My Sister’s Lies: A gripping novel of love, loss and dark family secrets. S.D. Robertson
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even offered to come over and lend a hand, but he’d said that wasn’t necessary.
That afternoon there had also been a minor incident in his car. He’d taken Mia out to the park and, while stuck in traffic on the way back, she’d announced she needed a wee ‘right now’.
‘You can wait a few minutes, can’t you?’ Mark had asked.
Her only reply had been to shake her head vigorously, turn bright red and do it there and then in her car seat before starting to cry.
Luckily, he’d managed to keep a cool head and, somehow, to juggle cleaning the car and putting Mia in the bath and then bed before Diane arrived home.
‘Thanks so much for looking after her,’ she said after popping up to give her a kiss goodnight. ‘She’s zonked. You must have kept her busy.’
‘I did my best. I’m pretty shattered too. Maybe I should text Hannah and ask her to run me a bath.’
Diane smiled. ‘She’s probably in there herself. It’s been a tough couple of days.’
‘I bet. How’s Frank managing?’
‘He’s not. He’s in a mess. Mum might have been ill for ages, but it’s like Dad never faced up to the fact this would happen one day. I mean, it’s not something you can really prepare yourself for, is it? But the way he’s acting, you’d think she’d been fighting fit and her death was a total shock. He’s all over the place. He’s even said things like there’s no point in him carrying on without her.’
‘How’s he going to cope now you and Hannah are no longer there with him? Do you think he’ll want to move back to Manchester?’
Frank and Maggie Wells had lived in the Altrincham area for most of their lives, where the sisters had grown up in a large Victorian family home in a leafy, well-heeled street. But two years ago, after both taking early retirement, they’d sold up and moved to a bungalow close to the sea in Southport. Although this had always been a shared dream of theirs, it had come as a surprise to the rest of the family, particularly in light of them recently becoming grandparents. However, soon after the move, they’d revealed the devastating news that Maggie had been diagnosed with stage four breast cancer; she’d effectively relocated there to die.
Mark knew how hard it had been for Hannah to watch her mother gradually fade away, slowly getting more frail and less like her old self; increasingly reliant on the various drugs she’d been prescribed. He assumed Diane’s experience had also been tough, although he knew Hannah thought her sister hadn’t been as supportive or visited as often as she had when Maggie had got closer to the end.
Ultimately, her death had been a release, for Maggie, but also for her family. As painful as it was to lose her, at least they no longer had to watch her suffer, losing a little more of herself every day. Now they could finally move on to grieve for the strong woman she’d once been, rather than the dying patient she’d become.
‘Dad will have to manage,’ Diane replied, ‘like the rest of us. As to whether he’ll stay there or not, that’s up to him. It’s way too early to talk about that yet. At least he seems to know plenty of people around there now. One of the neighbours, a woman called Joan, even brought him a lasagne over this afternoon.’
While they spoke about this and the funeral plans, Mark’s mind wandered. Spending so much one-to-one time with Mia over the past couple of days had affected him in ways he hadn’t predicted.
Despite usually feeling disconnected and indifferent towards children, Mark had been surprised to find he really enjoyed spending time with Mia. Okay, the weeing in the car hadn’t been much fun, but apart from that she’d been consistently cute. There hadn’t been the slightest hint of a toddler tantrum.
Little Mia, who was usually too busy with Hannah to notice him, had hung on his every word. She’d made him feel special in a way he hadn’t experienced before. At certain moments she’d unexpectedly planted a kiss on his cheek or climbed on his knee for a ‘huggle buggle’, as she called it, melting his heart.
Occasionally she’d pulled an exaggerated sad face and mentioned her late grandmother, clearly trying to process what Diane had told her before leaving. ‘Granny’s gone, Uncle Mark. I miss her,’ she’d said several times, shaking her head and shrugging in a way that made her look far older than her years.
When he’d tucked her up in bed that evening, having read her the same story three times – about a cat who was scared of going to the vet – a very earnest Mia had told him: ‘I love you, Uncle Mark.’
‘Thank you, Mia,’ he’d replied, overwhelmed. ‘That’s nice of you to say. I, um … I love you too.’
And even though he’d only said so because she’d said it first, there had been a certain truth in his words that had got Mark thinking.
It was this he was still mulling over as he and Diane spoke in the kitchen later. He felt a fondness for Mia unlike anything he’d experienced towards a child before; he wondered if it might in fact be something biological.
Despite falling pregnant alarmingly soon after that awful night – the one Mark wished he could banish from his memory forever – Diane had always fervently denied any chance of his being Mia’s father. Of course he’d asked her. As much as it pained him to dig up what had happened between them and despite having no desire to be a dad, Mark wasn’t the kind of person to bury his head in the sand. He was a man who faced up to his responsibilities. Ironically, this had been ingrained in Mark by the same tragedy from his past that had shaped his desire not to be a father, having been badly let down as a child by someone who should have watched over him.
But Diane had always seemed so dismissive, like it was a ridiculous suggestion. Eventually, he’d accepted it and moved on. The fact it was easier this way had been an added bonus.
And yet, as far as he knew, Diane had never told anyone the father’s identity, not even Hannah or their parents, which was weird. She’d not been in a relationship around that time – not publicly anyway – and had taken the stance that it was no one’s business but hers.
‘Would you like a drink before you head off?’ Diane asked, having described to Mark the type of coffin they’d agreed on for Maggie’s funeral. ‘I’ve got plenty of wine and beer,’ she added, gesturing towards the fridge, ‘unless you’ve drunk it all while you’ve been here.’
Normally he’d have said no and headed home. He usually avoided being alone with Diane at all costs, in light of their chequered past. But he needed to address his thoughts about Mia.
‘Go on then,’ he replied. ‘I’ll have a quick beer. And don’t worry: there’s plenty left. I’ve not had a drop while I’ve been responsible for Mia.’
Diane raised an eyebrow. ‘Great.’ She walked over to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of Grolsch.
Mark fought to keep his breathing steady.
As his sister-in-law opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a bottle opener, he noticed she was wearing a green top very like one his wife had.
‘You and Hannah must have similar taste,’ he said, making small talk in a bid to calm himself down.
‘Oh?’ she replied, turning around and pouting in a way that made him uncomfortable. ‘How so?’
Mark cleared his throat, wishing he’d chosen his words more carefully. ‘I, er, just mean what you’re wearing. That, um, top. I think she might have the same one.’
Diane laughed. ‘Oh, okay, I get you. Well spotted. She does have exactly the same top – this one, in fact. I borrowed it from her this morning. Nice, isn’t it?’
Mark managed an awkward laugh, shuffling his feet on the tiled kitchen floor.
‘So you managed all right with Mia?’ Diane asked after they’d moved through into the small lounge. ‘Everything seems in good order. Hannah and I were surprised not to get more phone