We all involuntarily glance at the clock. Jessica’s train should arrive at Oxshott in five minutes. Five minutes!
“Toodle-oo!” There’s a knocking at the back door and we all look round, to see Janice peering through the glass.
Oh my goodness. Where did she get that sparkly blue eyeshadow?
Please don’t let her give any to Mum, I find myself praying.
“Come on in, Janice!” says Mum, opening the door. “And Tom! What a nice surprise!”
Blimey, Tom’s looking rough. His hair is rumpled and unwashed, his hands are all blistered and cut, and there’s a deep furrow in his brow.
“We just came to wish you luck,” says Janice. “Not that you need it!” She pops her box of Canderel sugar substitute down on the counter, then turns to look at me. “So, Becky. A sister!”
“Congratulations,” says Tom. “Or whatever you say.”
“I know!” I say. “Isn’t it amazing?”
Janice shakes her head and looks at Mum a bit reproachfully.
“I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this a secret from us, Jane!”
“We wanted Becky to be the first to know,” says Mum, patting me on the shoulder. “Hazelnut whirl, Janice?”
“Lovely!” says Janice, taking a biscuit from the plate and sitting down. She nibbles it thoughtfully for a few moments, then looks up. “What I don’t understand is . . . why did this girl get in touch? After all this time?”
“There was a very good reason,” I say with an air of solemn drama. “It’s because we’ve got a hereditary disease.”
Janice gives a little scream.
“A disease! Jane! You never told me that!”
“It’s not a disease,” says Mum. “Becky, you know it’s not a disease! It’s a ‘factor.’ ”
“A . . . ‘factor’?” echoes Janice, looking even more horrified than before. “What kind of factor?” I can see her eyeing her hazelnut whirl as though she’s afraid it might contaminate her.
“It’s not life-threatening!” laughs Mum. “It’s just a blood disorder, which can be a risk in certain situations. In surgery, for example. The blood clots too thickly. . . .”
“Don’t!” Janice winces. “I can’t bear talking about blood!”
“The doctors told Jess she should warn other members of her family to get tested, and that was the spur. She’d always known she had a father somewhere but didn’t know his name.”
“So she asked her mother who her long-lost father was. . . .” Janice chimes in avidly, as though she’s following a Ruth Rendell miniseries on the telly.
“Her mother is dead,” explains Mum.
“Dead!” exclaims Janice, looking appalled. “From the blood factor?”
“No,” Mum responds patiently. “From a car crash. But her aunt had the name of Jessica’s father written down in an old diary. So she got it out and gave it to Jessica.”
“And what was the name?” breathes Janice.
There’s a pause.
“Mum, it was Graham!” says Tom, rolling his eyes. “Graham Bloomwood. Obviously.”
“Oh yes,” says Janice, looking almost let down. “Of course it was. Well, goodness me.” She exhales sharply. “What a dreadful shock. For all of you.”
“We were in quite a state when we got the news,” Mum admits. “You know, that’s why we didn’t come to the Hawaiian quiz evening at the church. Graham didn’t really have a migraine.”
“I knew it!” says Janice. “I said to Martin at the time, ‘Something’s not right with the Bloomwoods.’ But I had no idea it was a long-lost family member!”
“Well,” says Mum comfortingly, “how could you?”
Janice is silent for a moment, taking it all in. Then suddenly she stiffens and lays a hand on Mum’s arm.
“Jane. Just be careful. Has this girl laid any claim to Graham’s fortune? Has he altered his will in her favor?”
OK. Janice has definitely been watching too many TV murder mysteries.
“Janice!” says Mum with a laugh. “No! It’s nothing like that. As it happens, Jess’s family is”—she lowers her voice discreetly—“rather well-off.”
“Ah!” breathes Janice.
Mum lowers her voice still further. “They’re rather big in frozen food.”
“Oh, I see,” says Janice. “So she’s not all alone in the world, then.”
“Oh no,” says Mum, back to normal. “She’s got a stepfather and two brothers. Or is it three?”
“But no sisters,” I chime in. “We’ve both had that gap in our life. That . . . unfulfilled longing.”
