The Lost Sister

People watched him, open-mouthed, as he headed towards us.

‘Mummy!’ Nathan sobbed, reaching for his mum. Monica took him from the man, burying her face in her son’s wet neck as she sunk to the sand.

The man looked at me. Something passed between us, something I couldn’t quite get a grasp on. Then he leaned down, retrieved his rucksack and disappeared into the night, the sound of sirens filling the air.

‘Did you know that man, Mummy?’ Becky asked, peering up at me with those knowing blue eyes of hers.

‘No, darling. He’s a complete stranger.’

Chapter Three

Becky

Sussex, UK

1 June 2018

‘He’s a complete stranger, Kay!’ Becky says as she checks the calendar for details of her next appointment. ‘There is no chance I’m going on a date with him.’

‘It’s just a party. There’ll be lots of people there,’ Kay counters, glasses resting on the end of her nose, her white blouse stained and creased after a day fussing over puppies.

‘If you’re suggesting he picks me up first and takes me for a drink,’ Becky says, ‘it is a date. Anyway, Summer is still recovering from surgery. I can’t leave her.’

‘You have David next door! It’ll have been a month by then, you know more than anyone she’ll be fully recovered.’ Kay’s face grows serious. ‘I know it’s just an excuse. But no matter how much I adore those mutts of yours, three dogs are no substitute for human company, especially for an attractive thirty-four-year-old woman like yourself.’

‘I politely disagree.’ Becky leans forward, putting her hand on her friend’s shoulder and smiling. ‘I appreciate your attempts to marry me off, but I’m quite happy as I am, thank you.’

Kay crosses her arms and gives her a cynical look just as the bell above the door rings.

‘Perfect timing,’ Becky says with a wink as a woman walks in carrying a plastic box, a girl of about eight beside her. Becky leans down and smiles at the girl. ‘You must be Jessica and this,’ she says, gesturing to the box, ‘must be Stanley.’ The girl nods shyly. ‘Come on through, we had a cancellation so we’re running bang on time for once!’

Becky leads them into her small consultation room. It’s a tiny practice, sitting in a red-brick building on the edge of a large field, just her, two job-sharing veterinary nurses, a part-time locum and Kay, receptionist and accountant extraordinaire. Plenty to serve the small village they live in.

The woman places the plastic box on Becky’s consulting table and opens it.

Becky peers in, smiling. ‘What a beauty,’ she exclaims.

The girl beams with pride as her mother carefully pulls the fish tank out of the box. Becky leans down and looks at the small goldfish inside, at its transparent orange skin, globe eyes and bubbling mouth. One of the vets she’d trained with had described goldfish as a waste of his time. If he could just see the way this little girl was staring at that waste of time right now, he might see this goldfish – that all animals – are worth so much more than that.

Or maybe not. He was a bit of a shallow idiot after all.

‘I’m pleased you brought him in,’ Becky says.

The girl crosses her arms, frowning. ‘It’s a her.’

Becky peers at the mother who gives a little shrug.

‘Ah. Her. Sorry,’ Becky says. ‘Well, I’ll tell you straight off, it’s not serious. You managed to bring her in just in time.’

‘What’s wrong with Stanley?’ the girl asks.

Becky points to the small white spots on Stanley’s fin. ‘Fin rot,’ she explains. The girl’s big blue eyes widen. ‘But no need to worry!’ Becky quickly adds. ‘Thanks to your vigilance, Stanley will be just fine.’

The girl smiles, lighting up her young face.

Her mother squeezes her shoulder. ‘See? What did I tell you?’

Becky watches them, unable to stop herself feeling a tinge of jealousy. ‘So,’ she says, clearing her throat. ‘Do you have some salt at home?’

The girl peers up at her mother, who nods.

‘Good. That’s how we’ll treat Stanley. A few teaspoons of salt in her tank each day and she’ll be as right as rain within the week.’ Becky turns away to tap some notes into her computer. ‘It’s just as well Stanley has such a loving owner. Fish are so important. You know they were here first, way before us, even way before dinosaurs? And yet look at them,’ she says, gesturing towards the tank. ‘They’re still here. Quite a feat.’

‘They’re the best pets in the world,’ the girl says stoically as her mother places the tank back in the box.

