Читать книгу My Sister’s Lies: A gripping novel of love, loss and dark family secrets - S.D. Robertson, S.D. Robertson - Страница 12

‘Hello?’ Hannah said, answering the phone in a clipped tone, as if Mark had caught her in the middle of something. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Hi,’ he replied. ‘Yes, I’m fine, thanks. What about you? You sound busy.’

‘Oh? I’m not really.’

‘How’s everything going with Mia? Are you finding it okay on your own with her?’

Hannah brought Mark up to date about Mia sleeping in, their stilted breakfast chat, and lastly her niece’s claim to have period pains.

‘I see,’ he replied, glad not to have had that particular conversation with their guest. He knew it would have embarrassed him, even though modern men were supposed to be able to talk comfortably about the time of the month. Dads in particular, he thought, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten. The knot that had been there since he’d read Diane’s letter.

But it was Hannah’s next comment that really got Mark’s attention. Lowering her voice, she said: ‘I think the real reason Mia’s feeling off this morning is because of her mum. Diane’s not been replying to her calls or messages, apparently.’

‘What? Not at all?’

‘She sent her one message on Saturday to say she’d got home; nothing since.’

This surprised Mark, who’d assumed mother and daughter had been in regular contact. He’d certainly seen Mia typing and receiving various messages on her phone while she’d been staying with them. These must have been to and from her friends at home.

Unbeknown to Hannah or Mia, he’d also tried and failed to get hold of Diane several times yesterday.

He’d grabbed her number from Hannah’s mobile. When Diane hadn’t answered, his mind had gone into overdrive, reading all kinds of potential meanings into this. Now he had a new perspective on the situation.

‘That’s a bit odd,’ he said into his phone, which was tucked between his chin and right shoulder as he made a brew for himself and a handful of colleagues in the kitchen at work. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this, but judging by the shocked looks on his co-workers’ faces when he’d offered, it was long overdue. In truth, he’d wanted an excuse to make this call away from prying ears in the open-plan office, since all the meeting rooms were occupied. Mark wasn’t one for sharing personal information with colleagues; the last thing he wanted this morning was to face nosy queries about who Mia was and why she was staying with them.

At times like this he’d have appreciated having his own private office, but that was far too traditional to fit in with the firm’s modern, open ethos.

‘What’s that noise?’ Hannah asked.

‘I’m brewing up. It’s probably the kettle you can hear.’

‘What? I thought you said you never had time for that. Are you feeling all right?’

‘Very funny. So where’s Mia now?’

‘In her bedroom, reading. I mentioned the art galleries and museums, but she said she didn’t feel up to going.’

‘Look on the bright side: at least you might get the chance to do some writing.’ Mark bent down to get the milk out of the fridge as he spoke, cricking his neck in the process, forcing him to switch the phone back into his hand with a groan.

‘What was that?’ Hannah asked. ‘Are you all right?’

‘It’s nothing. I’m just trying to do too many things at once. So what do you think is going on with Diane?’

He heard the sound of his wife sighing down the line. ‘Who knows?’

‘It certainly seems strange for her to go silent like this … assuming Mia’s telling the truth.’

‘What do you mean?’

Yes, good point. What did he mean? The idea that Mia might be fibbing had only occurred to Mark as he’d said it. It was based solely on a paranoid, unsupported fear that she might be working against him – in cahoots with her mother.

‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Ignore me. I’m, er, just thinking out loud.’

‘Why would she make such a thing up? You weren’t here. You didn’t see how upset she was. I felt so sorry for her that I even let her check her mobile at the breakfast table.’

‘You what?’ Mark replied, grinning in spite of the guilt and fear that had been eating him up ever since Diane’s flabbergasting revelation. ‘That can’t be right. You must be going soft in your old age. You’ll be answering a call in the cinema next.’

Hannah had long had a bee in her bonnet about people using mobiles at mealtimes. She found it the height of rudeness and, although Mark wasn’t quite as offended by it as she was, over the years she’d converted him to the cause. He hadn’t spotted Mia doing it so far, perhaps because Diane had similar feelings to Hannah, which she’d instilled in her daughter.

