My Sister’s Secret (24 page)

Charity tried to wrap her head around the notion. ‘That’s ridiculous. Lana might be vulnerable but she wouldn’t just sleep with someone at Dan’s command.’

‘Really? He’s clever, Charity, manipulative. He knew what he was doing.’ She thought of all she’d learnt about Dan the past couple of weeks: the underhand way he’d got the cottage; the lengths he’d gone to to discredit Niall. But what about the kind, caring Dan she knew? Could she really let a couple of incidences reported by people who clearly had a reason to be negative discredit everything she knew about him? And her own discussions with Lana had shown her just how manipulative she could be.

‘I think he did it to get me out of the picture too,’ Niall continued. ‘I think that’s been his game plan from the start, to get you.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘And well done to him as it looks like he has, hook, line and sinker.’

‘I’m not a fish that can just be caught, Niall,’ Charity said, feeling anger build inside. ‘I choose who to love. I don’t need your protection, Niall.’

‘Are you sure? Isn’t that what I’ve always done, protected you ever since the night Faith died? Now you need my protection more than ever. Seeing you here with Dan makes me—’

‘Makes you what?’ a voice said from behind them. They both turned to see Dan standing there. ‘What does seeing Charity here with me make you want to do? Does it makes you jealous because you can see how much she loves me, and I love her?’

Niall laughed. ‘Yeah, sure, lots of love there.’

Dan took a step towards Niall but Charity stood between them, her back to Dan. ‘I love Dan,’ she said, looking into Niall’s eyes. He flinched and she felt terrible. ‘I can look after myself. I’ll be
okay
. Now go back to your dinner, get on with your life.’

Niall held her gaze and she felt Dan’s breath on her ear. Then Niall sighed, his face softening. ‘If ever you’re not okay, I’m here for you.’ Then he walked away.

Charity closed her eyes for a few moments, composing herself. Then she turned to Dan.

‘What did he mean about protecting you since the night Faith died?’ Dan asked. ‘Is there something you’re not telling me? We said no more lies, remember.’

Tears filled her eyes. She took a breath. ‘I was in the car with Niall that night.’

Dan’s eyes widened. ‘When he knocked over your sister?’

‘Yes. We had no idea, I swear. There – there was a small bump, so we got out to look but there was no sign of her. The impact must have made her tumble down the slope.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘But it has nothing to do with you, Dan,’ she said softly. ‘There was no need for you to know.’

‘It has
everything
to do with me because it’s a major part of your life! You’ve been lying to me, Charity, and yet you lambast me for lying to you. Do you realise what a hypocrite that makes you?’ He shook his head. ‘Unbelievable. Maybe Niall’s right. Maybe we’re not right for each other.’

‘Don’t say that.’

His face softened. ‘We’re so different, Charity. Seeing you and Niall together…it’s hard, really hard, because the truth is, I see it. I see why you love each other.’

‘
Loved
not love. He’s my past.’

Dan looked out towards the sea, his hands in his pockets.

‘Let’s just get home,’ Charity said, putting her hand on his arm. ‘It’s been a crazy night.’

Dan nodded and they walked to the taxi rank in silence. This was exactly what she’d feared. Dan could hardly look at her.

They spent the car journey back in silence and when they got home Dan said he had a headache from all the champagne he’d drunk and needed to go to bed. Charity hardly slept, watching his rigid back. When she finally did sleep, she woke in the early hours to find him gone from his side of the bed. She quickly grabbed her dressing gown and jogged downstairs, finding him in the kitchen, drinking coffee and already dressed.

‘It’s only four,’ she said. ‘Why are you dressed?’

He looked up at her, eyes unreadable. ‘Maybe it was a mistake we moved in together so quickly.’

She looked at him in shock. ‘What?’

‘We didn’t spend enough time getting to know one another. Niall’s right, you don’t know me.’

She walked towards him, taking his hand and looking into his eyes. ‘Dan, what’s this really about?

