No Sister of Mine

by Vivien Brown

  ‘Can’t blame a man for trying. Now, come on, tell me why you’ve called after all this time. Couldn’t resist me any longer, eh? Not that I’m complaining. It’s great to hear your voice.’

  ‘Yours too.’ I stopped, not at all sure what to say next. ‘I … I don’t suppose you’re free to meet up, are you? For a coffee or something?’

  ‘You bet I am. When? Now?’

  ‘Wow, you’re keen!’

  ‘No time like the present. Let you slip away now and you might not call again for another God knows how many years. But at least, now you have, I’ve got your number at last!’ He laughed. ‘As luck would have it, I’m not working today, so name your place and I’ll be there. Then you can tell me all about it. This life of yours, that’s been getting in the way. I heard about your mum, by the way. Too late to send condolences or turn up at the funeral, but I am sorry.’

  ‘Thanks. She’d been very ill and we all knew it was coming, but even so …’

  ‘Of course. Death is always hard to take, no matter how much you’re expecting it. Believe me, I see it all the time at work and I never get used to it. Now, come on, where shall we meet?’

  ‘Kiosk in the park?’

  ‘Ah, you old romantic, you! Scene of our first date.’ He did an exaggerated sigh. ‘Half an hour, okay?’

  I changed out of my floppy trousers and slippers and into a half-decent but not-too-dressy dress, my one and only winter coat and a pair of medium height heels, brushed my hair and peered into the hall mirror to add a flick of mascara and a touch of barely-there lipstick before grabbing my bag and rushing out to make sure I got there first.

  The metal shutters were down over the kiosk window, badly spelt graffiti splattered across them in garish pink paint. The place was all in darkness and obviously not open for business. Closed for refurbishments, so the sign on the door said. I waited there anyway, on one of the old wooden benches that bordered the playground. There was a cold wind blowing and I started to wish I’d stayed in trousers, but from there I could get a good view along the path in both directions, so there was no danger I would be taken by surprise. I pushed my hands down deep into my pockets and pulled my collar up.

  He looked just the way I remembered him, all confident smile and twinkly eyes, but so much smarter. I didn’t know if he had rapidly raided his wardrobe for the best shirt and the cleanest jeans he owned, or if he dressed that way all the time, but topped off with a sleek black leather jacket, this tall, slim vision of the man bore no resemblance to the chubby kid I knew at school, nor to the sweaty T-shirted runner I had bumped into in the very same park all that time ago.

  He ran the last few yards, sweeping me up into a hug as soon as he reached me, and my arms seemed to just fall naturally into place around his neck. His kiss on my cheek felt warm and welcoming. ‘Well, Mrs Sarah Whatever-your-name-is-these-days …’ He held me out at arm’s length and smiled, nodding towards the shuttered kiosk. ‘I bet you knew this place was closed, didn’t you? A clever ruse, to get me here under false pretences and then entice me away to somewhere a good deal posher. Come on.’ He hooked my arm into his. ‘Let’s find a cosy corner in a pub somewhere, shall we? Life stories get told a lot better over a bottle of wine.’

  ‘So, show me your little Janey, then,’ he said, as soon as we were settled with a drink in front of us. ‘She must be quite grown up by now.’

  I pulled out my phone and flipped through the photos, looking for the best ones to show him.

  ‘Oh, come on, let’s see them all.’ He took the phone from my hand and I watched his face soften, his smile light up his eyes as he gazed at my daughter. ‘She’s very like you, Sarah.’

  ‘Do you think so? She has my hair, and maybe my nose, but she’s a lot like her dad too.’

  ‘Is this him?’ Colin had come across some family pictures, the three of us squashed up side by side in some restaurant, and a couple I had taken of the two of them in the garden in the summer.

  ‘Yes, that’s Josh.’