That didn’t sound like the Diane he remembered, who’d always been far better at breaking rules than following them. Maybe motherhood had changed her. She’d confiscated Mia’s mobile for some reason when they’d first arrived, so there were obviously boundaries in place.

‘And you’ve still not heard anything from Diane either?’ Mark asked.

‘No. I told Mia I’d try to get hold of her. She wants to know when her mum is coming back for her.’

‘That’s understandable. She is only fourteen. She’s probably homesick. So are you going to try calling Diane yourself?’

She cleared her throat. ‘I guess so.’

Hearing reluctance in Hannah’s strained tone of voice, Mark spotted an opportunity. ‘You, er, don’t sound very keen.’ He held his breath for a moment before adding: ‘Would you rather I tried to get hold of her instead?’

‘You’d do that?’ she asked, already sounding happier.

‘Of course, if it makes life easier for you.’

‘That would be amazing. You’re the best.’

Mark winced at this, wishing it was true, before forcing himself to add: ‘Could you text me her phone number?’

Once he’d dished out the brews to his bemused colleagues – one of whom actually took a photo of him handing over their cup ‘to prove it really happened’ – he returned to his desk and tried to distract himself with work.

When lunchtime came around, Mark popped out, having taken Diane’s letter from his briefcase and stuffed it into a trouser pocket. He read the contents over again at a crumb-covered table in a quiet back-street sandwich shop where no one knew him.

Diane’s words hadn’t got any better or less terrifying with time. As Mark’s eyes scanned the letter’s contents, the cheese-and-pickle sandwich he’d ordered lying untouched next to his can of cola, he felt his heart pounding at the prospect of what he might say if he managed to reach her by phone.

He didn’t have the slightest clue what Diane was up to, but he was desperate to know. He needed to discover whether she was definitely telling the truth in her letter and, if so, why she’d chosen to tell him now. Something specific must have sparked her recent actions – and Mark was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Meanwhile, he’d done as she’d asked. He’d looked at Mia to see if he could see himself in her. He’d scrutinised the girl, as surreptitiously as possible, over the last couple of days. He’d examined her physical appearance, from her eyes and smile right down to the shape of her feet. He’d considered the way she walked and talked; her gestures; the type of things she said and did; what made her laugh; what made her frown.

At certain moments, he’d thought he’d seen hints of himself or other family members, such as his mother. At other times, he’d become convinced these were mere projections and there was nothing concrete at all.

There was plenty of Diane, though. Over the years, particularly before the big falling-out, Mark had seen loads of old snaps of Diane and Hannah together as girls. Fourteen-year-old Mia could easily pass for their sister.

But could she pass for his child?

Could she really, truly be his daughter?

And if so, why had Diane lied to his face about it when he’d asked her previously?

His mind jumped back to one particular conversation. It had been in 2008 during those awful, raw days following the death of her and Hannah’s mother, Maggie, and before the disintegration of the sisters’ relationship. Little had he known at that point how much was about to change, and how drastically it would affect all of their lives.

The sisters had spent a couple of days at their parents’ home. They’d both wanted to be there to console and support their dad, who was so devastated he could barely function, and to start planning the funeral. To make things easier for them, Mark had agreed to move into Diane’s house, a small terraced property in Withington, to look after Mia while they were away. This was despite him being pretty clueless when it came to children.

Mia had recently turned three and had at least stopped wearing nappies during the daytime. With the help of a list of instructions left by her mum, detailing mealtimes, toilet habits and other daily routines, he’d just about managed, thankful she had a placid temperament for a young child.

However, unbeknown to Diane, there had been several phone calls to his mother, Alma, along the way. Having no grandchildren of her own, she’d been only too happy to give him tips and advice. She’d even offered to come over and lend a hand, but he’d said that wasn’t necessary.

That afternoon there had also been a minor incident in his car. He’d taken Mia out to the park and, while stuck in traffic on the way back, she’d announced she needed a wee ‘right now’.

‘You can wait a few minutes, can’t you?’ Mark had asked.

