My Sister’s Secret. Tracy Buchanan

the day she got all the A-Level results she needed to get into the marine biology course she’d applied for at the University of Southampton, face flushed with happiness as she gave a thumbs up to the camera.

      The last photo was of Faith standing outside the University of Southampton. Charity recognised that nervous smile of hers. Faith used to get it the morning of her exams, or that time when her dad discovered she’d been storing underwater plants in the café, stinking the place out. Despite all her bravado about leaving Busby-on-Sea to go to university, Charity remembered how nervous Faith had been that day. Charity hadn’t wanted her big sister to go.

      Charity set the photos aside. Beneath them was the pale pink lipstick Faith always wore; a small Petri dish; a solitary silver pearl earring…and then the ornate silver necklace Faith had been wearing the night she died, a bejewelled anchor hanging off it. Charity picked it up, tangling it around her fingers.

      She thought of that terrible evening. Faith was back from university for the Easter holidays. She seemed distant, tired. Her parents explained it away, saying the course was hard work and Charity and Hope must leave her to study. Charity remembered being disappointed. She’d envisaged days on the beach with the sister she so worshipped, even some diving if the weather behaved. The first sign something was wrong was the doorbell ringing in the early hours. There’d been the sound of shuffling from their parents’ room, then the door opening, her dad’s heavy steps as he’d walked downstairs. Charity stood at her bedroom door with her ear to it.

      There was the sound of muffled voices then her father’s footsteps on the stairs again.

      ‘Faith?’ he shouted out. There was a slight hint of panic in his voice. That had worried Charity. Her father was so calm, not easily ruffled.

      ‘What’s going on, Tony?’ her mother had asked, appearing from her room.

      ‘Get Faith, wake her up.’

      Charity opened the door then, saw Hope doing the same. They exchanged a look then watched as their mother knocked on the door to Faith’s attic room.

      ‘Darling?’ she asked, voice trembling.

      Nothing.

      ‘Faith, it’s Mummy.’

      ‘Oh, Mother, honestly,’ Hope had said, pushing in front of her mother and opening the door, her usual bolshie self. But then she’d gone very quiet. ‘She’s not here.’

      Her mother had run downstairs and the two sisters leant over the banister, watching as two police officers followed their parents through into the living room. Charity learnt later they’d found Faith’s student card in the pocket of a woman’s body they’d found near the main road out of Busby-On-Sea and had come straight to the house. A few minutes later, Charity heard her father’s low desperate moan.

      Charity felt as though the world was tilting. Her father never cried. She’d grabbed Hope’s hand and they waited quietly as the police officers left. When their parents came to them, Charity could tell from the looks on their faces something dreadful had happened. She’d run into her room and buried her face into the pillow, unable to face it. It had been Hope who’d eventually said the words.

      ‘Faith died,’ Hope said into the darkness, her voice close to Charity’s ear. ‘We’ve lost her. It’s just the two of us now.’ Then she’d felt her sister’s tears on her cheeks, mingling with her own. The grief had been astounding, making her head swim, her breath come short. She saw her sister in a quick succession of images: by the sea, hair sweeping out behind her; tucked up beside Charity in bed, reading stories to her; at Christmas, the three sisters sipping hot chocolate around the tree.

      All gone.

      The last item in the box was an article she’d kept, reporting Niall’s sentence.

       LOCAL MAN JAILED OVER HIT AND RUN FATALITY.

       Eighteen-year-old local Niall Lane has been sentenced to two years for causing death by dangerous driving. He was seen driving from the scene by a witness after knocking over nineteen-year-old Faith Winchester on Ashcroft Road in the early hours of 21st March this year. The witness found the victim at the bottom of the steep verge sloping down from the road into Busby Forest. An autopsy revealed she died from a traumatic brain injury, believed to have been caused by her head impacting with a rock. Faith Winchester lived in Busby-on-Sea all her life with her parents, the owners of the Busby Café, and her two younger sisters. She was a promising student in her first year at Southampton University and hoped to become a marine biologist.

      Charity looked at the clock in her room. Midnight. It was now ten years ago today and yet the grief felt as sharp, as painful, as it did then.

      Charity dug her hands into her long blue coat, the early morning mist swarming around her ankles. The road ahead of her curved around a corner, disappearing over a hill. Trees lined it, dipping over the road, making it seem darker than it was. It was hard to believe the sea glimmered just half a mile behind her, Busby-on-Sea now waking to another day.

      She paused as she got to the precarious bend that had caused so many accidents as cars struggled to negotiate it. Exactly ten years ago today, Faith was found in a foetal position. Her scarf was later found on the road just above.

      Why had she been walking on this road alone so late at night? She should have been in bed, asleep. That question had tortured the grief-filled silences her family had shared those first few weeks and months after Faith died, and ten years later, still no answer. Their parents died not knowing.

      Charity closed her eyes, tears squeezing between her lashes.

      When she opened her eyes again, a tall figure was approaching from the bottom of the hill. He was wearing a black leather jacket, blue jeans, dark hair shaved close to his head.

      She recognised him instantly.

      Niall Lane.

      He paused, blue eyes narrowing. ‘Charity?’

      She opened her mouth to say something but suddenly a roar filled the air.

      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.

       Chapter Four

      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