worry; it’s no one you know. Stella’s the sister of an old boyfriend.’ She laughed. ‘I realised I didn’t like him much, but Stella and I hit it off and we’ve stayed in touch.’
‘What did you tell her … about me I mean?’
‘The truth – more or less.’
She would have done it perfectly. Even as a little girl, five years my junior, I remembered her watching my tantrums with puzzled eyes.
‘Your little sister’s nothing like you,’ people would say and, depending on my mood, I might laugh and say it was just as well. In my darker moments, I would shout, ‘She’s not my real sister, that’s why. I’m adopted. I’m not even English.’ I told people my mother was a Romanian princess, knowing she must really have been a peasant who couldn’t, or didn’t want to, support a child.
‘Oh look, aren’t they lovely,’ Alice said, as a flotilla of grey cygnets appeared around the bend in the stream and she began tearing pieces of crust from her sandwich and tossing them into the water. Soon the cygnets were jostling and squabbling for the bread, as the parent swans glided in, their wings arched behind them. ‘That’s a threat you know. They’re warning us not to hurt their babies.’ She cast a few more crumbs at the birds, as the parents’ tiny black eyes watched.
I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder. ‘Shall we go?’ I wanted the journey over. I needed to be alone.
As we got closer to the sea, small grey clouds drifted across the sun, reminding me of the little cygnet siblings. Poor Alice, she had stuck by me through it all, and yet, I had never said more than the odd, gruff, thank you.
‘You’re still my sister, and I know how sorry you are for what happened,’ was all she said, when I asked her why she was so good to me in spite of everything.
By the time we got to Hastings, and turned onto the seafront road, the sky had changed from blue to white, the water grey and almost still. There was some kind of hold up and the traffic stretched ahead, unmoving. The layer of cloud covering the sun had trapped the heat and stifled the breeze so it was hotter than ever. Alice tapped her nails on the steering wheel and opened the window to peer ahead.
‘Oh God, what now?’ She put both hands behind her neck, lifting the shimmer of hair away from her skin. ‘At this rate it’ll be rush hour before I get back on the A21.’
I wanted to shout that I couldn’t stand sitting in this sweatbox any longer, that I needed to be alone and quiet, but, instead, I leaned back and closed my eyes.
A scream jolted me from my trance, and I stared up at the huge sky filled with a mass of whirling white. But it was just a flock of seagulls, their shrieks echoing against the thick roof of cloud as they fought over scraps of fish.
We’d reached the Old Town, huddled between two hills, and the gulls were circling over the boats drawn up on the shingle and the tall, black net huts where the fishermen stored their gear. Alice pulled into one of the narrow streets; the car slowed, this time, by holidaymakers sucking ices and eating chips from paper parcels.
‘It’s just up here, round the back of the church,’ she said.
As the road became steeper, and the jumble of small, crooked houses and shops gave way to larger, Victorian villas, the tourists disappeared. Apart from the gulls, we could have been in any suburban street. Alice pulled into a parking bay, touching my arm as I undid my seatbelt. ‘Careful, this is a rat run. They drive up and down here like maniacs.’
I got out slowly, my feet uncertain on the steep road. ‘It’s just here.’ She pulled open a gate and shepherded me into the overgrown garden of a large house. Four bells flanked the blue door. ‘Go on, your flat’s number one. You’ve got half the ground floor.’
I fumbled at the lock until she took the key and slotted it in. The tiled hallway was cool; the doors to the two downstairs flats facing each other and between them a wide staircase leading to what Alice said were two more flats. My door was on the right, and Alice ushered me in and moved straight on to a swift guided tour.
In the bright living room, she said, ‘There’s only a small TV, but you won’t mind that.’ She looked at me and smiled. ‘What?’
‘It’s just that, TV becomes so important when you’re inside. But you’re right; the last thing I want to do is sit in front of the box.’ Even as I said it I wondered how true that was.
The sofa and two mismatched armchairs looked clean and comfortable but, seeing me look at them, Alice said, ‘They’re a bit shabby, but you can always brighten them up with cushions.’
She was trying so hard and part of me wanted to hug her and tell her how grateful I was. Another part longed for her to shut up and go away.
As I followed her into the kitchen, I saw the coffee maker next to the kettle. Alice must have noticed my stillness. She gripped my forearm. ‘Oh, no, did I do wrong bringing it here? I thought you’d want it. I know how you love your strong coffee.’
It was from my old house. Alice had cleared the place when I asked her to sell it. I ran my fingers over the glass and touched the new packet of coffee she’d put beside it. I couldn’t speak, but as I headed back to the living room I managed to smile.
She cleared her throat and walked over to a small table in the corner. ‘I sorted out the new laptop for you, like I said. Set it up with broadband, email, and everything.’ She picked up a little notebook. ‘I’ve written all the details, your email address, passwords, and so on, in there so you should be ready to go.’
‘Thank you. You didn’t need to do all that,’ I said.
She was smiling and holding up a white envelope. ‘And there’s this too.’ I recognised the writing at once. ‘Go on,’ she said, ‘it won’t bite.’
The card had an old- fashioned photo on the front. Three little girls on a beach in white dresses and sun hats. The two bigger children had long dark curls and the smallest was an angelic blonde. Inside: Welcome home, dearest Clare, with all our love from Emily and Matt. (Hope to see you soon!) XXXX
As I closed the card I couldn’t stop a sob bubbling up. Alice came behind me, resting her chin on my shoulder. ‘Oh, Clare.’ Her voice wobbled with tears, too. ‘They’re just like us.’ That was how we had always been: Alice, and me, and our cousin Emily, who was like another sister.
I hadn’t seen Emily, or her husband Matt, for more than three years.
Alice sighed and walked over to stand by the four large sash windows. ‘I’m sorry the place smells musty.’ She fiddled with the old-fashioned locks and managed to push up one of the sashes, catching her finger and letting out a muttered curse. ‘It’s a shame it’s so cloudy: there’s normally a wonderful sea view from this room.’
I peered out over the misted rooftops to the whiteness beyond – a couple of dark fishing boats, nosing close to shore, the only things to distinguish sea from sky. Alice perched on the arm of the sofa, sucking her torn finger.
‘What do you think? Is it all right?’
I nodded, without turning, and she was suddenly behind me, so close the warmth coming from her brought a prickle of sweat to my spine. I inched away, but she put her hands on my elbows, giving them a gentle shake.
‘You
