Tracy Buchanan - My Sister’s Secret

Niall’s eyes widened as he pointed behind her, shouting her name. She turned to see a small red sports car bouncing around the bend and hurtling towards her.

Charity

Busby-on-Sea, UK

March 1987

The light from the rising sun illuminated the car’s exterior and in a flash, Charity saw a woman’s face streaked with mascara.

Tyres screeched over the road, the smell of petrol filling the air. Charity couldn’t move her legs, panic flooded through her.

But then strong hands were gripping her under her arms, pulling her out of the way as the car careened past her.

She looked up, saw Niall staring down at her. His cheeks were stubbled, his face tanned, dark circles under his eyes. Her whole body throbbed from being so close to him, from feeling his warm breath on her face, seeing those lips so close. She was shocked to feel the urge to press her lips against his like she used to do again and again.

Then the reality of the situation hit her.

She dragged her gaze away from Niall’s, watching the car zigzag across the road, finally coming to a stop with a shudder.

They both jumped up and jogged over.

Sitting in the driver’s seat was a dazed looking Lana North, the woman from the mansion, a small graze on her head, blood dripping down into one eye.

She peered up at Niall and Charity. ‘Whoops,’ she said sheepishly.

Charity placed the two mugs of steaming hot coffee on the table, avoiding the intense gaze of the elderly couple sitting there. It was clear word was getting out about what had happened that morning…and that Charity had been there with Niall. By the time the paramedics arrived to check Lana over, the road was busy – it was the only main road linking Busby-on-Sea to Southampton – giving residents plenty of time to see Niall and Charity standing there together. She’d been desperate to leave but Lana had grabbed her hand, told her to stay, a vulnerable look on her face.

How could she say no?

Niall could have left. But instead, he’d hovered nearby, watching Charity as though he were trying to figure out if she was real or not. She daren’t look back at him, her thumping heart betraying emotion she was trying hard to bury.

Charity peered towards the entrance to the café. Hope was at a doctor’s appointment so they hadn’t seen each other that morning. But she was due in soon, so Charity was hoping she could pull her to one side to break the news gently to her.

Charity wrapped her thick orange cardigan around herself and hurried back into the café. Was it her imagination or was it even busier than normal, despite spring being held off today by sharp winds and the threat of rain? People glanced up at her as she passed but she kept her eyes ahead of her, jaw clenched.

It was a small town. Gossip spread like wildfire, one of the many things that hadn’t changed in the years she’d been gone.

The door swung open then and her sister walked in. Hope paused at the entrance, eyes on Charity, and Charity knew in that moment Hope had already heard. Then she slammed the door shut and strode to the counter.

‘Tell me you didn’t know Niall was back,’ she hissed as she flung her purple suede coat off and grabbed an apron, barely looking at Charity.

‘No, of course not, Hope!’

‘They’re all loving this, aren’t they?’ Hope said, lowering her voice and casting her eyes over the busy café as Charity passed an order to her over the counter. ‘Nice bit of gossip to stave off the monotony. I just can’t believe Niall bloody Lane really is here. It makes me sick. What’s worse is people won’t just focus on the fact Lana North crashed her car. They’ll also be talking about the fact the man who killed Faith Winchester was with you, her sister, at the time.’ She scrutinised Charity’s face.

‘It was a coincidence, I swear,’ Charity said. ‘I just needed to go to the road, it is the anniversary of Faith’s death after all. Niall told me he’d gone there for the same reason. We—’

Charity fell silent as Mrs McAteer approached the counter.

‘What can I get you?’ Charity asked her, forcing a smile on to her face, pleased for an excuse to get away from her sister’s rage.

‘Just a hot chocolate, love,’ Mrs McAteer said, patting Charity’s arm. ‘Good work saving Lana North’s life.’

‘I didn’t save her. She was fine, just a bit dazed.’

‘My Gav knows one of the ambulance men. Apparently she’d had too much to drink.’

Charity thought of what Lana had said to her and the unmistakable smell of stale booze in the car.

‘Poor you, having to witness it after what happened to your poor sister on that road,’ Mrs McAteer continued, shaking her head. ‘And then to have Niall there too, the scum.’ Her lip curled up. ‘Bloody cheek, him returning to town. My Addie will be mortified when I tell her. Your poor sister must be rolling in her grave.’ Charity tried not to catch Hope’s eye. ‘And then to have some drunken rich girl driving her—’

She clamped her mouth shut and a hush fell over the café as Lana’s husband walked in.

He looked just as otherworldly as he had the day before. But when he stepped into a beam of hazy sunlight shining through one of the windows, the perfections slipped away. Dark shadows showed beneath his green eyes, the faint hint of stubble on his chin and cheeks and, as Charity peered closer, what looked like a trace of oil on the cuff of his shirt.

He looks better in the light, Charity thought. He looks better with those imperfections.

‘Can we talk somewhere, Charity?’ He glanced towards Mrs McAteer and smiled tightly. ‘Somewhere quiet ?’

‘Of course, let’s go out back,’ Charity said, grabbing a bag of rubbish.

Dan took the bulging bag from her and smiled, following her out of the door. He threw the rubbish into it then got a pristine white handkerchief out with his initials on it, wiping his hands.

‘Long time since I put the rubbish out,’ he said.

‘How’s your wife?’

‘Fine. I must thank you for being there, she said you were a real comfort.’ He looked down at the tomato skin on his handkerchief. Then he peered back up at Charity and she noticed how very black his pupils and long lashes were, making the green of his eyes even more prominent. ‘I heard you’re a psychiatrist.’

‘A counsellor.’

He seemed to think about something for a moment then leant closer, lowering his voice. ‘I was wondering if you might talk to my wife? I’d pay of course: double whatever your hourly rate is.’

She frowned.

‘I’m afraid I’m not practising in any official capacity at the moment,’ Charity said. ‘Your wife would be better off going to a proper clinic or via the NHS.’

‘Lana will refuse, I know what she’s like. But she seemed to really like you. If we arranged for you to come to the house, have some privacy, she might open up more. I can pay double, treble.’

Charity sighed. She really wanted to help but it didn’t feel right. ‘I’m sorry. I can recommend a great counsellor a few towns away though?’

Dan raked his fingers through his blond hair. Then he forced a smile. ‘Of course. I’m sure she’s okay. Look, why don’t you come to dinner as thanks?’

Charity examined his face. Was this a ruse to try to get her to treat his wife over dinner?

‘That’s very kind of you,’ she replied, ‘but that’s really not necessary. It’s been enough for you to come here in person to thank me.’

‘Let’s say seven on Saturday evening?’ he said, as though not hearing her. ‘I know Lana would love to see you. I presume you know where our house is?’