Kathleen McGurl - The Lost Sister

‘A MUST READ in my book!!’

‘Utterly perfect … A timeslip tale that leaves you wanting more … I loved it’

‘I may have shed a tear or two! … A definite emotional rollercoaster of a read that will make you both cry and smile’

‘Oh my goodness … The pages turned increasingly quickly as my desperation to find out what happened steadily grew and grew’

‘Very special … I loved every minute of it’

‘Brilliant … Very highly recommended!!’

‘Touched my heart! A real page turner … The perfect read for cosying up. I can’t recommend this gorgeous book enough’

KATHLEEN MCGURLlives in Christchurch with her husband. She has two sons who have both now left home. She always wanted to write, and for many years was waiting until she had the time. Eventually she came to the bitter realisation that no one would pay her for a year off work to write a book, so she sat down and started to write one anyway. Since then she has published several novels with HQ and self-published another. She has also sold dozens of short stories to women’s magazines, and written three How To books for writers. After a long career in the IT industry she became a full-time writer in 2019. When she’s not writing, she’s often out running, slowly.

The Emerald Comb

The Pearl Locket

The Daughters of Red Hill Hall

The Girl from Ballymor

The Drowned Village

The Forgotten Secret

The Stationmaster’s Daughter

The Secret of the Château

The Forgotten Gift

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

HarperCollins Publishers

1st Floor, Watermarque Building, Ringsend Road

Dublin 4, Ireland

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2021

Copyright © Kathleen McGurl 2021

Kathleen McGurl asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © May 2021 ISBN: 9780008380519

Version: 2021-03-15

Table of Contents

Cover

Praise for Kathleen McGurl

About the Author

Also by Kathleen McGurl

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1: Harriet, 2019

Chapter 2: Emma, 1911

Chapter 3: Harriet

Chapter 4: Emma, 1911

Chapter 5: Harriet

Chapter 6: Emma, 1911

Chapter 7: Harriet

Chapter 8: Emma, 1911

Chapter 9: Harriet

Chapter 10: Emma, 1911-12

Chapter 11: Harriet

Chapter 12: Emma, 1912

Chapter 13: Harriet

Chapter 14: Emma, 1912

Chapter 15: Harriet

Chapter 16: Emma, 1912

Chapter 17: Harriet

Chapter 18: Emma, 1912

Chapter 19: Harriet

Chapter 20: Emma, 1912

Chapter 21: Harriet

Chapter 22: Emma, 1914-16

Chapter 23: Harriet

Chapter 24: Emma, 1916

Chapter 25: Harriet

Chapter 26: Emma, 1916

Chapter 27: Harriet

Chapter 28: Emma, 1916

Chapter 29: Harriet

Chapter 30: Lily, 1920

Chapter 31: Harriet

Extract

Author’s Note

Acknowledgements

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

For my son Connor McGurl, who helped develop this plot on many walks during lockdown.

How she would ever thin down her possessions enough to allow a move into a much smaller property, Harriet had no idea. She wandered from room to room, touching ornaments, stroking the backs of armchairs, running her hand along polished tables and sideboards. Everything was infused with so many memories of her seventy years. The little Toby jug on the mantelpiece that had been her mother’s and she remembered loving as a child. The dining room table and chairs that she and John had saved up for in the early years of their marriage, determined to buy decent furniture that would last them a lifetime. The large, squishy sofa, much more modern, bought only about ten years ago and so comfortable and perfect for stretching out on when reading a book. It would never fit in the kind of two-bedroom bungalow her daughter Sally thought she should buy. Neither would the dining table. But how would she ever part with them? And all this stuff was just downstairs. Upstairs she had four bedrooms and a study filled with more stuff. And then there was the attic – huge, and filled with endless boxes of who knew what.

That’s what they were due to start tackling today: the attic. Sally had suggested it when she’d phoned the previous evening. ‘I’ll go up there with you, Mum, and we’ll just do it bit by bit. Once we get started you’ll find it easier but I know how daunting it must feel.’

‘Are you sure you can spare the time, love?’ Harriet had asked. ‘What about Jerome?’

‘He’s doing well today. He’s in school, and he should be well enough to go to school tomorrow. So I’ll have time. See you around ten; get some chocolate croissants in for me from McKinley’s bakery, will you?’

‘Sure, of course, love,’ Harriet had replied. And now the croissants were warming in the oven, the coffee was made and at any moment Sally would arrive and they’d have to get started on the attic, going through the forty years’ worth of junk and memories that were stored up there. Outside it was a blustery March day, raining on and off. The perfect day to tackle an indoor job, even one that was likely to be difficult and emotional.

The doorbell rang and Harriet rushed to answer it, smiling as she greeted her eldest daughter, the one who’d stayed living close to her home in Bournemouth, the one she saw every week, who’d supported her when John died so suddenly and throughout the nine long months since, as Harriet adjusted to life without him. And all this even though Sally had so many troubles of her own. She gathered her daughter into a hug and kissed her cheek. ‘Hello, darling. Thank you so much for coming round to help.’

‘No problem, Mum. If I’m honest, it’s good to have a few days when I’m not just looking after Jerome. Did you get those croissants in?’

‘Of course! I was outside McKinley’s before it had even opened. We’ll have coffee and pastries first, before going up into that hideous attic.’ Harriet gave a fake shudder at what was ahead, and Sally laughed.

‘You know what, I reckon you’ll quite enjoy it once we get started, Mum. It’s quite cathartic, throwing out rubbish.’