Everyone turns to look at me.
“Have you had an unfulfilled longing, Becky?” asks Janice.
“Oh yes. Definitely.” I take a pensive sip of coffee. “Looking back, I think I always somehow knew I had a sister.”
“Really, love?” Mum says in surprise. “You never mentioned it.”
“I never said anything.” I give Janice a brave smile. “But deep down I knew.”
“Goodness!” says Janice. “How did you know?”
“I felt it in here,” I say, clasping my hands to my chest. “It was as if . . . a part of me was missing.”
I make a sweeping gesture with my hand—and make the mistake of catching Luke’s eye.
“Which particular part of you was missing?” he says with apparent interest. “Not a vital organ, I hope.”
God, he has no heart. None. Last night, he kept reading out bits from my Long-Lost Sisters book, then looking up and saying, “You cannot be serious.”
“The soul mate part, actually,” I shoot back.
“Thanks.” He raises his eyebrows.
“Not that kind of soul mate! A sisterly soul mate!”
“What about Suzie?” says Mum, looking over in surprise. “She’s been like a sister to you, surely. She’s such a dear girl.”
“Friends come and go,” I say, looking away. “She’s not like family. She doesn’t understand me like a true sister would.”
Janice looks at Mum sympathetically. “You’re being very brave, dear. But you must have suffered when you found out.”
“It was difficult,” says Mum, sitting down at the table. “I can’t pretend it wasn’t. Although, of course, the affair happened long before Graham met me.”
“Of course!” Janice says hastily. “Of course it did! I wasn’t for a moment suggesting that . . . that he . . . you . . .”
She breaks off, flustered, and takes a gulp of coffee.
“And in some ways . . .” Mum pauses, stirring her drink, with a rueful smile. “In some ways it was to be expected. Graham was quite the Don Juan when he was younger. It’s no wonder he found women throwing themselves at him.”
“That’s . . . right,” Janice says doubtfully.
Dad? Don Juan?
I try to picture him standing at some glamorous bar, with his seventies mustache and a wide, patterned tie, surrounded by gorgeous women drinking martinis. Then my gaze drifts out the window to see him coming over the lawn, toward the back door. His graying hair is all tousled, his face is red, and even though I’ve told him a million times not to, he’s wearing socks inside his sandals.
“Women could never resist him,” says Mum. “That’s the truth of it.” She brightens a little. “But we’re having therapy to help us through the crisis. At the new holistic health center in Wood Street.”
“Therapy?” I echo in astonishment. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely!” says Dad, coming in at the back door. “We’ve had three sessions already.”
“She’s a very nice girl, our therapist,” says Mum. “Although a bit nervy. Like all these young people.”
Wow. I had no idea Mum and Dad were having therapy. But it makes sense. I mean, bloody hell. How would I feel if Luke suddenly announced he had a long-lost daughter?
“Therapy!” Janice is saying. “I can hardly believe it!”
“We have to be realistic, Janice,” says Mum. “You ca
n’t expect this kind of revelation to have no repercussions.”
“A discovery of this scale can tear a family apart,” agrees Dad, popping a hazelnut whirl into his mouth. “It can rock the very foundations of a marriage.”
“Goodness.” Janice claps a hand over her mouth, looking from Mum to Dad and back with wide eyes. “What . . . what sort of repercussions are you expecting?”
“There’ll be anger, I expect,” Mum says knowledgeably. “Recriminations. Coffee, Graham?”
“Yes, thanks, love.” He beams at her.
“Therapy is a pile of crap,” says Tom suddenly. “I tried it with Lucy.”
We all turn and look at him. He’s holding a cup of coffee in both hands and glowering at us over the top of it.
“The therapist was a woman,” he adds, as though that explains everything.
“I think they often are, love,” Mum says cautiously.
“She took Lucy’s side. She said she could understand her frustrations.” Tom’s hands clench more tightly round his cup. “What about my frustrations? Lucy was supposed to be my wife! But she wasn’t interested in any of my projects. Not the conservatory, not the en suite bathroom—”
“I love your summerhouse, Tom!” I cut in quickly. “It’s very . . . big!”