  He looked from me to the photo on the screen, and back again, as if he was trying to imagine us together, and shook his head. ‘So, tell me. Tell me all of it.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

  ‘Pull the other one! Tell me what he’s done, why you’re so clearly unhappy. And why there’s not one single photo of just the two of you together. No smiley ones, no arms-linked ones, no … well, no really happy together pictures. That says a lot, you know.’

  ‘Oh …’

  What made me spill out all my problems, and my worst fears, to a man I hardly knew? I felt safe with him, for a start. He was on the edges of my life, not a close friend, not bound up in any way with my family or its troubles, yet not a total stranger either. And the way he looked at me, held my hand gently in his as we sat side by side on a long comfy corner seat in the pub, gave me the warmest, fuzziest feeling that he cared, really cared, and maybe even fancied me a little, which was exactly what I needed.

  ‘Do you love him, Sarah?’ he said, ten minutes later, when I’d been talking pretty much non-stop and had finally run out of steam and stopped to wipe my eyes and take a sip of my wine. ‘Do you really love this rat of a husband of yours? And does he love you? Because, from what I can deduce here, he’s not been very good to you, or very fair. Okay, you got off to a rocky start, pushed into things too quickly and much too young, before you knew each other well enough. I get that. But now?’

  ‘About the getting-married-young thing …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I was pregnant.’

  ‘Yes, you told me that.

  ‘He stood by me, Colin. He didn’t have to. I have to give him credit for that. For doing what everyone said was the right thing, the honourable thing. But …’

  ‘Come on, spit it out. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m not about to spill your secrets all over town. We doctors know how to be discreet, you know.’

  ‘Well … I was never actually sure the baby was his. There, I’ve said it. In fact, it was highly likely it wasn’t. There was someone else, just a few weeks before.’

  ‘Not that wally Jacobs?’

  ‘So what if it was? It didn’t mean anything really, just teenage stuff that went too far, but then I missed a period. Just one, and I was trying to ignore it, hope I was wrong. I hadn’t done a test. And later, by the time I was sure, it was just assumed the baby was Josh’s. I mean, poor little Sarah, hardly out of nappies herself, surely couldn’t have been with anyone else …’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘What does oh mean? It’s not that I’m expecting you to approve. It was pretty bad of me, wasn’t it? I do know that. Bad not to tell the truth, and to let him take the blame. And I have felt guilty about that, really I have. It’s why I know it’s not all Josh’s fault. I led us into this disastrous marriage, without giving him all the facts. But when we lost the baby – a baby I never saw, although they told us it was a little boy – it didn’t seem to matter anymore. It was all just so horrible, so sad, and I went to pieces for a while. He looked after me, cried with me, and I knew he must really care about me. Me, not just the baby, because there was no baby …’

  ‘And that’s love, is it? Keeping quiet about something so important, tricking a man into marriage, basing your whole future together on grief? You had the chance to end it then, didn’t you? After the baby died, you could have gone your separate ways.’

  ‘Why would I? I loved him. We were married, and we decided to try again.’

  ‘Replace the baby with another one? Don’t you think that was just papering over the cracks? Trying to justify why you were together, give yourselves a reason to go on with the charade?’

  ‘You don’t know anything about it. About us.’

  ‘I know that he doesn’t talk to you, confide in you, treat you as if you’re special. Which you are, by the way. And meeting up, quite likely sleeping, with another woman, who could very possibly be your own sister? Does that sound like a loving husband to y
ou? Because it certainly doesn’t to me. It doesn’t matter why you got together in the first place, or even why you decided to stay together. None of that has to bind you together for ever. The man’s clearly a shit, and I can’t help wondering why you’re hanging on so tightly to someone who might not actually be worth hanging on to. The only possible reason I can see why you would even contemplate staying is if, despite everything he’s done, you still love him. Really love him.’

  ‘I …’

  ‘It’s not that hard a question. Love, or not love? It’s something you should know instantly, isn’t it?’