Her only reply had been to shake her head vigorously, turn bright red and do it there and then in her car seat before starting to cry.

Luckily, he’d managed to keep a cool head and, somehow, to juggle cleaning the car and putting Mia in the bath and then bed before Diane arrived home.

‘Thanks so much for looking after her,’ she said after popping up to give her a kiss goodnight. ‘She’s zonked. You must have kept her busy.’

‘I did my best. I’m pretty shattered too. Maybe I should text Hannah and ask her to run me a bath.’

Diane smiled. ‘She’s probably in there herself. It’s been a tough couple of days.’

‘I bet. How’s Frank managing?’

‘He’s not. He’s in a mess. Mum might have been ill for ages, but it’s like Dad never faced up to the fact this would happen one day. I mean, it’s not something you can really prepare yourself for, is it? But the way he’s acting, you’d think she’d been fighting fit and her death was a total shock. He’s all over the place. He’s even said things like there’s no point in him carrying on without her.’

‘How’s he going to cope now you and Hannah are no longer there with him? Do you think he’ll want to move back to Manchester?’

Frank and Maggie Wells had lived in the Altrincham area for most of their lives, where the sisters had grown up in a large Victorian family home in a leafy, well-heeled street. But two years ago, after both taking early retirement, they’d sold up and moved to a bungalow close to the sea in Southport. Although this had always been a shared dream of theirs, it had come as a surprise to the rest of the family, particularly in light of them recently becoming grandparents. However, soon after the move, they’d revealed the devastating news that Maggie had been diagnosed with stage four breast cancer; she’d effectively relocated there to die.

Mark knew how hard it had been for Hannah to watch her mother gradually fade away, slowly getting more frail and less like her old self; increasingly reliant on the various drugs she’d been prescribed. He assumed Diane’s experience had also been tough, although he knew Hannah thought her sister hadn’t been as supportive or visited as often as she had when Maggie had got closer to the end.

Ultimately, her death had been a release, for Maggie, but also for her family. As painful as it was to lose her, at least they no longer had to watch her suffer, losing a little more of herself every day. Now they could finally move on to grieve for the strong woman she’d once been, rather than the dying patient she’d become.

‘Dad will have to manage,’ Diane replied, ‘like the rest of us. As to whether he’ll stay there or not, that’s up to him. It’s way too early to talk about that yet. At least he seems to know plenty of people around there now. One of the neighbours, a woman called Joan, even brought him a lasagne over this afternoon.’

While they spoke about this and the funeral plans, Mark’s mind wandered. Spending so much one-to-one time with Mia over the past couple of days had affected him in ways he hadn’t predicted.

Despite usually feeling disconnected and indifferent towards children, Mark had been surprised to find he really enjoyed spending time with Mia. Okay, the weeing in the car hadn’t been much fun, but apart from that she’d been consistently cute. There hadn’t been the slightest hint of a toddler tantrum.

Little Mia, who was usually too busy with Hannah to notice him, had hung on his every word. She’d made him feel special in a way he hadn’t experienced before. At certain moments she’d unexpectedly planted a kiss on his cheek or climbed on his knee for a ‘huggle buggle’, as she called it, melting his heart.

Occasionally she’d pulled an exaggerated sad face and mentioned her late grandmother, clearly trying to process what Diane had told her before leaving. ‘Granny’s gone, Uncle Mark. I miss her,’ she’d said several times, shaking her head and shrugging in a way that made her look far older than her years.

When he’d tucked her up in bed that evening, having read her the same story three times – about a cat who was scared of going to the vet – a very earnest Mia had told him: ‘I love you, Uncle Mark.’

‘Thank you, Mia,’ he’d replied, overwhelmed. ‘That’s nice of you to say. I, um … I love you too.’

And even though he’d only said so because she’d said it first, there had been a certain truth in his words that had got Mark thinking.

It was this he was still mulling over as he and Diane spoke in the kitchen later. He felt a fondness for Mia unlike anything he’d experienced towards a child before; he wondered if it might in fact be something biological.