‘I’d agree,’ Becky replies. ‘But my three dogs might get a bit upset. I think that’s it for Stanley today. Just call if you have any problems.’

‘You’ve been brilliant, thank you,’ the girl’s mother says as they walk out to the reception area. ‘Say thank you, Jess.’

‘Thank you,’ the girl says in a shy voice.

‘A pleasure!’

When they leave, Becky returns to her consulting room and sinks down into her chair, yawning. She likes to do this at the end of the day, just close her eyes and relax for a few seconds. She’s done her best to make the consulting room as homely as possible. One wall crowded with cards from grateful patients, her small, tidy desk adorned with photos of her three skinny suki whippet crosses, Summer, Womble and Danny.

Above the desk is a shelf of books lined with the usual suspects: a wide range of medical reference books. But mixed in with them are romance novels, given to Becky by patients as gifts after Kay let slip to one that Becky is a secret fan of romantic fiction. It is a running joke now, with books gifted to her by regulars each Christmas, or when an owner wants to thank her. The truth is, Becky does love the novels, devouring them whenever she is lucky enough to have a break.

But that is just about the extent of the romance in her life. It has been ten years since she was dumped by the boyfriend she’d had since school, just before their tenth anniversary. There have been a succession of bad dates since, but recently, she’s begun to think a life with just her and the dogs would be perfect, despite what Kay thinks.

Becky’s eyes stray towards the photo at the end of the row of books. It’s her on the day she graduated from veterinary college five years ago. Her dad is standing stiffly beside her, a hint of pride on his face. She ought to feel pride herself when she looks at that photo but, instead, she often finds herself thinking of who wasn’t there that day: her mum.

Becky drives thoughts of her mum away, focusing instead on her dad. God, she misses him. Even their lunches, when they would both sit and eat in complete silence, comfortable with each other after years of being in each other’s company. At least he is happy now. That’s what’s important, even if he is many miles away in Wales with his second wife, Cynthia.

Becky smiles at her dad’s proud face in the photo then grabs her pale blue rucksack and slings it over her shoulder, walking out into the reception area.

‘Last patient of the day, thank God,’ Kay says, standing up and stretching. ‘Has seemed like a long week this week. Must be the heat. Any plans for the weekend?’

Becky shrugs. ‘The usual.’

‘Long walks. Dinners for one—’

‘Four,’ Becky says, interrupting her.

‘Ah yes, the dogs. Then, let me guess, some reading?’

Becky laughs. ‘You know me so well.’

‘You know you can pop by any time if you find yourself getting lonely.’

‘Thank you, but I honestly never feel lonely.’

Kay shoots her a cynical look. ‘Either way, remember to go shopping for a new dress for my party next month.’ Becky opens her mouth to say something but Kay puts her hand up. ‘I refuse to hear any excuses. I’ll be fifty. Fifty! If you really like me as much as you say, then you’ll come. Plus you’ll get the chance to meet the family I bitch about every day!’

Becky gives her a faint smile. She can’t think of anything worse than a huge family party, even if it is for her friend. ‘I’ll see how Summer gets on.’

‘That’s a yes then,’ Kay says with a wink.

They both laugh, going through their nightly routine of switching lights off and locking the place up. Then they step out into the searing evening heat, the field stretching out before them.

‘Have a good weekend!’ Becky calls out as Kay rushes off down the path, no doubt needing to get back to take one of her teenage kids to a football match or dance class.

But Becky doesn’t need to rush. Instead, she takes a moment to stop, breathing in the warm air infused with the scent of flowers and grass. It’s one of the many luxuries of not having to rush home to people like others have to, she thinks. She’ll always be able to take the time to enjoy the simple things, like breathing in the beauty of a hot summer evening.

After a few moments, she heads across the fields and down a path created from grass well-trodden by dog walkers. Kay lives near the cobbled high street five minutes in the opposite direction, but Becky lives out of the way, in one of four cottages that sit in a row and overlook the field. Each of the cottages are tiny but their gardens are huge with gates that lead onto the field, ideal for the dogs. She still remembers her dad driving them through this very village on the way to their new home in Busby-on-Sea after her mum left. That was over twenty-five years ago now. ‘This is a pretty village,’ Becky remembers saying to him.

‘Too small,’ he’d replied. ‘Busby-on-Sea is much better, you’ll see. It even has a leisure centre! Plus, your grandparents are there.’