He sighed. ‘Seeing you and Niall together, it made me realise how unsuited
we
are. I told you I had to do certain things to get to where I am. But you clearly didn’t take it on board and now you’re panicking because you’ve started to see me for what I am: a businessman, someone who will go to certain lengths to get what he wants. You’re clearly not comfortable with that. You’re more comfortable with a bleeding heart liberal like Niall.’

‘That’s ridiculous, Dan.’ She tried to put her arms around him but he coolly stepped away.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘I know when an investment has no chance of success, I have a gut instinct for these things.’

Anger overtook the panic. ‘
Investment
?
You see our relationship as an investment?’

‘Isn’t everything in life?’ he said coldly. ‘We invest our feelings, our time, our bodies and minds. You need to weigh up whether it’s worth it in the end.’

‘My God, listen to yourself.’

‘I am! This is me, Charity. This is the point I’m trying to make. Now you know the real me, it horrifies you. So what’s the point?’ His eyes were lifeless, dispassionate.

She felt tears well up in her own eyes. ‘Why are you talking like this? Why are you trying to push me away?’

He shook his head and strode towards the door.

‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

‘A drive.’

‘The alcohol might not be out of your system, you should wait a bit before driving.’

‘Why, are you worried I’ll run a young girl over and leave her for dead?’ he shouted over his shoulder.

Charity felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. She watched him let himself out, flinching when he slammed the door.

Charity spent the rest of the day waiting for Dan to return, unable to eat or focus on anything but him. She paced the house, peering out of the windows and waiting for any sign he was there.

But nothing.

When midnight struck, she was beside herself with worry. What if he’d hurt himself? She called some local hospitals but there had been no men of his description admitted. When two more hours passed, she got into her own car and drove around the quiet dark roads for any sign of him, thinking of Faith and the way her life had been taken.

She returned home in the early hours, exhausted, still no sign of Dan. When the clock struck eight am, she called his office.

‘Hello, Charity,’ his new PA Maxine said.

‘Is Dan in?’

‘No, didn’t he tell you?’

‘Tell me what?’

‘He decided to fly out to Germany to meet with his naval architect.’

‘He flew out yesterday?’

‘Yes, in the morning.’

She sank into the sofa. ‘Did he say how long he’d be there?’

‘A couple of weeks.’

‘Right. Thank you.’

She put the phone down, struggling to contain her anger. How could he just fly out like that without telling her? And for two weeks. Was that a signal to Charity, it really was over between them? How could he just finish things like that?

Maybe Niall was right. Maybe
Dan
was right. She didn’t really know him. If he could leave at the drop of a hat, turn off a relationship like a tap, deceive business associates, force an elderly couple out of their home…did she really know him? Did she
want
to know him?

When early evening came, she couldn’t face staying in the empty cottage, so she walked down to the beach as the sun started to set. Ripples of sand spread out before her, pools of water turned to pink satin under the setting sun.

She looked out to the sea and imagined a submerged forest beneath it. Hope would be flying out to Kazakhstan soon to dive the forest there. She smiled to herself. At least things were going well for her sister.

That’s when it struck her. She’d go to see Hope in Kazakhstan.

Willow

Kazakhstan

October 2016

Ajay throws my bag into the backseat of the four-by-four we’ve hired. Cars sweep past, some tooting. He’s grown a short beard and moustache in the month or so since we last saw each other. He looks slightly ridiculous but somehow I like it. Behind us the curved white roof of Almaty International Airport gleams in the sun. My first glimpses of Kazakhstan have completely surprised me. No goats and dusty roads here, instead there are new buildings and smart-looking people in the country’s biggest city. It’ll probably change once we get on the road. I hope so anyway. I’ve never felt comfortable in places like this, all sparkly new and open. Probably because I spent my childhood in a small seaside village.

I guess that’s why I asked Ajay if he wanted to come with me. The first thing I did after putting the phone down on Aunt Hope was call Ajay to ask him if he fancied a trip to Lake Kaindy in Kazakhstan. He jumped at the chance.

