that would devastate her.

  He’d have to get Diane’s mobile number from Hannah’s phone, preferably without her realising, and contact her directly. More secrets and lies, in other words; digging himself deeper. But what choice did he have?

  Mark read the letter through a fourth time. He was hoping to miraculously uncover some further answers or explanation: a little detail perhaps, which he might have missed on the previous occasions due to shock. But he found nothing of the sort.

  Letting out a long, frustrated sigh, he folded the paper up, slid it back into the envelope, folded that in half and shoved it firmly into his pocket. Destroying it would probably be the wisest thing to do, but Mark knew he’d want to read it again. No, he’d have to hide it somewhere that Hannah, and Mia for that matter, wouldn’t find it. His work briefcase would probably be the safest option. As usual, it was full of business-related paperwork he’d brought home in the hope of finding a spare moment over the weekend to catch up on a few things. Hannah was extremely unlikely to look in there and, for extra peace of mind, he could also lock it with a small key. Then on Monday he could stash the letter somewhere in his desk at work.

  So there was one tiny problem solved. If only that was all he had to worry about.

  Mark held his head in his hands and fought to clear his thoughts.

  He knew there was no point in feeling sorry for himself, or wishing none of this was happening, because it was. Fact of life.

  His only option at this moment was to put on a brave face and pretend everything was all right. He had to do his utmost not to give the slightest indication to Hannah or Mia of there being a problem. Otherwise he was finished.

  ‘Come on!’ he said under his breath, slapping both cheeks with his hands to shock himself into action. Keeping a cool head in a crisis was the kind of thing he did at work all the time. He could manage this. It was the only way.

  So Mark jumped to his feet.

  Standing tall, willing his mind to follow his body’s example, he paced purposefully in the direction of home.

  CHAPTER 4

  Hannah was standing outside the spare bedroom, or Mia’s room as it had now temporarily become, with her right ear to the closed door.

  She was listening to see if she could hear any sound from within; trying to work out whether her niece was awake yet. It was 10.05 a.m. on Monday: two days since Diane had left Mia in her and Mark’s care.

  Hannah had been awake since just before 7 a.m. when Mark had kissed her goodbye as he left for the office. She always found it hard to sleep in when it got light so early during the summer months. Blackout curtains or blinds would fix that. But she actually quite liked to be up early: to gaze out of the window and watch the city below move through its own morning routines while she did the same from the comfort of the apartment.

  Off her and Mark’s bedroom, as well as an en-suite bathroom, was a small balcony with a table and two chairs. Sometimes she liked to drink a cup of tea or coffee there and enjoy the sounds as well as the sights of Manchester. There was a communal garden on the roof, which had sounded wonderful when they’d moved in, although in practice they rarely ever used it.

  If Hannah was going properly outside – actually leaving the apartment – she preferred to do so at street level. There was so much more to see close up: not least a bottomless supply of characters and dialogue to feed her fiction.

  Unfortunately, the weather today didn’t make her want to go outside at all. Not even on to the balcony. The sunshine of the past few days had vanished, replaced by grey skies and incessant drizzle. Typical Manchester weather.

  It made Hannah feel sorry for all the schoolkids, like Mia, who were finally free from the constraints of education and deserved better. It was the end of July, for goodness’ sake. Mind you, if Mia was planning to stay in bed all day, the weather didn’t really matter.

  Hannah tiptoed away from her position in front of the bedroom door, having stayed there for at least a minute without hearing any sign of life whatsoever. She walked through to the lounge, shutting the door behind her and finally feeling like she could make some noise again. Just as well this wasn’t one of the typical open-plan apartments that were so prevalent nowadays. Hannah and Mark had specifically sought out one like this, with separate rooms around a central hallway, which they both preferred. In the last few days, thanks to their unexpected visitors, it had proved useful.

  But what was she doing, creeping
around her own home? It was ridiculous when she thought about it. And in doing so, rather than making the noises she normally would at this time on a Monday morning, she was only increasing the likelihood of Mia staying in bed longer.

  So what should she do: start hoovering? No, that would be a bit over the top. She hadn’t had breakfast yet, thinking it rude to do so without her guest; how much longer was she going to have to wait? Until what time did fourteen-year-olds usually sleep? Mia had been up of her own accord by 9 a.m. yesterday, although the sound of Hannah and Mark moving around and chatting had probably roused her.

