My Sister’s Lies: A gripping novel of love, loss and dark family secrets. S.D. Robertson
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words; digging himself deeper. But what choice did he have?
Mark read the letter through a fourth time. He was hoping to miraculously uncover some further answers or explanation: a little detail perhaps, which he might have missed on the previous occasions due to shock. But he found nothing of the sort.
Letting out a long, frustrated sigh, he folded the paper up, slid it back into the envelope, folded that in half and shoved it firmly into his pocket. Destroying it would probably be the wisest thing to do, but Mark knew he’d want to read it again. No, he’d have to hide it somewhere that Hannah, and Mia for that matter, wouldn’t find it. His work briefcase would probably be the safest option. As usual, it was full of business-related paperwork he’d brought home in the hope of finding a spare moment over the weekend to catch up on a few things. Hannah was extremely unlikely to look in there and, for extra peace of mind, he could also lock it with a small key. Then on Monday he could stash the letter somewhere in his desk at work.
So there was one tiny problem solved. If only that was all he had to worry about.
Mark held his head in his hands and fought to clear his thoughts.
He knew there was no point in feeling sorry for himself, or wishing none of this was happening, because it was. Fact of life.
His only option at this moment was to put on a brave face and pretend everything was all right. He had to do his utmost not to give the slightest indication to Hannah or Mia of there being a problem. Otherwise he was finished.
‘Come on!’ he said under his breath, slapping both cheeks with his hands to shock himself into action. Keeping a cool head in a crisis was the kind of thing he did at work all the time. He could manage this. It was the only way.
So Mark jumped to his feet.
Standing tall, willing his mind to follow his body’s example, he paced purposefully in the direction of home.
Hannah was standing outside the spare bedroom, or Mia’s room as it had now temporarily become, with her right ear to the closed door.
She was listening to see if she could hear any sound from within; trying to work out whether her niece was awake yet. It was 10.05 a.m. on Monday: two days since Diane had left Mia in her and Mark’s care.
Hannah had been awake since just before 7 a.m. when Mark had kissed her goodbye as he left for the office. She always found it hard to sleep in when it got light so early during the summer months. Blackout curtains or blinds would fix that. But she actually quite liked to be up early: to gaze out of the window and watch the city below move through its own morning routines while she did the same from the comfort of the apartment.
Off her and Mark’s bedroom, as well as an en-suite bathroom, was a small balcony with a table and two chairs. Sometimes she liked to drink a cup of tea or coffee there and enjoy the sounds as well as the sights of Manchester. There was a communal garden on the roof, which had sounded wonderful when they’d moved in, although in practice they rarely ever used it.
If Hannah was going properly outside – actually leaving the apartment – she preferred to do so at street level. There was so much more to see close up: not least a bottomless supply of characters and dialogue to feed her fiction.
Unfortunately, the weather today didn’t make her want to go outside at all. Not even on to the balcony. The sunshine of the past few days had vanished, replaced by grey skies and incessant drizzle. Typical Manchester weather.
It made Hannah feel sorry for all the schoolkids, like Mia, who were finally free from the constraints of education and deserved better. It was the end of July, for goodness’ sake. Mind you, if Mia was planning to stay in bed all day, the weather didn’t really matter.
Hannah tiptoed away from her position in front of the bedroom door, having stayed there for at least a minute without hearing any sign of life whatsoever. She walked through to the lounge, shutting the door behind her and finally feeling like she could make some noise again. Just as well this wasn’t one of the typical open-plan apartments that were so prevalent nowadays. Hannah and Mark had specifically sought out one like this, with separate rooms around a central hallway, which they both preferred. In the last few days, thanks to their unexpected visitors, it had proved useful.
But what was she doing, creeping around her own home? It was ridiculous when she thought about it. And in doing so, rather than making the noises she normally would at this time on a Monday morning, she was only increasing the likelihood of Mia staying in bed longer.
So what should she do: start hoovering? No, that would be a bit over the top. She hadn’t had breakfast yet, thinking it rude to do so without her guest; how much longer was she going to have to wait? Until what time did fourteen-year-olds usually sleep? Mia had been up of her own accord by 9 a.m. yesterday, although the sound of Hannah and Mark moving around and chatting had probably roused her.
What if the poor thing was lying awake in her bed, waiting to hear Hannah moving around, and, because she’d been so quiet, still hadn’t got up?
Wow. Who would have guessed how awkward this was going to be?
Hannah made a decision: she’d switch the radio on here in the lounge, not too loud but enough to make it obvious she was up and about. If that hadn’t worked by 10.30 a.m., she’d start making breakfast and knock on Mia’s door to let her know.
Meanwhile, after tuning the hi-fi in to Radio 2, she looked over at the desk in the corner of the room. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the laptop lying there on top of it, gathering dust next to the printer. That was where she ought to have been for the last couple of hours. Instead of worrying about what time her niece would get up and how they would spend the day together, she could have used this quiet period to get some writing done.
Hannah’s first novel was due to be published next January. Although that was still a way off, she’d finished working on it now, at least in terms of writing and editing. However, from what her editor and publicist had told her, there would be plenty more to do promotion-wise near to release. She didn’t even want to think about that yet. It made her nervous. Meanwhile, her mind was on the next novel: the second part of the two-book deal she’d signed, which she was due to deliver next March.
She hadn’t even got halfway through her first draft yet and, although her editor had been enthusiastic about the synopsis she’d written initially, Hannah was far from happy with how it was going. There was still plenty of time, but she wanted to get ahead of the game, particularly as she feared not being able to produce something as good as her debut release.
Chatting in bed last night, Mark had asked her how she was getting on with it.
‘Um, okay, I guess.’
‘That doesn’t sound too convincing, Han. What’s up? Anything I can help with?’
‘Not really, unless you want to write it for me.’
Mark had crossed his eyes at this and pulled a wonky face. ‘Hmm. Maybe not. Don’t think I’ve got that in me like you, darling. I could read what you’ve got so far, if that would help.’
‘No, thanks,’ she’d replied, somehow finding a way to grin despite her frustration. ‘It’s not fit for human consumption yet.’
‘Hey, I never said I wanted to eat it,’ Mark had replied, deadpan. ‘I love you a lot – but not that much.’
‘You know what I mean. I’m just not very happy with it at the moment. I suppose I’m anxious the publishers will be disappointed. And that March deadline somehow doesn’t feel very far away.’
Mark had reassured her, as he was always so good at doing, that such doubts were only normal in the circumstances. He’d recommended she have a chat with her literary agent, Bruce Wilks, about them.
‘Yeah, maybe,’ she’d replied. ‘But I don’t want him to start doubting me