The Girl Below(54)

“Not exactly. But I think we’re related.”

“I thought so,” she said. “You look like my cousin.”

“And you must be Lily?”

“Mum called me after a flower because she thought I was going to be pretty.”

“You are pretty,” I said, although I’d felt the same way at her age.

“I’m not. I wear glasses. Which means I can’t be a ballerina. Not a proper one.” She attempted a pirouette and crashed into my shoulder. “See?”

“You just need to practice,” I said. “Besides, I used to wear glasses like yours and now I don’t.”

She looked quizzically into my eyes. “Did you get new eyes?”

“No, but I have tiny glasses inside my eyes.”

“Ouch,” she said. “That might be too painful for me.”

I stood up and noticed that Rowan had been watching us from the front porch. Lily ran to her and was pulled into a hug.

“It’s my cousin,” she said, kissing her mother. “My new cousin!”

Rowan kept her arm around Lily, blocking the door. “Ludo’s on his way home,” she said. “He shouldn’t be too long.” An older boy appeared in the doorway behind them. He looked me over then went back inside.

“You better come in,” said Rowan.

Their house was messy and smelled of wet dogs. Rowan told me to wait in the kitchen, where a round, dark-skinned woman was gathering her things together. Rowan handed her an envelope and they chatted for a few minutes about the children’s day before the woman, who must have been a nanny, left. Seconds later, Rowan and the boy—who must have been Simon—were swallowed up by the huge house and I was left alone in the kitchen. Lily had parked herself in front of the TV in the next room, occasionally glancing over her shoulder at me to see if I was still there.

I’d made a mistake coming here, I realized. I was unwelcome. But I was also filled with the same overwhelming longing that I’d felt as an eight-year-old, waiting for my father to come home after a business trip, his arms laden with big, guilty presents. Often, that longing had been the best part, better than actually seeing him.

After almost an hour in the kitchen, tires crunched on gravel and a car door slammed. He was home.

The man who walked into the kitchen was smaller than I’d expected, and very nearly bald. But I recognized his eyes, never smiling in unison with his mouth.

After all this time, what should I call him? “Hi, Dad.”

“Suki,” he said, pronouncing my name as if he hadn’t said it, or perhaps even thought it, for many years. He came forward and shook my hand, then briefly and clumsily touched my shoulder. “What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

He was starchy, as if he had just been introduced to a stranger. “I’m on vacation,” I said, and looked at Rowan, who had arrived and stood in the doorway.

“Well, it’s certainly a surprise,” said my father. “When Ro called me up I could hardly believe it.”

She moved to his side. “I believed it,” she said. “As soon as I saw you, I knew who you were.” She paused. “And why you were here.”

Her tone was oddly suspicious, as though I had come to steal the family silver, but any awkwardness was softened by Lily, who launched herself at Ludo and covered him with kisses. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” she squealed. “You’re home early! Is it because you wanted to see our cousin?”

Ludo looked puzzled. “Your cousin?”

“She’s our sister, you dummy,” said Simon, who had sidled in and was hovering near his mother.

“I don’t have a sister,” said Lily. “Only a stinky brother.”

Rowan looked sharply at Simon. “Don’t. She doesn’t understand.”

I had been trying to ignore their exchange, but it was hard when I was standing right there. Lily fell quiet and leaned into our father’s neck as if she had done something wrong. “You’re confusing her,” said Simon, and sulkily left the room. He was about ten or eleven, as old as my father’s new marriage, old enough to have been conceived before they left England. As soon as I figured that out, I wished I hadn’t done the math.

“You will stay for dinner, won’t you?” said Ludo, impersonating a country squire.

“Is there anywhere else around here to eat?”

Ludo snorted then turned to Rowan. “Well, darling, it looks like word about your awful cooking has finally reached London.”

“It was a joke,” I said, wishing I hadn’t made it. “I was trying to say how remote this place was—this place is so remote that I’d be lucky to find anywhere else to eat.”