My Sister’s Lies: A gripping novel of love, loss and dark family secrets. S.D. Robertson
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heard the sound of Mark letting out a long sigh on the other end of the line. ‘It’s tricky, isn’t it, darling? Despite everything, they’re still family. And none of this is Mia’s fault. It’s hard for me to form a proper opinion without having seen them for myself. What’s your gut feeling? Do you think Diane’s here with good intentions or, I don’t know, that she’s up to something? How does she seem? Is she behaving strangely or—’
‘She’s like my sister, but older.’ Lowering her voice to little more than a whisper, Hannah went on: ‘She does look tired and anxious. Not chatty at all. There’s definitely something weighing on her mind. My guess is she needs our help in some way. Money, perhaps? That might explain why she wants to stay with us rather than in a hotel. You can see for yourself when you get home. Let’s wait until then and we’ll make a joint decision about them sleeping over. How long are you likely to be?’
‘I need to reply to a couple of emails and then I’ll head straight back. I’ll be home soon, I promise.’
‘Good. Please hurry. I’m running out of things to say.’
Luckily, Mark’s office was also located in the centre of Manchester, only a fifteen-minute walk from the apartment. True to his word, he returned home in around half an hour, although to a struggling Hannah it had felt like forever.
She’d almost resorted to turning on the television, although doing so in the presence of guests was one of her pet hates. Instead, she’d gone for an artificially extended trip to the bathroom before busying herself about the kitchen making another cup of tea for everyone.
‘There you are,’ she said, dashing to the front door as soon as she heard the key in the lock.
Mark was dressed in his usual work attire of a dark suit and open-necked shirt, his tan leather briefcase swinging from his left hand and his door key in the right. He looked as tall and handsome as always, his short but thick salt-and-pepper hair lightly ruffled, and a five o’clock shadow lining his square jaw. If anything, he’d got better looking with age. At forty-five, three years older than Hannah, he’d retained his slim and sporty physique, unlike some of his tubby contemporaries. But he’d done so in a natural rather than gym-crafted way, thanks to regular squash games and the odd run, combined with sensible eating and drinking.
Hannah had always been proud to call this dashing, intelligent and yet grounded man her husband. The fact he also had a good job as chief financial officer for a fast-expanding tech firm – well paid enough to enable her to pursue her literary ambitions – was the icing on the cake.
Now, with sibling rivalries suddenly back on the agenda, she recalled how she used to feel like she’d got one up on her sister by marrying such a catch. Looking at him standing before her in the hall today, she felt it again. Diane had Mia – but she had Mark.
In a loud voice meant for the ears of their guests, she asked: ‘Did you have a good day, love?’
‘Yes, thanks. It was fine.’
‘I have a surprise for you,’ she added, voice still raised. ‘We’ve got some unexpected guests. You’ll never guess who.’
Hannah really wished she didn’t feel the need to do this: to hide from Diane that she’d phoned for backup. But she did nonetheless, tumbling back into bad habits, because Diane had always been so independent and fearless, like she could single-handedly take on the world without breaking a sweat. And now – perhaps even more so than in the past – she absolutely did not want to look weak and needy in front of her sister.
‘Do we?’ Mark replied, his mouth going along with the ruse while his eyes begged to know what was really happening. ‘That sounds intriguing.’
‘I think I’ll head to bed and read for a bit, Mum,’ Mia said after they’d finished eating. She looked across the dining table, first at Hannah and then Mark, adding: ‘Would it be all right for me to have a shower first?’
‘Of course,’ Hannah replied, even though the question hadn’t ultimately felt directed at her. ‘You know where the bathroom is. Help yourself to a towel from the pile in there and feel free to use whatever toiletries you need. The shower is pretty straightforward, but give me a shout if you need any help.’
She smiled at her niece, who pursed her lips and muttered, ‘Thanks,’ in response.
Mia still hadn’t shown much sign of coming out of her shell – at least not to Hannah. Mark, on the other hand, had had some success at getting the teenager to chat when he’d started asking her about what kinds of TV shows and films she liked. They’d both seen a lot of the Marvel superhero movies, apparently. Plus they shared an affection for this weird, nerdy cartoon about space, time travel and that kind of thing. Hannah had seen Mark watch it a few times and dismissed it as nonsense. She couldn’t remember what it was called, but it definitely wasn’t her cup of tea. Neither was the Marvel stuff, to be honest.
Her ears had pricked up, however, at Mia’s mention of reading. This was much more her field than Mark’s, who rarely found time to read anything but the paper these days. So before her niece disappeared from the dining room, she asked her what she was reading.
‘Oh, you wouldn’t have heard of it,’ Mia replied.
‘Try me,’ Hannah said, throwing Mark a glare designed to remind him not to say anything about the upcoming release of her own novel, which she’d warned him not to mention in front of Diane. It wasn’t something she was ready to share with her yet.
Mia let out a tiny, almost inaudible sigh. ‘Fine. It’s called Dust.’
‘Oh, you mean The Book of Dust by Philip Pullman?’
‘No. It’s called Dust.’
‘I see,’ Hannah replied, shaking her head. ‘You’re quite right, then. I don’t think I have heard of that. Who’s the author? Is it YA?’
Mia frowned. ‘He’s called Hugh Howey. It’s the third part of a post-apocalyptic sci-fi trilogy.’
‘She reads a lot,’ Diane explained after Mia had left the room. ‘She’s a proper bookworm, like you were at that age. A different kind of book, mind. She’s definitely not into the girly stuff. And it’s not only the arts that she does well in at school. She’s also really good at maths, computing and the sciences. She’s quite the all-rounder.’
‘Really?’ Mark said. ‘That’s interesting.’
Hannah said nothing. She knew the ‘girly stuff’ comment was a dig at the kinds of novels she used to tear through as a youngster: mainly love stories and classics by the likes of Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters, which Diane had regularly branded a waste of time. Such disparaging remarks were precisely the reason she didn’t want to mention her own book. Hannah was fiercely proud of her achievement; while a part of her wanted to boast about it, she also didn’t want to give her sister the chance to pooh-pooh it.
Diane had barely read at all as a child, so it was definitely interesting that Mia was a keen reader, especially with all the other distractions on offer these days.
Mark, obviously thinking along the same lines, continued: ‘I thought kids didn’t read books any more. That’s what you always hear in the news. They’re supposed to be permanently glued to their smartphones, right?’ He laughed, pulling his own phone out of his shirt pocket and giving it a little shake. ‘Just like the rest of us.’
‘Good point,’ Hannah added. ‘I haven’t seen Mia on a phone once. Doesn’t she have one?’
‘Oh, she has one all right,’ Diane replied. ‘She usually spends more than her fair share of time on it, believe me. She hasn’t today because I confiscated it.’
Hannah and Mark both looked at her expectantly after this, the implication