One shop and no leisure centre sounded perfect to her, even then. But she knew her dad needed to be around family. She remembers asking her dad when her mum would be joining them. She knew she wouldn’t be, they’d had ‘the talk’ just a few weeks beforehand. But she still had to ask, just to be sure.

‘Mummy’s not coming with us, remember?’ her dad had replied, a confusing mixture of sadness and anger on his face. ‘But she’ll visit. I think you’ll be happy in Busby-in-Sea, I really do, Becks.’

As Becky thinks of that, she gets another flash of memory. The sound of waves. Sand in between her toes. Her mum smiling down at her, nose freckled from the sun, blue eyes sparkling.

‘I think you’ll be happy here, Becks, I really do.’

And then beyond her, the mouth of a cave.

‘Becky!’ The memory trickles away as a couple in their seventies walk towards her, their golden Labrador bounding over to greet her, one of her many patients.

She stops and leans down, pressing her nose against the dog’s wet one. ‘Hello, Sandy!’ she says. ‘How’s his ear today?’

‘Better thanks to you, Becky,’ the woman says, but she seems to already be walking away with her husband. They obviously have somewhere to be, and Sandy follows. Becky wonders where. Maybe dinner out with friends. Cinema. Or just a date with a film indoors. They had each other, whatever they had waiting for them. She feels a pang of loneliness, thinking of what Kay had said earlier.

No, Kay’s wrong, she doesn’t get lonely. If she ever wants company, she just needs to head out here into the fields, knowing there will always be one villager or another walking their dogs. There’s such a sense of community here. Her dad hadn’t seen it that way when she’d told him she’d be moving out of Busby-on-Sea four years ago, the place that had been her home since she was eight years old. But she needed the independence of living in a different town, even if it was only a twenty-minute drive away … and so had he. In fact, it was after she left that he got back in touch with his old friend, Cynthia. And now they were married!

Becky reaches the end of the field, stopping at the fence lining the four long gardens belonging to the cottages. Her cottage sits at the end, and looks just the same as the others with its white-washed walls and thatched roof.

In the garden next to hers, David is sitting on a chair reading a book. His Cavalier King Charles spaniel, Bronte, is lying at his feet, and Becky’s three lurchers are stretched out in the evening sun on the lawn. Summer has a short chestnut coat, and big brown eyes with long lashes. Danny is as black as the night, long-haired and handsome. Womble is the longest and tallest of the three – grey, inquisitive and the fastest dog she’s ever seen. Each of them had been brought into the practice for treatment after being found as strays, and each was rescued by Becky who had a soft spot for ‘skinnies’ as she called them. Poor Summer was the worst, brought in by the police after it was reported she had been dragged behind a car, tied to the bumper with a rope to make her run faster. She was still terrified of strangers, hiding behind Becky’s legs whenever anyone but David approached her.

Summer is the first to see Becky as she opens the fence into David’s garden. The dog gingerly stands up, does a quick stretch, then limps over to Becky, her leg still bound from the surgery Becky had carried out to fix a broken bone. She nudges her nose into Becky’s tummy, and Becky strokes her.

‘Hello, darling,’ Becky says, leaning down to kiss her head as the other dogs’ ears prick at the sound of her voice. They too jump up, padding over.

‘Summer’s been a terror today,’ David says with a smile that gives away just how much he enjoyed her being a terror. He’s in his sixties, and is tall with short, grey hair and a wicked smile. He moved to the area just a few months after Becky did four years ago, and they’d clicked straight away as they discussed their love of animals. They mainly talked about dogs, but David did mention once that he and his wife had split up many years before, and they had a daughter who lived abroad.

‘Thanks for looking after them,’ she says to him now with a smile.

‘Always a pleasure.’

She occasionally took the dogs into the practice with her, but it was hard keeping three large dogs entertained in such a small space. David looked after them most days, bringing them over to see her during her breaks.

She leans down and pats Bronte on the head. She gives a soft thump of her feathery white tail then puts her little chin back on her paws. She was another rescue dog, brought in to the practice two years ago, an ex-breeding dog dumped by a local puppy farm after getting an infection. David had taken an instant liking to her after his last cocker spaniel had passed away, so he’d ended up adopting her.

