The Half Sister(51)

‘I don’t think so,’ she says. ‘Let’s go up to the next turning.’

The red slate roofs of the houses in the road before are replaced with black tiles, giving the street a more ominous feel.

‘This is it,’ she exclaims, knowing instantly that her memory hadn’t lied to her.

Jess stops stock still and looks at her. ‘Are you sure?’ she says.

Lauren nods. ‘So now what?’

‘I’m going to knock on a few doors,’ says Jess. ‘See if anyone remembers anything.’

Lauren had had a horrible inkling she was going to say that, and tiny pinpricks of sweat spring to the skin of her palms.

‘Are you coming?’

Lauren nods half-heartedly, though when they reach the gate of the first house, she holds back. ‘I’ll stay here with the children,’ she says. ‘You go.’

Jess smiles tightly before walking down the path and as Lauren watches her, she doesn’t know what she wants her to find.

‘Oh hello,’ says Jess cheerily to the woman who answers the door. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you but I’m looking to speak to someone who lived on this street twenty or so years ago.’

The woman shakes her head and says, ‘I’m sorry,’ before Jess has even finished the sentence.

‘I’m not looking to sell you anything,’ presses Jess, but the door is already closing. This is going to be crueller than Lauren thought, and she berates herself for ever mentioning it to Jess. No good can come of this.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ says Lauren with forced joviality. ‘We can have a walk around town, and I’ll treat you to scones and a cuppa at Betty’s Tea Rooms.’

‘We can’t give up after just one setback,’ says Jess. ‘We need to keep going.’

It’s not what Lauren wants to hear, but she can’t decide whether it’s because she doesn’t want Jess to get hurt or is scared for herself. Either way, there’s a sense of impending doom as Jess presses on.

The next house is shrouded in shadow, guarded by an imposing oak tree on the pavement. Brightly coloured flower boxes line the deep ledges of the ground-floor windows and the front garden is pruned to within an inch of its life. It looks like a home owned by an elderly, but active, house-proud couple. Lauren applauds her observation skills when she sees one of the brilliant-white net curtains twitch. Bingo!

Almost before Jess even navigates the bell pull, an older woman, who reminds Lauren of her late grandma, opens the door and looks at her inquisitively. The sound of the doorbell is still chiming around the house.

‘Hello dear,’ she says.

‘I’m really sorry to bother you . . .’ says Jess. ‘It’s just that I’m looking for someone who may have lived here around twenty years ago.’

‘Well that would be me,’ says the woman, with a half laugh. ‘How can I help you?’

Jess turns to look at Lauren hopefully, but a sudden apprehension weighs Lauren down. How could she ever have thought this would be a good idea?

‘I haven’t got much information to go on, but I’m trying to track down a family that may have lived along this street.’

The woman looks at her expectantly.

‘A couple and their daughter. He was . . . he was . . .’

‘Tall,’ says Lauren from the kerb. ‘With blonde hair and pale blue eyes.’ As she pictures her father, she unexpectedly feels a pull at the back of her throat.

‘You’re not referring to the Woods family, are you?’ asks the woman, her features darkening.

‘I . . . I don’t know,’ says Jess. ‘Maybe.’

‘Perhaps you should come in,’ says the woman, opening the door wider and stepping aside.

Jess looks wide-eyed at Lauren, who shakes her head. ‘I’ll wait with the children out here.’

‘It’s too hot to stand out there,’ says the woman. ‘The tree keeps this place lovely and cool – please, come in.’

Lauren looks at the pristine hallway, with its pale blue carpet and ornate dado rail, and fast forwards in her head to what it might look like in ten minutes time, once her little horrors have inflicted their worst, with their sticky fingers and dusty shoes. ‘This is really very kind of you,’ she says, as if it will offset the apology she’ll have to make on the way out.

‘You don’t look like reporters,’ says the woman.

‘Reporters?’ exclaims Lauren. ‘Why would we be reporters?’

‘They come by here from time to time, every few years, trying to dig it all up again.’

The woman was right, the house was lovely and cool, but now there’s a ferocious heat coursing through Lauren. Dig all what up again?

‘I’m Jess, and this is Lauren, my . . .’ There’s a split-second pause that only Lauren would notice. ‘Sister,’ she goes on, before smiling to herself.

‘I’m Carol,’ says the woman. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

Lauren wants to say no, but Jess has already said, ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’

They follow Carol down the long hallway, into the kitchen at the very back of the house. Lauren imagines that when the blue and orange cupboards were put in, they were the height of fashion, but although it still looks shiny and new, she can’t see this particular trend coming around again anytime soon.