  ‘There’s more to it than that. I started out believing I was so lucky to have bagged him. He was gorgeous, so good looking, older than me but not treating me like a child. I fancied him rotten, and loved him right from the start. But love changes, doesn’t it? I’m not some silly dewy-eyed teenager anymore. He has his faults. And so do I, I’m sure. But we have a daughter together. A home. He’s all I know. We’ve been together all my adult life …’

  ‘And what sort of an answer is that? You stay because you know nothing else, have nothing else? Sarah, that’s bullshit. You must know that. What about trust? Respect? Okay, what do I know? I’ve never been married, and luckily I haven’t had my heart broken … yet. But divorce isn’t the shameful thing it once was, you know. You could walk away with your head held high, with money of your own, a chance to start again, build a happy life without him.’

  ‘I know. But …’ But what? I didn’t know what it was that held me back, so how on earth was I ever going to explain it to someone else?

  ‘But you haven’t even tackled him over it, have you? Now, listen to me. You needed a friend to talk to, and you chose me, and you asked for – well, sort of asked for – my advice, and my support. Why else are we here? So, that’s what you’re going to get, whether you like what I have to say or not.’ He looked straight at me, his fingers under my chin, turning my face towards him, making sure he could hold my gaze. ‘As I see it, you’re hoping if you ignore it then it will all go away and everything will be rosy again. If it ever was. That’s not the way the world works, Sarah. You tried to ignore that first pregnancy and look what happened. You have to face up to things, make positive choices, not rely on luck or fate or whatever magical force you think will come along and put things right. Men like Josh will get away with it time and time again if nobody challenges them or tries to stop them. It’s time you stood up for yourself. Fight for him or throw him out. One way or the other, you can’t just go on doing nothing. You have to know. And if it involves your sister … well, you definitely have to know about that. You have to ask him. Ask her.’

  I squeezed my eyes tight, nodded and looked up at the ceiling, down at the floor, anywhere but at Colin. I edged closer and laid my head against his big broad shoulder, trying hard not to cry. Of course he was right. My marriage had been as good as over for a long time and I hadn’t been prepared to face it.

  ‘I’ve always had a soft spot for you, Sarah. You must know that.’ He rubbed his thumb backwards and forwards over the back of my hand, rested his chin lightly on the top of my head, and his voice dropped down almost to whisper levels. ‘But none of this is about me, or what I feel. It has to be about you. What’s best for you. I just want you to be happy, and being with Josh isn’t making you happy, is it? So do something about it. Please. And when you need me, for anything, as anything, I’ll be here. Okay?’

  Chapter 23

  EVE

  Starting at a new school a term after everybody else made me feel I was constantly playing catch-up. Most members of staff already knew each other well, and even the two newest had had the months since September to get acclimatised and make sure they had found a favourite chair in the staff room and learned the others’ names. The children moved around the building as if they were on wheels, whizzing round corners, dashing from class to class, creating a quiet but constant buzz that never quite reached deafening proportions. It was like a well-established ant colony, everyone knowing exactly where they were going and what their own place was in the hierarchy. Except me.

  At home, life was settling down at last. Dad had gone back to work, which I felt sure would do him the world of good, and since Christmas Day I had seen very little of Sarah and absolutely nothing of Josh. A new kind of after-Mum normality was imprinting itself on our lives, and the start of a new year seemed to signal some sort of new beginning for all of us, one in which I had a sister and a brother-in-law, and a niece, and could finally live without the pangs of guilt that had been growing stronger and stronger ever since I had left my Welsh cocoon and come back into the family orbit. As New Year’s resolutions go, I only had one. There would be no looking back, no more Josh and me, just the chance to build a life without him. And work was the ideal way to achieve it.

  Grange Heath School was nothing like my old one. After only three weeks in the job, I could already see that the majority of pupils here actually wanted to learn, and had ambition and career plans and drive. Those in my A level English Literature classes were there because they had chosen to be, and really wanted to be, and there were a few potential Oxbridge candidates among them, if they worked hard enough to get there. The problems of apathetic kids and council-estate hopelessness were behind me and I was facing very different challenges now, trying to get the very best out of students who would be working with me and not against me.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Peters.’ Two girls who had stayed back after the last class of the day to ask questions – when had that ever happened before? – filed out and left me to gather up my books and papers. I was smiling, and actually humming quietly to myself, as I left the room, intending to head back along the now empty corridor towards the staff room. And that was when I saw him. Arnie O’Connor.