In fact, it’s monstrous. I nearly died when I saw it out the window this morning. It’s three stories high, with gables and a deck.
“We’re just a bit worried about the planning regulations, aren’t we?” says Janice, nervously glancing at Tom. “We’re worried it might be classed as a residence.”
“Well, it’s a real achievement!” I say encouragingly. “To build something like that!”
“I enjoy working with wood,” Tom says in a gruff voice. “Wood doesn’t let you down.” He drains his cup. “In fact, I’d better get back to it. Hope it all goes well.”
As the back door closes behind him there’s an awkward silence.
“He wants to make a boat next,” says Janice, looking strained. “A boat, on the lawn!”
“Janice, have another coffee,” Mum says soothingly. “Shall I put a splash of sherry in it?”
Janice looks torn.
“Better not,” she says at last. “Not before twelve.”
She rootles in her handbag and produces a little pill, which she pops into her mouth. Then she zips up her bag again and smiles brightly. “So! What does Jessica look like?”
“She’s . . . she’s nice-looking,” begins Mum. “Isn’t she, Graham?”
“Very nice-looking!” says Dad. “Tall . . . slim . . .”
“Dark hair,” adds Mum. “Quite a reserved girl, if you know what I mean.”
I’m listening avidly as they describe her. Although I glimpsed her in the street that day we got back, the sunlight was so bright and I was so distracted by Mum and Dad’s weird behavior, I only got a vague impression. So all week I’ve been trying to build on that image. Mum and Dad keep saying how tall and slim she is, so I’ve kind of pictured her like Courteney Cox. All willowy and elegant, in a white silk trouser suit, maybe.
I keep having visions of our first meeting. We’ll fling our arms round each other, and then she’ll smile at me, brushing away the tears, and I’ll smile back . . . and we’ll have an instant connection. Like we already know each other and understand each other better than anyone else in the world.
I mean, who knows? Maybe it’ll turn out that we’ll have sisterly psychic powers. Or maybe we’ll be like the twins I read about in Long-Lost Sisters, who were separated at birth but went on to have the same jobs and marry men with the same name.
I’m gripped by this idea. Maybe it’ll turn out that Jessica is a personal shopper, too, and is married to a man called Luke! She’ll turn up in exactly the same Marc Jacobs jacket as me, and we can go on breakfast TV and everyone will say—
Oh, except she’s not a personal shopper, I suddenly remember. She’s training to be a doctor. Doctor of geography.
No. Geology.
But then . . . didn’t I once think about training to be a doctor? I mean, that can’t be just coincidence.
“And where does she live?” Janice is asking.
“In the North,” says Mum. “A village called Scully. In Cumbria.”
“The North!” says Janice, with as much trepidation as though Mum’s said the North Pole. “That’s a long way to travel! What time does she arrive?”
“Well.” Mum looks at the clock and frowns. “That’s a point. She should have arrived by now. Graham, love, what time does Jess’s train get in?”
“I thought it was about now. . . .” Dad’s brow wrinkles. “Maybe I should phone the station. See if there’s been a problem.”
“I’ll do it if you like,” says Luke, looking up from the newspaper.
“She did say she’d phone . . .” Mum begins, as Dad goes out to the hall telephone.
Suddenly the doorbell rings.
We all stare at each other, frozen. A few moments later, Dad’s voice comes from the hall. “I think it’s her!”
Oh my God.
She’s here. My new sister. My new soul mate!
“I’ll slip away,” says Janice. “Let you have your precious family moment.” She squeezes my hand, then disappears out the back door.
“Let me just tidy my hair,” says Mum, hurrying out to the hall mirror.
“Quick!” I say. “Where’s the present?”
“Here it is,” says Luke, handing me the cellophane-wrapped gift basket. “And Becky . . .” He puts a hand on my arm.
“What?” I say impatiently. “What is it?”
“I know you’re excited to meet Jessica,” he says. “And so am I. But remember. You are strangers. I’d just . . . take it easy.”
