My Sister's Bones(75)

‘Don’t compare Hannah to Kate,’ I yell. ‘Hannah didn’t fall apart. She was a troubled teenager. Like you said, she was finding her way.’

‘Oh Jesus, Sally, you really are unbelievable,’ he shouts, slamming his fist on the window ledge. ‘I said that to be kind, so I didn’t upset you. Now I wish I’d just been honest and straight with you, then maybe Hannah would still be here.’

‘Why are you shouting at me?’

‘I’m shouting because I’ve had it up to here with you,’ he says. ‘I’ve cosseted and protected you ever since we met, even to the detriment of your own daughter. And I was a fool because you’re right, you’re not a child, you’re a grown woman and you needed to know the truth.’

His hands are shaking and it’s scaring me.

‘What truth?’ I say. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘When we first met, Hannah was so terrified of you, she was wetting the bed almost every night,’ he says, his voice ice cold. ‘But instead of telling you I covered it up, to protect you.’

‘Paul, you’re talking nonsense,’ I say. ‘Hannah never wet the bed, even when she was a toddler. She was potty trained at eighteen months and after that she was meticulous about going to the loo. If she’d started wetting the bed at the age of thirteen I would have known.’

‘Well, you didn’t,’ he says. ‘The poor kid begged me not to tell you. She was terrified of what you might do. By the time you’d woken up with your hangover I’d already changed the sheets.’

‘Oh, come off it, Paul,’ I say. ‘I know Hannah and I had our differences but that came later, when she was well into her teens. She wasn’t scared of me. That’s ridiculous.’

‘Oh, really?’ he says. ‘You know she told me once that when she was five you left her in a pub garden while you got pissed at the bar. I mean, what kind of mother does that?’

My cheeks burn at the memory.

‘That was a one-off,’ I say. ‘It was the anniversary of my dad’s death and I was in a bad state. It was wrong, I know it was, but it didn’t happen again.’

‘As I said, Sally, you only see what you want to see,’ he says. ‘How about your mother, eh? What was the name of the care home I found for her, the one she died in?’

My head is a fog. Why is he bombarding me like this?

‘Erm, it was Hill something,’ I stutter. ‘Hill View?’

‘Nice try,’ he sneers. ‘It was Willow Grange. I know that because I found it, I paid for it and I visited her there twice a week. When did you visit her, Sally? Oh, that’s right, you didn’t.’

‘My mother and I had a difficult relationship,’ I say.

‘You’ve had a difficult relationship with everyone,’ he yells. ‘This is what is so exasperating. You blame everyone else but you’re the one who causes all the bad blood. You didn’t get on with your mum, you didn’t get on with Kate, you didn’t get on with Hannah, you can barely look at me. The only person you ever seem to have liked is your bloody father and he was a drunken mess. I guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.’

‘No,’ I cry as I leap from the bed and run at him, my fingernails clawing into his face. ‘Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you ever say that.’

He grabs my wrists and holds them tightly, and when my anger subsides I see the blood streaming down his face.

‘That’s it,’ he says, his voice quivering. ‘I’m done with you.’

‘I didn’t mean it,’ I sob as he lets go of my wrists and storms to the door. ‘I’m sorry, Paul. Please don’t leave me, we can sort this out, please.’

‘It’s too late, Sally,’ he says, wiping the blood from his face. ‘It’s over.’





35


I can’t do this any more. Paul is gone. Without him I have nothing; just a big empty house. It’s time to leave. The wine will numb me then I’ll finish it off with a handful of pills. Nice and clean.

I lie back on the bed and dissolve into a white-wine haze. The Spar was just opening when I arrived and the woman shook her head as she rang through my three bottles of white.

‘Bit early, isn’t it?’

Usually I give her some blather about having a dinner party later but this time I couldn’t be bothered making excuses. ‘Yes, it is a bit early,’ I hissed as I handed over the cash, ‘but I’m giving you business so what’s your problem?’ I could feel her eyes on me as I left the shop. I must have looked a state in my coat and slippers but I didn’t care. I’d never see her again.

When I got home part of me hoped he would be there, standing in the kitchen with that look of disapproval on his face: ‘Wine, Sally, at this time of the morning? Honestly . . .’ But the house was empty so I took a glass from the kitchen cupboard and made my way upstairs.

I close my eyes and my head fills with his voice. He was so angry, so bitter. It was like he hated me.

I do push people away. Paul was right about that. But if you spend your childhood desperately seeking your mother’s approval and never getting it you grow up feeling that you’re not worth anything. What’s the point of letting people in when they’re only going to hurt you?