‘Right, let’s get you all back,’ Becky says, patting her thigh and heading towards the fence that divides their gardens.

‘Not staying for a cuppa?’ David calls out to her.

‘Tomorrow,’ she calls back. ‘I’m so exhausted, I think I might go to bed straight after dinner.’

He laughs. ‘You work too hard.’

Becky steps over the fence, the dogs leaping over with her, and lets herself into her cottage. All three dogs dart to the back of the house as soon as they get in, standing by their bowls and looking up at her with impatient eyes, ready for their dinner.

‘Okay, okay, give me a minute!’ Becky calls out.

She chucks her keys onto the stairs and walks down the small hallway and into the kitchen, which is surprisingly large considering the size of the rest of the cottage, and has enough room for a decent-sized pine table in the middle.

Becky feeds the dogs then sets about making her own dinner, a quick stir fry. Once she’s finished cooking, she plates up and heads out onto the patio to sit down with her dinner and a book – another romance. David has gone in now. Becky leans back in her chair and blinks up at the sun. She loves this time of day; warm enough to sit outside, cool enough that she doesn’t have to worry about it burning her pale skin. A bird soars above, heading east … maybe towards Kent, where she once lived.

The phone rings, puncturing her thoughts. She sighs. Why does this always happen when she’s settling down to eat? She places her plate on a table as she stands up, then walks inside quickly to grab the phone.

‘Hello?’

‘Becky?’

The voice is weak, barely audible. It’s a voice she hasn’t heard in many years and yet she knows it in an instant. It’s seared into her heart.

‘Mum?’

Chapter Four

Selma

Kent, UK

19 July 1991

‘Mummy?’

I nibbled on my pen while looking out towards the sea, playing over what had happened the evening before again. I’d dreamt about the man all night, hot feverish dreams, as I’m sure half the town had too.

‘Mummy!’

I looked at Becky. ‘Sorry, darling, I was a million miles away.’

‘Did the man really walk on water, like everyone was saying?’

‘Of course he didn’t!’ Mike exclaimed over his shoulder from the kitchen. ‘It’s just bored people imagining things.’

I smiled to myself, snapping my notepad shut. ‘Yes, Daddy’s right of course, very bored people making stuff up.’

Becky looked disappointed. ‘Still hungry, Daddy,’ she chirped, pushing her half-eaten cereal to the side.

‘You’ve hardly eaten your cereal,’ I said.

Becky shrugged. ‘Don’t like it.’

‘You can have some strawberries then,’ Mike said.

Becky frowned, crossing her arms. ‘No, I want chocolate.’

I leaned in close to her ear. ‘Maybe when Daddy goes,’ I whispered.

Mike shot me a disapproving glance. ‘Fruit or nothing,’ he said, grabbing his car keys. He gave Becky a kiss on the head then waved at me before letting himself out. There was once a time when he’d kiss me before leaving for work. Not now though. Should that have made me feel sad? Well I didn’t. I felt nothing.

When I was sure he was gone, I went to the cupboard and got some chocolate-flavoured cereal out, winking at a giggling Becky. ‘You have to be quick though, we have to leave for school soon.’

Five minutes later, we walked to Becky’s school. It was a breezy day, still warm though, the skies blue, the sun bright, the sea glimmering in the distance. People were either walking to work or coming back from dropping kids off, dressed in shorts and T-shirts, sandals and flip-flops.

The school lay at the bottom of a hill, five minutes’ walk from our new-build house. As I passed the newsagent, I noticed the headline: UK’s Economy at Historic Low. I peered towards where Mike worked with Greg at a large financial advice firm in town. There had been rumours of redundancies the year before but nothing had come of it. What if Mike was made redundant now? Would I have to go back to working full-time again?

The thought sent a dart of fear through me.

Better if they made me redundant from my senior copywriter job. It wasn’t like I was pulling in much on my three-day salary anyway.

I put my sunglasses on, pulling up the straps of my silky red vest top to cover my bra straps, my black skirt skimming the back of my knees. Everyone else around me was wearing pastel colours, but I liked to be bold: blood reds and stark blacks, azure blues and emerald greens. I had earrings to match, necklaces sometimes too.