“We’re not strangers!” I say in astonishment. “She’s my sister! We’ve got the same blood in us!”
Honestly. Doesn’t Luke know anything?
I hurry out to the hall, clutching the basket. Through the frosted glass pane of the front door I can see an indistinct, blurry figure.
“By the way,” says Mum as we advance toward the door, “she likes to be called Jess.”
“Ready?” says Dad with a twinkle.
This is the moment! I quickly adjust my jacket, smooth down my hair, and put on my widest, most welcoming and loving smile.
Dad reaches for the handle and pulls back the front door with a flourish.
And there, standing on the doorstep, is my sister.
Ten
My first thought is that she’s not exactly like Courteney Cox. Nor is she wearing a white silk trouser suit.
Her dark hair is cropped short, and she’s wearing a plain, workmanlike brown shirt over jeans. I guess it’s a kind of . . . utility chic.
And she’s pretty! Prettyish. Even though I’d say her makeup is maybe a bit too natural.
“Hi,” she says in a flat, matter-of-fact voice.
“Hi!” I say tremulously. “I’m Becky! Your long-lost sister!”
I’m about to rush forward and fling my arms around her neck when I realize that I’m holding the basket. So instead, I thrust it at her. “This is from me!”
“It’s a present, love!” Mum adds helpfully.
“Thanks,” says Jess, looking down at it. “That’s great.”
There’s a short silence. I’m waiting for Jess to tear off the wrappings impatiently, or say “Can I open it right now?” or even just exclaim “Ooh, Origins! My favorite!” But she just puts it down on the hall table.
She’s probably being polite, it occurs to me. I mean, she’s never met me before. Maybe she thinks I’m all formal and correct, and she has to be too. What I must do is put her at her ease.
“I just can’t believe you’re here,” I say momentously. “The sister I never knew I had.” I put a hand on her arm and look right into her eyes, which are hazel with little specks.
Oh my God. We’re bonding. This is just like one of the scenes in my Long-Lost Sisters book!
“You knew, didn’t you?” I say, smiling to conceal my rising emotion. “Didn’t you somehow know you had a sister all along?”
“No,” says Jess, looking blank. “I had no idea.”
“Oh, right,” I say, feeling a bit discomfited.
She wasn’t supposed to say that. She was supposed to say “I always felt you in my heart!” and burst into tears.
I’m not quite sure what to say next.
“Anyway!” Mum says cheerfully. “Come on in, Jess! You must need some coffee after your journey!”
As Mum ushers Jess in, I look in surprise at the brown rucksack she’s carrying. It’s not very big at all. And she’s staying a whole week at the conference!
“Is that all your luggage?” I say.
“That’s all I need.” She shrugs. “I’m a light packer.”
“Did you FedEx the rest?” I say in an undertone, and give her a friendly “I understand” look.
“No.” She glances at Mum. “This is all I’ve brought.”
“It’s OK.” I smile conspiratorially. “I won’t say anything.”
I knew we’d be kindred spirits. I knew it.
“Welcome, my dear girl!” says Dad.
As he gives Jess a hug, I suddenly feel a bit weird. It’s as though it’s hitting me for the first time. Dad has another daughter. Not just me.
But then . . . that’s what families are about, isn’t it? Getting bigger. Adding new members.
“This is Luke, my husband,” I say quickly.
“How do you do?” he says pleasantly, coming forward. As he shakes her hand I feel a little glow of pride in each of them. I look at Mum, and she gives me an encouraging smile.
“Let’s go through!” She leads the way into the living room, where there are flowers on the table, and plates of biscuits laid out invitingly. We all sit down, Jess looking a little uncomfortable on the soft, squashy sofa.
This is unreal.
I’m sitting opposite my half sister. As Mum pours out the coffee I peer at Jess, mapping her face onto mine, trying to see the similarities between us. And there are loads! Or at least . . . some.
She’s got pretty much the same eyes as mine, except a different color and a slightly different shape. Plus her nose would be just like mine if it didn’t have that pointy end. And her hair would be exactly the same—if she just grew it a bit and dyed it and maybe put on a deep-conditioning treatment.