  He was waiting on a chair outside the admin office, fiddling with a piece of paper, tapping his shoes nervously against the floor tiles, and staring out through the big glass doors at the front of the school. He didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular, just gazing into the distance, which meant, luckily, that he hadn’t spotted me approaching from the side.

  I stopped, trying not to let my shoes squeak, willing him not to turn round. My heart was racing, pounding in my chest, and for a moment I held my breath, not wanting any slight movement to catch his attention. It had been years since I’d last seen him, that morning he’d been hurrying to the station as I walked the dog, but I was sure it was him. People change, and he certainly had – shorter hair, a fatter face, definite signs of a paunch protruding from his open jacket – but not so much that they can’t be recognised. It was him all right.

  I suppose I’d expected, or hoped, that he’d be long gone by now, moved away somewhere, never to be seen again. No such luck.

  ‘Mr O’Connor.’ Cheryl, the school secretary, emerged from her office, smiling and holding out a hand to guide him. ‘Would you like to come through now?’

  I pressed myself flat against the wall, trying to make myself invisible, but I needn’t have bothered. He didn’t look my way, just stood and straightened his clothing before disappearing off through a door that quickly closed behind him.

  The last thing I wanted was to hang around and risk coming face to face with the man who had single-handedly, and in one drunken violent encounter, ruined my life. If it wasn’t for him I would have been more open, more loving, towards Josh when we’d first met. I would have discovered sex in the right way, slowly and warmly, with the man I loved, instead of fighting off a red-faced lech with octopus hands. I might even be married and happy and—

  I shook the thoughts away. This wasn’t the Arnie of the past. It was the Arnie of the present. The now Arnie. And, assuming he was here because he had connections to the school, quite possibly a child, or children, at the school, I was probably going to have to meet him, deal with him, even confront him, sooner or later. Not now though. For now, I would get out of the building and as far away from him as I could, until I had le
t my pulse slow down and decided what to do next. Because running away into the night and going into hiding miles away was not an option this time. I wasn’t a scared teenager anymore. I was an adult, in a position of authority, maybe even of power. And I could not let him put me down again.

  ***

  ‘Not expecting anyone, are we?’ Dad said as we heard a car pull up outside. We had just finished our dinner and were enjoying our coffee in the living room, relishing the blissful silence created by not automatically switching on the TV as soon as we sat down, something Mum had always done, with a ‘Let’s just catch the News, shall we?’ that usually led to at least an hour of soaps.

  I went over to close the curtains and shut out the cold and gloom of a dark January evening, and peered out at the street. ‘Oh, it’s Sarah,’ I said, watching her stride purposefully up the path, which was lit only by the small lanterns on the wall to each side of the front door, and use her key.

  ‘That’s nice.’ Dad put his coffee down and started to get up from his armchair. ‘I’ll put the kettle back on and make her a cup.’

  But he’d only taken one pace forward when she came bursting into the room like a whirlwind. ‘Right, you,’ she said, pointing a finger at me. She wasn’t shouting, but somehow the controlled, determined way she spoke worried me a lot more than if she had been. ‘I want answers. And none of your lies, because I am not stupid, much as you obviously think I am. I do have eyes, you know.’

  For a moment, I had no idea what she was talking about, what it was I had done. Dad had sunk back into his chair, his mouth open in shock, and Sarah just stood and stared at me, as if she was waiting for me to speak.

  ‘I don’t know what—’

  ‘Yes, you do. Of course you do. And don’t you even think of skulking out of the room. What we have to say needs to be said. Right here, right now, so Dad can hear it too. Time he realised what sort of a nasty, cheating, conniving person his precious Eve really is.’