He uses the mouse to enlarge the photo, zooming right in on the woman’s crotch.
“Her thigh muscles are weaker than yours,” he says. “And there’s something on the inside of her leg. There. It could be a scratch. Or it could be a scar.”
“Where?”
Alistair hands me the laptop and I lift it higher so that I can see. Truth be told, I could do with my glasses, but I squint instead. He’s right. For the first time, I feel as though I’m establishing proof that my theory isn’t so insane. Every muscle in my body lightens, as though a heavy weight has been lifted. If I’m right, then this isn’t the dementia. It isn’t stubborn pride. I have nothing to be ashamed of.
IfI’m right. We need to prove it first.
I glance at the photo again. “If that’s a scar then it definitely isn’t me.”
“I know,” he says.
I blush, thinking about a few hours earlier when his soft kisses grazed my skin.
We had a wonderful evening. He was a good listener and I felt so relaxed, like I could tell him anything. Well, almost anything. I briefly told him about my divorce and the somewhat fraught nature of my relationship with Penny. Then we’d kissed in the restaurant. And then again in the car before falling into bed in a tangle of limbs, all thoughts of dementia and adoptions and divorces gone from my mind. He lets me live in the moment with him. Being around him is freedom.
“I wish I knew how to find her.” I mumble.
“What about the adoption agency?” Alistair suggests.
“It was so long ago. Fifty years. I doubt they kept the kind of records they do now.”
“You won’t know for sure until you try,” Alistair says. Then he takes my hand and squeezes it. “You found one sister this week. Why not make it two?”
CHAPTER 19
THE SISTER
Hello, Sister.
Over the years that I’ve watched you, I’ve often wondered what it would have been like if we’d never been separated. Sometimes we would visit your house and watch you from afar. You were always happy. I resented you for that, for the life you were handed on a plate.
Were you always happy? Or am I romanticising it? Does your life just seem brighter when I compare it to my own? One thing I do know is that you’ve always wanted me. You’ve wanted that connection. And I have too. Or at least I did when I was a child. I would have done anything to have you in my life but then something snapped inside me. Maybe it’s to do with circumstances. Maybe it was finding out you’d moved back up north, closer to me again. You may not know this, but I left you alone while you were in London with your husband. Oh, and do not get me started on that man. I judged you for marrying Scott. And I was right about him all along.
Still, I let you live your life undisturbed during that time and, in the end, I regretted that. Because those feelings fermented inside me, turning sour with each passing year. I thought my life would get better, that I’d make up for lost time somehow.
But I’m not that woman.
I wanted to love myself, but the simmering rage in my body wouldn’t allow it. I despise you and everything you stand for, everything you had that I didn’t. All the love and warmth from a safe environment. Do you understand that? Have you ever raged about someone before? Truly wanted them dead? No, of course not, because you had a perfect life.
I tried to move on and get past it, but I just ended up hating you more. And now it has gathered power and taken the form of something I can’t control. That hatred is a volcano waiting to erupt, spitting fury, ready to blow.
I can’t stop the volcano. The eruption has already started and soon that lava is going to burn away everything in its path. Including you.
CHAPTER 20
FAYE
It’s lost, completely lost.
I don’t remember where I put the meat.
I grip hold of the kitchen counter and pull in a deep, steadying breath, trying to keep calm. I need to put the beef in the oven. They’ll be here soon and lunch isn’t nearly ready. As I move towards the fridge to look for the joint in the roasting tin for the hundredth time, I hear a creak upstairs. Then another.
Footsteps.
Is someone here already? Did I forget that they’ve already arrived?