  What if the poor thing was lying awake in her bed, waiting to hear Hannah moving around, and, because she’d been so quiet, still hadn’t got up?

  Wow. Who would have guessed how awkward this was going to be?

  Hannah made a decision: she’d switch the radio on here in the lounge, not too loud but enough to make it obvious she was up and about. If that hadn’t worked by 10.30 a.m., she’d start making breakfast and knock on Mia’s door to let her know.

  Meanwhile, after tuning the hi-fi in to Radio 2, she looked over at the desk in the corner of the room. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the laptop lying there on top of it, gathering dust next to the printer. That was where she ought to have been for the last couple of hours. Instead of worrying about what time her niece would get up and how they would spend the day together, she could have used this quiet period to get some writing done.

  Hannah’s first novel was due to be published next January. Although that was still a way off, she’d finished working on it now, at least in terms of writing and editing. However, from what her editor and publicist had told her, there would be plenty more to do promotion-wise near to release. She didn’t even want to think about that yet. It made her nervous. Meanwhile, her mind was on the next novel: the second part of the two-book deal she’d signed, which she was due to deliver next March.

  She hadn’t even got halfway through her first draft yet and, although her editor had been enthusiastic about the synopsis she’d written initially, Hannah was far from happy with how it was going. There was still plenty of time, but she wanted to get ahead of the game, particularly as she feared not being able to produce something as good as her debut release.

  Chatting in bed last night, Mark had asked her how she was getting on with it.

  ‘Um, okay, I guess.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound too convincing, Han. What’s up? Anything I can help with?’

  ‘Not really, unless you want to write it for me.’

  Mark had crossed his eyes at this and pulled a wonky face. ‘Hmm. Maybe not. Don’t think I’ve got that in me like you, darling. I could read what you’ve got so far, if that would help.’

  ‘No, thanks,’ she’d replied, somehow finding a way to grin despite her frustration. ‘It’s not fit for human consumption yet.’

  ‘Hey, I never said I wanted to eat it,’ Mark had replied, deadpan. ‘I love you a lot – but not that much.’

  ‘You know what I mean. I’m just not very happy with it at the moment. I suppose I’m anxious the publishers will be disappointed. And that March deadline somehow doesn’t feel very far away.’

  Mark had reassured her, as he was always so good at doing, that such doubts were only normal in the circumstances. He’d recommended she have a chat with her literary agent, Bruce Wilks, about them.

  ‘Yeah, maybe,’ she’d replied. ‘But I don’t want him to start doubting me too. Plus he’s on holiday at the moment. I’m not going to bother him while he’s away.’

  Hannah was embarrassed by her doubts and fears. She still struggled to refer to herself as an author, although she hoped that would change soon. Once she’d held a physical copy of one of her books in her hand – seen it on the shelves in stores – surely that would change.

  As for her second novel, pushing on with it was all she could realistically do. She considered writing a few words now. There wouldn’t be time to do much before she had breakfast with Mia, one way or another. But something was better than nothing.

  Hannah sat down at the desk and opened up her laptop, buoyed by a wave of optimism. Then she proceeded to spend the next ten minutes on the Internet looking up the sleeping patterns of teenagers. She read that most tended to fall asleep and wake up later than they had as children, with their sleep patterns varying from one day to another. Teens usually required eight to ten hours of sleep per night to function at their best, apparently.

  Well, that’s interesting, Hannah thought. However, she wasn’t sure what to do with the information and felt annoyed she’d looked at it rather than write.

  ‘Stuff it,’ she said, slamming the laptop shut and striding over to Mia’s bedroom.

  She knocked on the door three times before announcing: ‘I’m making us some breakfast, Mia. See you in the kitchen in ten minutes?’

  There was a slight pause before a gravelly voice replied: ‘Right.’

  ‘Would you like tea or coffee?’

  ‘Um, coffee.’

  ‘A boiled egg?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Great. See you soon.’