As I approached the small primary school, which was housed in a Victorian building, I noticed some of the parents already crowded around the gates nattering. I hated the whole school-gate drama, especially recently with all the talk of recession. Most mornings, I made up excuses to leave: lunch in London with my editor; a book signing in Canterbury; some media interview or another. I liked to make it vague, so they couldn’t check whether I was telling the truth or not. Sometimes, if I was having a bad writing day or had received yet another royalty statement with minus signs on it from my agent, I’d hang around, basking in the inevitable glory of being the only published novelist in town. I suppose sometimes I needed the questions that at other times irritated me, the stories of success I weaved wiping away the disappointment.

‘There she is!’ a woman declared, a slim brunette called Haley. She was one of the few mums I could tolerate, plus she worked in the town library which was always a good thing as she let me take out more books then the standard eight. ‘You saw it from a front row seat, didn’t you?’ she asked me when I got to the group.

‘Saw what?’ I asked. I knew perfectly well what she meant, of course. But I enjoyed this, the tease.

‘The man who saved that boy last night,’ one of the other mums said, a timid woman called Donna. She was wearing an oversized beige blouse and black leggings. Her shoulders were slightly slumped and she had her arms wrapped around her midriff.

‘Oh, that,’ I said with a bored sigh. I almost resented other people having seen it all happen. If only I’d been alone on that beach with Monica and her son so I could add embellishments to the story: a mouth-to-mouth resuscitation after, maybe?

‘I hear he’s a homeless man,’ one of the other mothers drawled. It was Cynthia, or Gym Bunny as I referred to her. She had her blonde hair up in a high ponytail, her hip bones jutting out from the top of her Lycra leggings.

‘He didn’t look very homeless to me,’ Haley said with a raised eyebrow. ‘You have to admit it was rather exciting?’

‘I suppose so. For this town, anyway,’ I said as I gave Becky a kiss on the head, aware of everyone’s eyes on me. As Becky ran off towards one of her little friends, I paused a moment, looking towards the sea, adding another bored sigh for effect. Then I turned back to the group of mums, shrugging. ‘He’s just a man who helped a kid. I think people are getting a bit carried away.’

A couple of the mums gave each other a look. But Donna looked out to the water, a wistful expression on her face as her short dark bob lifted in the breeze. She always seemed so overwhelmed by the other mums, which was surprising considering she was a midwife. Or maybe she was just used to hysterical women and had learnt to be calm and stoic in the face of dramatics.

There were times when she really should have said something though, like when Cynthia gave her some free passes to the gym to ‘knock off those extra pounds’. Donna had just stood there in shock, eyes filling with tears. I had to do something so I’d linked my arm through Donna’s and arched an eyebrow. ‘Gym? With these?’ I’d said, pointing to both our ample chests. ‘Absolutely not! Can’t risk ruining our best assets.’ Cynthia, as flat-chested as her own son, just looked at me dumbfounded, Donna sneaking me a quick and grateful smile.

‘Anyway, must get back,’ I said now, peering at my watch. ‘My book won’t write itself.’

‘How’s it going?’ Donna asked softly.

‘Good,’ I said, smiling at her. ‘Should be finished soon.’

‘And the cake preparations for next Saturday?’ Haley asked. ‘I hope it’s still okay to do one?’

Oh bugger.

I tried to keep the smile on my face. I’d completely forgot I’d volunteered to bake a cake for Haley’s son’s birthday party. It had happened after Cynthia made a throwaway comment about me ‘not being the domestic type’, no doubt revenge for the gym pass slight the week before.

‘You’d be surprised,’ I’d retorted.

‘Really?’ Cynthia had asked, eyebrow arched.

‘Yes, really.’ I’d turned my best icy glare to Cynthia then. ‘I’m a dab hand at baking actually.’

‘You are?’ Haley had said. ‘We were going to find someone to make Beau’s cake but if you can, wonderful! I’d pay you of course.’

‘No need to pay,’ I’d replied, waving my hand about as I watched Cynthia’s expression out of the corner of my eye. ‘It’s no problem at all.’

‘Can you do it in the shape of a monkey?’ Haley had then asked. ‘It’s just that Beau’s obsessed with them after our latest trip to the zoo.’

I’d nodded, trying to hide my horror. Sure, I’d made the odd chocolate cake or two. It hadn’t given Mike and Becky food poisoning so that was a bonus. But that was the extent of my baking skills.