Amber’s faith in me gave me a p epped-up courage that carried me through the rest of the day. From where I am now, it’s hard to understand how I failed to witness the pattern – the fact that the highs and lows that used to arrive chemically, via a furtive late-night drop-off on a scooter, were now arriving with equal ferocity via different means. I even managed to turn the feeble text I received from Arthur into a positive. Ha! he wrote – nothing else – in the late afternoon. Then a few minutes later, another bubble appeared on my phone’s screen. Stay strong! Catch up with you when I’m back x. It was hardly a sonnet, but somehow I managed to transform receiving a kiss into a romantic triumph. I hadn’t sent him one – he was clearly upping the ante, making it clear he wanted our relationship to be ongoing, and definitely more than friends. I shut off my computer at seven, well after Julia had left and twenty minutes after Duncan, and headed to the lift with a stubborn optimism. It was a fresh start in every possible way. The end of the day bustle was long over as I swiped my pass on the turnstile. The row of leather chairs in the lobby were left exposed, so I saw her immediately. ‘Sophie!’ I said, rushing towards her, my voice cracking. She took a few seconds to stand up, the easy smile that normally lit up her face at the sight of me failing to ignite. At least she was here. That meant everything. ‘I’m wearing your scarf,’ I said, hugging her unyielding body. ‘I love it so much.’ ‘I liked the cookbook too,’ she said, words muffled by the long hug that I was refusing to quit. ‘I’m so happy you’re here!’ I added. My voice had developed that watery uplift that Hannah’s so often had, neediness turned into a lilting chime. ‘I needed to see you,’ said Sophie, almost businesslike. She paused. ‘Do you want some supper? My treat.’ It was so humiliating how much of a bonus it was that she would pay. ‘I’d love that,’ I said, awkwardly threading my arm through the crook of her stiff elbow. We ended up in a dim sum place, all low lighting and intimate velvet booths. Had she lined it up beforehand, picking somewhere where there would be no easy distractions? I let her order for both of us, a cover for my self-consciousness about the fact she was paying. All I asked for was a bottle of sparkling water. ‘You can get a drink,’ I said to Sophie, but she shook her head, her face shut tight. ‘Just because I’m not drinking, doesn’t mean you... or are you practising for dry January?’ ‘I just don’t want one,’ she said, shutting the menu firmly and handing it back to the waiter. ‘Thank you,’ she said to him, raising her first smile of the evening. ‘Sophie,’ I said, once he’d retreated. I grabbed for her hand across the table. ‘Can’t we just have a nice time together? Sister Act?’ It was a silly way we sometimes used the phrase, a little nod to our special bond within our family. We were the sister act. Or at least we always had been. She stared at me searchingly. ‘I wish,’ she said softly. ‘I wish that more than anything.’ ‘So... I’m still me, Sophie! I’m me, without you having to worry that I’m going to sink two bottles of wine and do something totally inappropriate and possibly naked.’ She refused to laugh – instead she somehow managed to look even more pained. ‘Why aren’t you happy for me?’ I said, anger building now. ‘Everyone wanted me to stop being so self-destructive. To get a life. And now you’re all still judging me. I can’t win, can I?’ Sophie snatched her hand away. ‘I’m happy you’re not drinking, I really am. I’m proud of you for that. But I don’t know why you have to be so horrible to Mum. To both of them. She’s in bits, Rachel. I’ve never seen her like this. Why
didn’t you just tell her where you were? I know you’re angry I told her, but you put me in an impossible position. And then last night all she was trying to do was make peace, and you were awful to her again.’ My rage was like a tidal wave. I forced myself to stay silent until I could trust myself to speak. This wasn’t Sophie’s fault: she’d been indoctrinated too. But before I’d formulated a r eply, she changed tack. ‘How was it, anyway?’ she said, lighter suddenly. The waiter delivered our bottle of water, and she busily rearranged our glasses to make it easier for him to pour. ‘Mum said you met someone?’ ‘Yeah, I did,’ I said. ‘So – gory details?’ she asked, perky. Something jarred. Something didn’t sound like Sophie. But the chance to pretend that we were back to normal was too alluring, and soon I was blabbing away about Arthur like he was my one true love rather than a grown man who thought ‘Ha!’ was a coherent sentence. My sister’s smile felt too persistent, too glazed, and I checked myself. ‘God, listen to me wanging on.’ I laughed. ‘What about you? I can’t believe it’s only two months until the wedding. How is Toby?’ ‘Yeah, no, he’s fine,’ she said. ‘Busy at work.’ ‘I am still your maid of honour, aren’t I?’ I said. My hand hovered above the table like a UFO: I wanted to grab hers, but the airspace felt hostile. ‘I know Kitty’s organizing the hen night, but I want to help in any way I can.’ That pained look again. How could she – the functional, together sister – possibly need my so-called help? Shame washed through me like a mouthful of acid. ‘Just say if you don’t want me there,’ I snapped. ‘It’s fine.’ The waiter was returning with a towering plate of dim sum. Sophie looked outwards into the buzz of the busy restaurant, playing for time. ‘Of course I want you there!’ she said. ‘You’re my sister. You’re you.’ The way that those words cracked her voice, cracked me. ‘But I can’t choose between you and Mum. I can’t choose between you and enjoying our wedding day. You must understand that.’ ‘Of course I do!’ I said, my hand flying for hers across the food. She let me take it now: there was hope. I had to make this right. Mum’s cold, vindictive stare as she left the flat was still boring into me. I’d have to match her to survive – maybe that was my twisted genetic inheritance. I took a breath. ‘Sophie, I know how it looks. Like I’m this self-indulgent, unstable nightmare who went off the rails when I was a teenager and never came back. But you were too young to understand, and I’ve wanted to protect you from the truth. Because you’re my baby sister, who I love more than anyone.’ Sophie’s wide brown eyes were watery behind her glasses. I k ept going, pressing hard against the chink in her armour. ‘I didn’t want to destroy your childhood. You’ve always been so... so fucking happy! And I love that about you. It makes life easier...’ ‘My life isn’t some permanent sodding picnic, Rachel,’ she interrupted, but I squeezed her hand and carried on talking. I couldn’t afford to look down before I’d walked the full length of this particular tightrope. ‘Mum and Dad – I’m not saying they don’t love us, or they haven’t tried to be good parents, but... that marriage isn’t what it looks like. How they want it to look. And I was too young...’ A sob rose up, but I forced it down. ‘I know how much you loved Esther, and I’ve never wanted to tell you this, but she was definitely Dad’s mistress. In our house. And when I found out, when I walked in on them, Mum punished me for it. I needed her so badly, and she just – she just chucked me out, emotionally, like I was rubbish. You know how hard on us she can be. It was that times a hundred till I went to university.’ Sophie was pale now, her face pinched tight with shock. She didn’t say a word: I couldn’t work out if that was a good or a bad sign. All I could do was carry on. ‘And it kind of broke me. Home wasn’t a
home anymore. I didn’t trust anyone. I didn’t trust myself. And if you don’t trust yourself – if you don’t like yourself – then it doesn’t really matter what you do to yourself, does it?’ ‘Esther?’ she said, the name uttered with such disbelief that it sounded like an unfamiliar foreign word that she couldn’t pronounce. ‘Our nanny – Esther?’ ‘Yes. I know it’s hard to believe, but... that’s why it was so impossible for me to survive intact, Sophie. It took me apart.’ I could say it now. Being surrounded in Devon by all those warm, kind faces as I shared the darkest truths of my family had finally let me own the trauma of what had happened on my terms. But then I thought of what I’d seen next – who Mum really was for me – and my clarity was overwhelmed by shaky terror. I took a long gulp of water and a mouthful of food, trying to steady myself. Perhaps I could text Amber when I got out of here, let her be the one to steady me the way she always did. I was so lucky that she didn’t even restrict my contact to sessions anymore. ‘Rachel, are you sure?’ pleaded Sophie. ‘I mean – Dad? Is he really capable of that?’ ‘Do you really think they’re happy?’ I said. She paused, her bottom lip pinned tight by her teeth, the way she used to hold it when she was first learning to colour inside the lines. Love rushed up inside me, but I didn’t say a word. ‘I mean, I don’t think they’re love’s young dream,’ she said eventually. ‘They bicker, but then, they’re both strong characters.’ Her voice was rising with distress, and I felt a stab of guilt at smashing her pretty picture to smithereens, but then I thought of Amber. The way that she’d taught me to value truth and integrity above the numb comfort of lies. ‘I’ve never had to think about it. They’ve just been Mum and Dad.’ ‘I’m sorry—’ I said, but it was her turn to cut across me. ‘Tell me properly, Rachel,’ she said, eyes blazing. ‘I need to understand this properly.’ And I told her the story of that day, and how it had allowed me to put together all the strange inconsistencies of the months leading up to it. The way our workaholic Dad had started regularly ‘working from home’, his eagerness to pick up our au pair from late nights out. And the phoney war of the weeks that stretched out afterwards, before Esther’s abrupt and unexplained d eparture. ‘I remember I cried night after night after she left,’ breathed Sophie. ‘It was so sudden, wasn’t it? I was really pleased when she got back in touch all that time later.’ I allowed myself to feel some hope. Perhaps someone in my family could believe me – could understand how hard it was to ke ep hold of all of this and also stay part of them. ‘Yes, it was!’ I agreed. ‘But you can’t be sure, Rachel,’ she said. ‘You could have misread the situation. It’s not like they were... like you saw them.’ She flushed, the horror of the idea painted on her face. ‘Mum’s virtually admitted it to me!’ I said. ‘She almost said it last night, in fact.’ Sophie looked doubtful, like a doggedly honest juror who took ‘beyond reasonable doubt’ to the nth degree. ‘Really?’ ‘Yes!’ I said, my voice so shrill that a nearby table swivelled their heads to look in our direction. I was desperate to win her back – too desperate. In retrospect, I can see what a fatal mistake that would prove to be. ‘Not in so many words, but yes.’ ‘But, Rachel...’ said Sophie, struggling with something. ‘Just say it.’ ‘I saw Esther. Today. She’s still working in Dad’s office. Mum was there – we both know what she’s like! There’s no way she’d let him have a mistress right under her nose. She’d – she’d cut his balls off.’ I could see from the way her face softened that the thought comforted her. ‘But...’