  Hannah smiled to herself, pleased with how her wake-up call had gone. Mia’s replies could have been a bit more polite: a please or thank-you wouldn’t have gone amiss. But in her niece’s defence, it had sounded like she’d just woken up.

  As Hannah walked to the kitchen, she wondered how to keep Mia occupied for the rest of the day. She and Mark had spent much of the previous forty-eight hours trying to make their visitor feel welcome and at ease. They’d told her to call them both by their first names, rather than Aunt Hannah and Uncle Mark. Considering her age and the fact that they’d not been in her life for such a long time, it seemed more sensible – less forced – than the alternative; hopefully it would help her to feel comfortable in their presence.

  They’d also spent a good amount of time showing Mia around Manchester. On Saturday they’d strolled around the city centre, pointing out the location of the main shops and so on, before grabbing some food at a new pizza restaurant that had recently opened near Deansgate.

  Yesterday, they’d gone out in the BMW to give Mia a flavour of some of the countryside around Manchester. They’d walked around Hollingworth Lake in Littleborough, a short drive out of the city, although Mia hadn’t given much away in terms of whether she’d enjoyed it or not. She hadn’t spoken a great deal on either day, mainly responding to their questions rather than making conversation.

  This wasn’t a huge surprise, considering her age and the fact she was only now getting to know her aunt and uncle. But it did mean Hannah was feeling apprehensive about being alone with her today. She really hoped to avoid a return to the awkward silences of last Friday, when Mia and her mum had first turned up.

  Mind you, over the weekend, Hannah had done much more of the talking than Mark. He’d seemed more reserved than usual – not quite himself – but she guessed that made sense, considering his views on children. He probably needed time to adapt to Mia’s presence.

  As she put two eggs on the hob to boil, Hannah’s mind turned to her sister, wondering when she was likely to contact them. Surely she’d phone or text today, having so far remained quiet since her departure on Saturday morning. If not, Hannah decided she probably ought to make contact herself soon.

  She switched on the kitchen radio and laid two places at the small table. This was where she and Mark usually ate when they didn’t have company. She had considered using the dining room again, as they always had with Mia so far, but it seemed silly when there were only the two of them.

  After a couple of reminder calls that breakfast was ready, Mia eventually appeared. Bleary-eyed and with her dark hair tied up in a messy bun, she was wearing grey jogging pants and a creased pink crop top.

  ‘Good morning,’ Hannah said. She smiled despite feeling annoyed at how long it had taken Mia to emerge. ‘Grab a seat and I’ll pour you some coffee.’

  Mia stifled a yawn as
she sat down on one of the two chairs.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘I woke up a few times.’

  ‘Oh dear. Did you hear Mark getting ready for work?’

  Mia shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘He left just before seven, so …’

  Hannah thought Mia might respond to this information, but instead there was a long silence.

  As Hannah poured some coffee into her niece’s cup, it occurred to her that maybe this wasn’t an appropriate drink to serve a fourteen-year-old. How was she supposed to know? She struggled to remember at what age she’d started drinking coffee, and it wasn’t like Diane had left her with an instruction manual.

  She’d definitely had coffee with them yesterday morning, but Hannah couldn’t recall what she’d had on Saturday morning when Diane was still around.

  ‘Sorry, is coffee what you usually drink for breakfast at home?’ Hannah asked as Mia added milk to her cup. ‘It occurred to me that … well, I’ve no idea what the norm is for someone your age.’

  ‘Coffee’s fine,’ Mia replied.

  Hannah nodded. She handed Mia a boiled egg, instructing her to help herself to some of the toast she’d already placed on the table. ‘There’s cereal too, if you’d like some,’ she added without getting a response.

  ‘So, um, your mum’s all right with you drinking coffee? It’s just that … I wouldn’t want to step on any toes.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Hannah, feeling awkward at the lack of interaction, took a slow sip from her own cup of coffee, which she enjoyed black as usual. Once upon a time she used to be able to knock back coffee all day long, but nowadays she had to be careful not to drink too much, for fear of the caffeine making her edgy.

  She heard an unfamiliar pinging sound all of a sudden, which had her looking around the kitchen, wondering where the noise had come from.

  Then she saw Mia pull her mobile phone out of her trouser pocket; she realised it must have been the sound of her receiving a message.