Despite falling pregnant alarmingly soon after that awful night – the one Mark wished he could banish from his memory forever – Diane had always fervently denied any chance of his being Mia’s father. Of course he’d asked her. As much as it pained him to dig up what had happened between them and despite having no desire to be a dad, Mark wasn’t the kind of person to bury his head in the sand. He was a man who faced up to his responsibilities. Ironically, this had been ingrained in Mark by the same tragedy from his past that had shaped his desire not to be a father, having been badly let down as a child by someone who should have watched over him.

But Diane had always seemed so dismissive, like it was a ridiculous suggestion. Eventually, he’d accepted it and moved on. The fact it was easier this way had been an added bonus.

And yet, as far as he knew, Diane had never told anyone the father’s identity, not even Hannah or their parents, which was weird. She’d not been in a relationship around that time – not publicly anyway – and had taken the stance that it was no one’s business but hers.

‘Would you like a drink before you head off?’ Diane asked, having described to Mark the type of coffin they’d agreed on for Maggie’s funeral. ‘I’ve got plenty of wine and beer,’ she added, gesturing towards the fridge, ‘unless you’ve drunk it all while you’ve been here.’

Normally he’d have said no and headed home. He usually avoided being alone with Diane at all costs, in light of their chequered past. But he needed to address his thoughts about Mia.

‘Go on then,’ he replied. ‘I’ll have a quick beer. And don’t worry: there’s plenty left. I’ve not had a drop while I’ve been responsible for Mia.’

Diane raised an eyebrow. ‘Great.’ She walked over to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of Grolsch.

Mark fought to keep his breathing steady.

As his sister-in-law opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a bottle opener, he noticed she was wearing a green top very like one his wife had.

‘You and Hannah must have similar taste,’ he said, making small talk in a bid to calm himself down.

‘Oh?’ she replied, turning around and pouting in a way that made him uncomfortable. ‘How so?’

Mark cleared his throat, wishing he’d chosen his words more carefully. ‘I, er, just mean what you’re wearing. That, um, top. I think she might have the same one.’

Diane laughed. ‘Oh, okay, I get you. Well spotted. She does have exactly the same top – this one, in fact. I borrowed it from her this morning. Nice, isn’t it?’

Mark managed an awkward laugh, shuffling his feet on the tiled kitchen floor.

‘So you managed all right with Mia?’ Diane asked after they’d moved through into the small lounge. ‘Everything seems in good order. Hannah and I were surprised not to get more phone calls from you.’

‘Yes, we muddled through. The instructions you left were a big help.’ He paused before adding: ‘She’s a lovely little girl.’

Mark’s mind skipped into overdrive. He asked himself repeatedly why exactly he thought Mia might be his child, apart from the obvious fact that he and her mother had slept together soon before Diane fell pregnant.

Did he see himself in her? God, that was a hard question to answer. She had green eyes, like he did, but a lighter shade. They were piercing in a way that reminded him more of the pale blue eyes that Hannah and Diane shared. Her hair was dark brown, like his. But that was also her mother’s natural colour and Mia’s hair was straighter than either of theirs. Just like some other man’s hair, perhaps.

As for the rest … who could say?

Maybe he was being stupid, delusional. Could spending time with only a three-year-old for company mess with your mind? Plus there was the fact that Diane had just lost her mother, which probably made this an inappropriate moment to raise such a sensitive issue. He was tempted not to say anything after all.

Then he remembered how it had felt to hear Mia say she loved him; to hold her cool little hand in his while walking through the park that afternoon. There was definitely a connection between the two of them. He felt it in his gut – and he had to know the truth. So he grabbed the bull by the horns.

‘Listen, Diane. I need to ask you something about Mia. I’ve really enjoyed spending time with her. More than I ever imagined. I know you’ve said otherwise in the past, but … she’s mine, isn’t she? I know she is. I can feel it. Please tell me the truth.’

Diane stared at him for a long moment, poker-faced. She slowly began to nod her head and then, in a voice that sounded so calm it was almost menacing, she said: ‘Well, this is a surprise. Your timing is lousy, but fine, I get it. I’ll tell you the truth if that’s what you really want, Mark.’