My Sister’s Lies. S.D. Robertson

her phone while she’d been staying with them. These must have been to and from her friends at home.

      Unbeknown to Hannah or Mia, he’d also tried and failed to get hold of Diane several times yesterday.

      He’d grabbed her number from Hannah’s mobile. When Diane hadn’t answered, his mind had gone into overdrive, reading all kinds of potential meanings into this. Now he had a new perspective on the situation.

      ‘That’s a bit odd,’ he said into his phone, which was tucked between his chin and right shoulder as he made a brew for himself and a handful of colleagues in the kitchen at work. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this, but judging by the shocked looks on his co-workers’ faces when he’d offered, it was long overdue. In truth, he’d wanted an excuse to make this call away from prying ears in the open-plan office, since all the meeting rooms were occupied. Mark wasn’t one for sharing personal information with colleagues; the last thing he wanted this morning was to face nosy queries about who Mia was and why she was staying with them.

      At times like this he’d have appreciated having his own private office, but that was far too traditional to fit in with the firm’s modern, open ethos.

      ‘What’s that noise?’ Hannah asked.

      ‘I’m brewing up. It’s probably the kettle you can hear.’

      ‘What? I thought you said you never had time for that. Are you feeling all right?’

      ‘Very funny. So where’s Mia now?’

      ‘In her bedroom, reading. I mentioned the art galleries and museums, but she said she didn’t feel up to going.’

      ‘Look on the bright side: at least you might get the chance to do some writing.’ Mark bent down to get the milk out of the fridge as he spoke, cricking his neck in the process, forcing him to switch the phone back into his hand with a groan.

      ‘What was that?’ Hannah asked. ‘Are you all right?’

      ‘It’s nothing. I’m just trying to do too many things at once. So what do you think is going on with Diane?’

      He heard the sound of his wife sighing down the line. ‘Who knows?’

      ‘It certainly seems strange for her to go silent like this … assuming Mia’s telling the truth.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      Yes, good point. What did he mean? The idea that Mia might be fibbing had only occurred to Mark as he’d said it. It was based solely on a paranoid, unsupported fear that she might be working against him – in cahoots with her mother.

      ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Ignore me. I’m, er, just thinking out loud.’

      ‘Why would she make such a thing up? You weren’t here. You didn’t see how upset she was. I felt so sorry for her that I even let her check her mobile at the breakfast table.’

      ‘You what?’ Mark replied, grinning in spite of the guilt and fear that had been eating him up ever since Diane’s flabbergasting revelation. ‘That can’t be right. You must be going soft in your old age. You’ll be answering a call in the cinema next.’

      Hannah had long had a bee in her bonnet about people using mobiles at mealtimes. She found it the height of rudeness and, although Mark wasn’t quite as offended by it as she was, over the years she’d converted him to the cause. He hadn’t spotted Mia doing it so far, perhaps because Diane had similar feelings to Hannah, which she’d instilled in her daughter.

      That didn’t sound like the Diane he remembered, who’d always been far better at breaking rules than following them. Maybe motherhood had changed her. She’d confiscated Mia’s mobile for some reason when they’d first arrived, so there were obviously boundaries in place.

      ‘And you’ve still not heard anything from Diane either?’ Mark asked.

      ‘No. I told Mia I’d try to get hold of her. She wants to know when her mum is coming back for her.’

      ‘That’s understandable. She is only fourteen. She’s probably homesick. So are you going to try calling Diane yourself?’

      She cleared her throat. ‘I guess so.’

      Hearing reluctance in Hannah’s strained tone of voice, Mark spotted an opportunity. ‘You, er, don’t sound very keen.’ He held his breath for a moment before adding: ‘Would you rather I tried to get hold of her instead?’

      ‘You’d do that?’ she asked, already sounding happier.

      ‘Of course, if it makes life easier for you.’

      ‘That would be amazing. You’re the best.’

      Mark winced at this, wishing it was true, before forcing himself to add: ‘Could you text me her phone number?’

      Once he’d dished out the brews to his bemused colleagues – one of whom actually took a photo of him handing over their cup ‘to prove it really happened’ – he returned to his desk and tried to distract himself with work.

      When lunchtime came around, Mark popped out, having taken Diane’s letter from his briefcase and stuffed it into a trouser pocket. He read the contents over again at a crumb-covered table in a quiet back-street sandwich shop where no one knew him.

      Diane’s words hadn’t got any better or less terrifying with time. As Mark’s eyes scanned the letter’s contents, the cheese-and-pickle sandwich he’d ordered lying untouched next to his can of cola, he felt his heart pounding at the prospect of what he might say if he managed to reach her by phone.

      He didn’t have the slightest clue what Diane was up to, but he was desperate to know. He needed to discover whether she was definitely telling the truth in her letter and, if so, why she’d chosen to tell him now. Something specific must have sparked her recent actions – and Mark was determined to get to the bottom of it.

      Meanwhile, he’d done as she’d asked. He’d looked at Mia to see if he could see himself in her. He’d scrutinised the girl, as surreptitiously as possible, over the last couple of days. He’d examined her physical appearance, from her eyes and smile right down to the shape of her feet. He’d considered the way she walked and talked; her gestures; the type of things she said and did; what made her laugh; what made her frown.

      At certain moments, he’d thought he’d seen hints of himself or other family members, such as his mother. At other times, he’d become convinced these were mere projections and there was nothing concrete at all.

      There was plenty of Diane, though. Over the years, particularly before the big falling-out, Mark had seen loads of old snaps of Diane and Hannah together as girls. Fourteen-year-old Mia could easily pass for their sister.

      But could she pass for his child?

      Could she really, truly be his daughter?

      And if so, why had Diane lied to his face about it when he’d asked her previously?

      His mind jumped back to one particular conversation. It had been in 2008 during those awful, raw days following the death of her and Hannah’s mother, Maggie, and before the disintegration of the sisters’ relationship. Little had he known at that point how much was about to change, and how drastically it would affect all of their lives.

      The sisters had spent a couple of days at their parents’ home. They’d both wanted to be there to console and support their dad, who was so devastated he could barely function, and to start planning the funeral. To make things easier for them, Mark had agreed to move into Diane’s house, a small terraced property in Withington, to look after Mia while they were away. This was despite him being pretty clueless when it came to children.

      Mia had recently turned three and had at least stopped wearing nappies during the daytime. With the help of a list of instructions left by her mum, detailing mealtimes, toilet habits and other daily routines, he’d just about managed, thankful she had a placid temperament for a young child.