Sister Sister(7)

‘You wouldn’t think it would be so difficult to find someone today,’ says Tom. ‘A bit different when we were trying to find her.’

‘I suppose she could have a different surname. I mean, she’s in her early twenties, she could even be married. Perhaps she doesn’t want to be found.’

‘There is always that. Have you said as much to your mum?’

‘It’s been mentioned. Mum’s not stupid, but she doesn’t feel she can let it go until she knows one way or another. It’s just so hard to deal with the level of emotion swirling around at this time of year, it frightens me. I don’t know how to channel it.’

Tom’s phone rings. It’s an internal call.

‘Hello, Nina. Yes, she’s here,’ he glances up at me while he listens to the receptionist. I watch his face grow serious. ‘Okay, thanks … Hi, Luke, it’s Tom. I’ll just pass you over.’

He holds out the receiver to me. Luke never rings me at work. The rule is only in case of an emergency.

I snatch the phone from Tom’s hand. ‘Luke. What’s wrong? Is it the girls?’

‘No. The girls are fine,’ says Luke, but I can detect the unease in his voice. I brace myself. ‘Your mum is okay too,’ he says, as if anticipating my unspoken question. ‘Nothing bad has happened …’

‘What is it, then?’

‘Your mum’s had a bit of a shock. You need to come home.’

‘A shock? What do you mean?’ I look across the desk at Tom, as if he can somehow help.

He gestures to the phone. ‘Want me to speak to him?’

I shake my head. Luke is talking again. ‘Listen, Babe. Your mum’s received a letter.’ He pauses and I imagine him shifting uncomfortably on his feet. I can feel the tension through the phone line. ‘A letter … from Alice.’

‘Alice?’ I gulp for air.

‘Yep, Alice.’

‘Alice, as in my sister Alice?’

‘So it seems.’

‘Shit.’ I’m already rising to my feet; my legs feel like jelly and I reach out a hand to steady myself against the back of the chair. ‘I’ll be right there.’





Chapter 3


Dear Marion

I am sure this letter must come as a total surprise to you, or at least a shock. I’ve been debating for some time whether I should write and I have started this letter so many times only to scrap it and start again. I mean, what do you say to your mom when you haven’t seen her for twenty years? I didn’t know if contacting you was the right thing to do, but not contacting you seemed the wrong thing.

You may wonder why I haven’t written to you before, but up until recently, I’ve not had your contact details and it’s not been something I’ve been able to discuss with my father. It was just something I knew right from an early age I wasn’t to ask about. I was so young when I came to America, I only have a few fragmented memories of England, but the ones I do have are precious to me.

I can remember baking cakes with you, those butter-cream ones with multi-coloured sprinkles, and being allowed to lick the bowl afterwards. Being read a bedtime story, my favourite one was about a cat who didn’t like fish. I have a strong memory of being pushed on a swing, squealing with delight as I begged to go higher and higher. I wanted to kick the clouds with my feet, which I imagined would be soft and squidgy like marshmallows.

I remember your smile, such a lovely smile. In my mind you laughed a lot and always wore pink lipstick. Not a bright, vivid colour, but a pale pink, which shimmered when you spoke. Sometimes, when I played dressing-up with Clare, you’d let us wear your lipstick. I would make an ‘o’ shape with my mouth, just as I had seen you do every day.

I’ve really tried to hang onto these memories, they have always been very special to me. My father didn’t like me talking about England and as the time passed and the time apart from England grew, so did the distance in my mind. I don’t know when I stopped thinking about my home in England every night, when the days in between those thoughts stretched into weeks and then into months but the memories have always been there, I just stopped visiting them.

I hope you can understand that I haven’t ever forgotten you or Clare, I was just so young and my life was being steered in a different direction. I always secretly fantasised that one day I would find you or you would find me and now that I have, I hope so much that we can be in touch.

I don’t know if you are aware but my father, Patrick, died last year and your address was given to me by my stepmom, Roma. She said it was the right thing to do, that she had always wanted me to be able to contact you, it’s just that my father had prevented this. I don’t know what happened between you and my father, as I say, it’s always been a taboo subject. But whatever happened, I want you to know that I have always had this sense that I was very loved by you and, ultimately, this is what has convinced me to write to you.