As Ajay drives us away from the airport, I look down at the map I’ve printed out. It’s quite a trek to Lake Kaindy, six hours. All this to try to track down Niall Lane and get some answers when there’s a chance he won’t be there. According to the woman I met at the gallery in Austria and some dates on his website, he is in Kazakhstan this week and will be photographing the lake. But I have no idea exactly when. My emails to him remained unanswered.

After a while the modern roads give away to dirt tracks, barren hills and green shrubs. Dust poufs up from our wheels in the rear-view mirror, car jiggling about over the uneven ground.

‘Have you thought about what you’ll say to Niall Lane if we find him?’ Ajay asks.

‘Yeah, who’s my real dad and what the hell happened to my dead aunt?’

He laughs. ‘Straight to the point, I guess. What did your aunt tell you about the accident?’

‘The bare facts. She doesn’t know why she was walking on that road all alone that night. Maybe Niall has some ideas?’

‘Maybe.’ Ajay grows serious. ‘How will you feel if he is your father?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t know. It would mean I have a brother and a father who’s alive, I guess.’

‘A semblance of a family.’

‘Yep. But then maybe it would make me feel even less like I was ever part of a family, all my childhood memories would be fake.’

We’re both quiet as we contemplate that possibility. I’ve thought about it a lot the past couple of weeks. I stayed on in Austria with Luki, taking part in the daily routine at the commune. For the first time, I felt like I was part of something.

‘So what’s next for you after this, any jobs on the horizon?’ Ajay asks.

‘Nothing yet.’ I play with the zipper on my grey hoodie. ‘But Luki and Judy asked me to consider staying with them in Austria.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘I can’t see you living in a commune, Willow.’

‘Maybe I’ll surprise you.’

‘You’re seriously considering it?’

‘I guess.’

‘Because of Luki? What if it turns out Niall isn’t your father?’

‘It’s not just that. I really like being there.’

‘You don’t need to move to a commune to feel part of something. You’re only young. Don’t feel in a rush to figure everything out right away.’

‘Alright, Granddad.’

Ajay laughs.

‘We keep talking about me,’ I say. ‘What about you?’

‘Want the truth?’ he says. I nod. ‘I’m thinking about opening a dive centre somewhere in the UK.’

I look at him in surprise. ‘Really?’

‘Why? You know I love training divers. I feel I’ve left that behind lately.’ He shrugs. ‘It’s just an idea.’

I smile. ‘It sounds cool. I can imagine you sitting on a deck chair, legs up while you watch the sea outside your centre.’

He smiles with me. ‘I can imagine it too.’

I switch on the radio, finding a station that plays dodgy Kazakhstani pop music. Over the next couple of hours Ajay and I occupy ourselves making up new lyrics to the songs we hear as we take in the scenery and talk about our childhoods.

After a while, even taller mountains appear and we go properly off-road, bouncing over the ground as we head towards the peaks. In the distance, we see a group of people gathered around the skeletons of two round structures. Nearby, a herd of sheep, yaks and goats graze happily.

‘We need a break,’ Ajay says as he slows down. ‘Fancy chatting to some locals?’

‘Sure.’

As we approach, they all stop what they’re doing and peer at us. There are about thirty people, a mix of men, women and children. They’re dressed in colourful clothes with hints of bright pinks and sparkling turquoises, their faces dusty and curious. Ajay steers the car to a stop a few metres away from them, and we jump out. An older man approaches, saying something in Kazakh.

‘Just stopping for a drink,’ Ajay says, holding up a can of Coke. ‘Thought we’d say hello.’

I laugh. ‘He doesn’t speak English, dufus.’

Ajay shrugs. ‘Coca-Cola’s an international language.’

‘English?’ a young woman says. She’s in her early twenties and has an interesting-looking green and red hat on her head, a bright pink cardigan and green skirt.

‘Yes, we’re English,’ I say.

She wipes her hands on her skirt and nods enthusiastically. ‘My aunt taught me,’ she says, gesturing towards an old woman with a wizened face and long grey hair who’s sitting with some other woman. The girl takes my hand, shaking it vigorously, doing the same with Ajay after. ‘I’m Gulsara,’ she says, putting her hand to her chest. Ajay and I introduce ourselves too.

