My Sister’s Lies. S.D. Robertson

lounge, Hannah’s eyes moved from Mia’s low-hanging fringe to Diane’s continued nail biting and then on to her mobile, sitting next to her on the right arm of the chair. Come on, Mark, she thought. Phone me back so at least I have a good excuse to leave the room again. She’d already been to the toilet once and returned twice to the kitchen to get sugar and biscuits.

      It was so damn awkward. And since they were in her home, she somehow felt like it was her responsibility to keep the floundering conversation going, which was ridiculous when she thought about it. It was Diane, not her, who’d upped and left all those years ago. Now her sister, looking gaunt and frazzled, wearing navy leggings, pumps and a white blouse, was the one who’d turned up on her doorstep unannounced and utterly out of the blue. So why wasn’t she discussing the reason for this? She always used to have plenty to say.

      There had been an initial chat of sorts: a bizarre, staccato series of pleasantries about the weather, their car journey to Manchester from Bournemouth, her apartment, and other peripheral matters like the modernisation of the city. At one point she’d asked Diane how long she’d been wearing her hair, now dyed a striking burgundy colour, in a pixie cut.

      ‘Oh, I don’t know exactly,’ she’d replied. ‘Quite a while. A few years.’

      Hannah hadn’t been able to think of a suitable response to this. Diane’s words served as a harsh reminder of how long they’d been apart; how little they knew about the present-day versions of each other.

      Was her sister aware, for instance, that she’d long since quit her job as an advertising copywriter and somehow – miraculously – written her way through the eye of a needle to win the elusive publishing deal that had been her childhood dream? She very much doubted it. It was out there on social media, of course, but Diane wasn’t involved in any of that – not as far as Hannah knew. Nor, to her knowledge, was she in contact with anyone from their past who might have told her. Apart from their father, of course: the one person she knew to have kept in touch with Diane. However, after his initial attempts to mediate between the sisters had failed, he’d refused point-blank to take sides in what he referred to as their ‘foolish feud’. As such, and as long as it lasted, he’d sworn not to speak a word to either of them about the other in order to maintain his neutral status.

      He was a stubborn man, Frank Wells, so she couldn’t imagine he would have breached his vow to reveal this one particular piece of news. While she could only assume he was the person who’d given Diane her address, this was no doubt with the intention that it might lead to their reconciliation.

      As Hannah had lost herself for a moment in these thoughts, her guests had also kept quiet, leading to the first long, awkward silence of their visit. Suddenly aware of it and uncomfortable, she’d responded by taking the bull by the horns and attempting to get to the bottom of Diane’s shock return. ‘You said something before about needing to see me,’ she’d said, squeezing her palms together and raising her eyebrows. ‘That it was important?’

      ‘Yes, that’s right, but can we talk about it later?’ Diane had replied. ‘How’s Mark, by the way? He’s still at work, I assume.’

      ‘He’s fine, thank you. He should be home before too long.’

      ‘Good.’

      Now Hannah, whose initial feelings of shock and panic had given way to unease and confusion, felt like asking Diane again why she was here and, if necessary, demanding an answer. It was definitely a reasonable question, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it after the last response. So instead she found herself trying again with Mia, who was, after all, an innocent party in the family feud that had kept them separate all this time. Losing touch with her niece – the closest thing she’d ever had to a child of her own – had been one of the most painful parts of the whole sorry affair.

      ‘So, Mia Wells, let me see,’ she said, trying not to think about all those years and milestones she’d missed from her childhood. ‘You must be fourteen now, right?’

      Mia, who was pin thin and wearing skinny jeans with a black T-shirt, nodded without looking up at her.

      ‘So what school year are you in now?’

      ‘I’ve just finished Year Nine,’ she replied in a monotone voice.

      ‘Right,’ Hannah replied, nodding her head as she tried to work out what that meant, recalling that the naming system for year groups had changed since her and Diane’s schooldays.

      ‘It’s what we used to call Third Year,’ her sister chipped in, as if reading her mind. ‘From September she’ll be in the equivalent of Lower Fifth, working towards taking her GCSEs at the end of the following year.’

      ‘So have you finished for the summer now, Mia?’

      ‘Yes,’ the teenager replied.

      ‘They broke up earlier this week,’ Diane explained, looking at the fingernails she’d just been biting, frowning and then shoving both hands under her thighs.

      Old habits die hard, Hannah thought. Smiling at her niece in case she decided to make eye contact, she added: ‘Wonderful. All that time off. I bet you’ve got loads of stuff planned. Are you going on holiday anywhere?’

      ‘I’m not sure.’

      ‘Right.’

      ‘Can I use your toilet, actually?’ Mia asked, adding a ‘please’ following a nudge and a glare from her mother.

      ‘Um, yes. Of course. It’s in the hall, next to the front door.’

      Diane rolled her eyes. ‘Sorry about Little Miss Grumpy,’ she said once Mia was out of earshot. ‘She’s at that age.’

      ‘Listen, what the hell’s going on?’ Hannah hissed, unable to contain herself any longer. ‘You show up at my home after all these years of no contact and then you sit there, saying almost nothing. Why are you here? Is one of you in trouble? You need to give me something.’

      ‘I will, but not in front of Mia.’

      ‘She’s not here now.’

      ‘She’ll be back any minute, and it will be better if Mark’s around too.’

      ‘Mark? What—’ Hearing the toilet flush, Hannah changed tack. ‘Come on, quick. Just tell me.’

      ‘I can’t now. Sorry. It’ll have to be tonight – after Mia’s gone to bed.’

      ‘Gone to bed?’ Hannah repeated, as it dawned on her what Diane’s words implied. ‘Where are you staying?’

      ‘Um, well, I was hoping you might be good enough to put us up for the night.’

      ‘What? You don’t even have an overnight bag.’

      ‘Our things are in the car.’

      ‘You didn’t think to phone ahead?’

      ‘I didn’t have your number to start with and then … Well, I got your landline from Dad, but I wasn’t sure you’d take my call. Turning up here seemed a better option.’ Diane threw her sister a sheepish look. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask in the circumstances, but … please don’t make me beg.’

      Mia walked back into the lounge at the same moment as Hannah’s mobile started to ring.

      ‘Sorry, you’ll have to excuse me,’ Hannah said, wondering whether her niece had overheard any of their discussion. ‘That’ll be a business call I’ve been waiting on. I need to take it.’ She slid the phone from its facedown position on the arm of the chair, knowing it was almost certainly Mark calling, and raced to the relative safety of the kitchen before answering.

      ‘Hi, love,’ she said, speaking quietly despite having shut the door.

      ‘Are you okay? I just got your message. Sorry, I was tied up in a meeting.’

      Hannah brought her husband up to speed with what had happened so far.

      ‘The