‘I’m not saying you’re wrong, but you must admit it’s possible she was telling the truth.’ Now it was her who reached across the table for my hand. ‘I couldn’t bear it if you cut yourself off because of some stupid misunderstanding. We know what she’s like – she could be an utter cow to me when I was a teenager too. It doesn’t mean Dad cheated with our nanny. It’s a big accusation.’ I snatched my hand away. I was struggling to compute everything at once – how painfully easy it was for my sister to dismiss me, and the fact that Esther’s cancerous presence was buried so de ep in our family that it was still eating away at the flesh. ‘A misunderstanding?’ I exploded. ‘Is that what you think this is? Me and Mum having a misunderstanding? Jesus!’ ‘Rachel...’ In my defence, I was splintering apart. ‘You’re totally brainwashed, and you don’t even know it!’ I said, angry tears coursing down my cheeks. ‘The way you’re talking about her – “she’d cut off Dad’s balls”, “she’s been a bitch to us”. You know exactly who she is, but you’re so fucking used to making excuses for her that you can’t even hear the double- speak.’ I looked at my sister’s stubbornly innocent face and, for the first time in my life, I wanted to slap it. ‘I wish it was you seeing Amber, not me. Then you’d have to grow up and face how fucking toxic our family really is!’ Sophie’s eyes flashed with fury. ‘Seeing Amber? Looking at the state she’s got you in, I can’t think of anything worse.’ ‘She’s saved me!’ I wailed. ‘Sometimes things have to be burnt down so they can be rebuilt.’ Sophie shook her head. ‘That’s not you speaking, Rachel; that’s her,’ she said, waving an angry hand for the bill. ‘There’s only one person here who’s been brainwashed.’ It jolted me, the realization that my sister knew me so well that she could trace the hidden contours of my words the second they left my mouth, almost as if they were braille beneath her fingertips. The twin realization – comforting and terrifying all at once – that my connection to my family ran so much de eper than mere DNA. ‘That’s not true!’ I said. ‘That retreat healed me. It healed all of us.’ ‘What, all three grand of it?’ she snapped, handing her credit card over to an understandably nervous waiter. ‘She charged three bloody grand for you to all sit around talking about your own navels in the arse-end of nowhere.’ ‘How do you even know that?’ My whole family, even my beloved Sophie, were plotting against me. Spying. ‘Oh, don’t you worry – Mum’s all over it,’ she said ominously. ‘It’s none of your fucking business, but it was an incredible, healing journey that she took us on. She gave everything to us. Arthur too. We went back into our past lives, and I can tell you that Mum’s vendetta against me started way more than twenty years ago.’ Sophie angrily keyed in her pin, then grabbed for her coat from the seat next to her. ‘What are you even talking about, Rachel? If you could hear yourself! You’re not making any sense.’ She abruptly stood up. ‘Sophie, don’t go,’ I pleaded. ‘We can’t leave it like this. You’re my sister! I love you – you know how much I love you.’ ‘I don’t not love you, Rachel,’ she said, her voice breaking in a way that tore at my heart. ‘But I can’t talk to you when you’re being like this.’ She paused, staring down at me. ‘It’s as bad as... It’s as bad as it’s ever been. Maybe worse. I don’t know how to even find you this time.’ ‘I’m right here.’ I grabbed for her sleeve, but she yanked her arm away as if my fingers had burnt her. ‘Don’t, okay?’ she said. ‘I’ll call you.’ ‘Don’t bother,’ I snarled, humiliated and ashamed. ‘Just think about what I told you instead. Ask yourself – why’s Esther come back now? Because we both know it’s
not to read you bedtime stories.’ I saw her stricken profile as she sw ept out of the door into the cold London night: I took a grim satisfaction in the fact my words had cut like a knife.