‘We’re coming to see Lake Kaindy,’ I explain.

‘Ah, yes,’ Gulsara says, smiling. ‘Pretty.’

I smile back at her. ‘So we’ve heard.’

Ajay points to the structures. ‘What are those?’

‘Our yurts. We follow the herd, so they’re easy to put up, easy to take down. Hungry?’ Gulsara asks. ‘You must eat with us.’

‘Are you sure?’ Ajay asks.

‘Of course. We will stop and eat when the roof is done.’

‘We’ll help you then,’ I say. ‘We have time right?’ I ask Ajay.

‘Yep.’

Gulsara leads us past two elderly women who are rolling large powdery white balls, placing them in neat rows on a mat. They look up and smile as we pass. When we get to the structures, I see they’re round with pointy roofs, made from long lengths of crisscrossed wood. Several men of different ages are gathered around them, kneeling down or reaching up to secure the wood in place. Another two approach with a huge roll of bamboo sheet. Ajay jogs over, helping them to unroll it and place it against the wood. Gulsara leads me to where her aunt is sitting with two other women, one yanking at the end of half-formed rope, another woman binding its other end together from wild-looking animal hair. ‘Yak hair,’ Gulsara explains. ‘You can help us.’

I look towards the half-made yurts. I’m strong enough to help the men. But I ought to be polite. So I sit cross-legged with the women, letting them show me how to twist and bind the yak’s hair. In the end, I find it quite impressive, the way it eventually creates a strong piece of rope.

‘You have come to swim in the lake?’ Gulsara’s aunt asks in good English. She has a turquoise hat on her head – a bit like a beanie – with silver thread etchings. There’s a red scarf wrapped around her neck and she’s wearing a green felt outfit.

‘We’re diving,’ I explain.

She smiles, revealing two missing teeth. ‘Hide.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You like to hide under the water,’ she says. ‘I did the same as a child. Put my head beneath the lake, and hide.’

Is that why I dive now? To hide from a world where I feel like I have nothing? I look down at the end of the rope I’m working on and shrug. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

None of us says anything over the next half an hour. It feels peaceful, sitting here in the middle of this vast field, mountains peering over us as I rhythmically bind the rope together. Maybe I could live like this, moving from one place to the next. Niall’s website stated he was a nomad, preferring his own company. We’re so alike in that respect. Does that mean he’s actually my father? Dad –
Dan
– he was always so social, holding parties, visiting friends and colleagues. Mum too in her way. So where have I got these qualities from?

I feel tears sting at my eyes. One of the women looks at me and gently puts her hand on my arm. It makes me want to cry even more. God, what’s wrong with me?

‘Dust,’ I say, gesturing towards my eyes.

She smiles and nods. I know she doesn’t believe me but that’s fine.

When we’ve finished making the rope, we carry it over to the men, who use it to bind the bamboo sheets to the structure. Then we help bring across heavy fabric, throwing it over the bamboo and tying that down too. Finally, it’s time to create the roof, draping a white canvas sheet over the top of each yurt followed by a huge black waterproof sheet and then some more colourful sheets, securing everything with rope.

Ajay strolls over and we help bring colourful rugs into each yurt, fixing them on to the walls inside and draping them over the dusty ground.

‘That was fun,’ Ajay says after, wiping his brow.

A huge pot is carried past us, filled with a delicious smelling stew, and we sit down at a low-lying table of sorts, a thick rug beneath our shins. On the table is an array of food, from a huge bowl of what looks like spaghetti to smaller bowls filled with different meat and vegetable dishes. The floury balls I’d seen being prepared earlier are actually huge cheese curd balls, absolutely delicious as they melt in my mouth.

As we eat, Gulsara’s aunt stands and starts talking in a deep, rhythmic voice.

‘She is telling stories of our founding clans,’ Gulsara explains in a low voice. ‘We must know these stories from many generations back, it is our
şejire
.’

‘Isn’t that Arabic for “tree”?’ Ajay asks.

Gulsara nods. ‘What you might call a family tree.’

I think of the drowned trees around the world where my mum’s name has been etched with another man’s. Is that my true family tree, my legacy? Are those etchings where it all starts for me…and ends?

I’ve never heard stories from past generations, only Aunt Hope’s occasional mentions of when the café was first opened by my grandparents and what it was like growing up in their messy house. But that’s it, no
şejire
for me.

What about Faith? What’s her story?

‘Are your parents here?’ Ajay asks Gulsara.

‘No. They died when I was very young.’ She looks at her aunt, smiling affectionately. ‘My aunt is my mother now.’

‘Same as Willow,’ Ajay says. ‘Your aunt brought you up, didn’t she?’ he asks me.

Gulsara looks at me. ‘You too?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t call her my mother.’

‘But she loved you and cared for you?’ she asks.

I shrug. ‘I guess.’

‘Then she is your mother,’ she says.

A group of children burst into giggles nearby. I notice they’re looking at some Polaroid photos. From here I can see one quite clearly, an image of them all standing proudly around a tall tanned man with a grey beard. Ajay frowns. ‘Isn’t that—’

‘Niall,’ I finish, heart thumping. ‘May I look?’ I ask the little boy who’s holding the photo.

He grasps my meaning and nods shyly as he hands it over. I look at the man in it. Those blue eyes are unmistakable, as are the black tattoos weaving their way up his arms. He looks older than the photo on his website, but happy, a big smile on his face. In the background I recognise the same hills that are overlooking the yurts right now.

‘Was this taken recently?’ I ask, showing it to Gulsara.

She nods. ‘This morning.’

I exchange a look with Ajay. ‘Where did the man go?’ he asks

‘The lake,’ Gulsara says, peering outside. ‘He tell me he go underwater with big camera, take special photos.’

Ajay and I look at each other as I try to contain my emotions.

‘Let’s go,’ I say.

We stand at the edge of the lake. It’s beautiful, glittering blue, surreal-looking. The branchless spruces that are spread out in rows across the lake’s surface look frozen in time.

But I barely notice the lake’s beauty. Instead, my eyes are scouring its banks for a lone figure, a tattooed man with a grey beard, a camera slung over his shoulder.

But there’s just Ajay and me.

‘Maybe he’s under the surface,’ Ajay says.

‘His things would be on the side.’

I stare at the glimmering water, wanting to dive in and hide beneath its depths, just like Gulsara’s aunt said. ‘Shall we dive?’ I say, already shrugging my hoodie off, desperate to get in and away from the glare of the sun.

Ajay smiles as he surveys the lake. ‘Please.’

The water is crystal clear as we splash into it half an hour later. Freezing cold despite the warm air above. The trees transform as we delve below, each one heavy with branches weighed down by pines, a contrast to their bare branches above, the trees kept alive by the freezing temperatures down here. The effect is quite something, making our underwater world feel ethereal. Ajay’s smiling from ear to ear as he swims around the trees, taking it all in.

I stay above for a moment, waiting for the bubbles from his snorkel to create a mushroom-shaped fizz below me. I do this sometimes, wait above, watch for the ‘mushroom bubble’, hoping it’s clear enough to see my reflection in it. This time it is and I see myself floating in it, my short black hair spiking above my head, my blue eyes staring back at me through my mask. I look like a little girl. Maybe I still am, stuck in that time before my parents passed away. How can I move on?

I need answers.

I glide through the bubbles, feeling them caress my skin as my reflection dissipates around me.

After thirty minutes, Ajay points to the dive computer on his wrist. We need to head back up. We slowly ascend, passing ghostly pine trees, their branches tickling our skin. When I burst to the surface, for once I’m grateful for the feel of air on my skin. We wade out, remove our equipment and dry off, both quiet as we pack up, the low sun bouncing off the lake’s surface before us.

The sound of people talking in the distance pierces the silence. I look up, see a couple walking through the trees up ahead. They have rucksacks slung over their backs, walking boots on their feet.