The Sister(167)

She conducted yet another post-mortem on her feelings.

Her mother was obsessed to the point of irrationality. Her dad, in supporting her obsessions, caught them as well, like a contagious disease. The bombardment was relentless. You never support me; you don’t believe it enough to make it happen.

What it was that kept her immune, she couldn’t be sure. It was probably the fact she’d never met her sister. She’d only known her from photographs, or from what her mother tried to indoctrinate into her, or punish her with. You should be grateful… Your sister would have loved that if she were here… She’d never have let us down like that!

Stella’s personality was rebellious by nature, so she railed against the guilt and angst, knowing it held the key to her mental stability. All the while she was growing up, her dependence kept her mother sane. When she reached her mid-teens, her mum began to change. Stella noticed her flaky irritability, never far away, would come upon her more easily; the slightest thing setting her off. She’d feel guilty afterwards, but she chipped a little of Stella’s tolerance away each time. By the time she was eighteen, she was ready to strike out on her own

She studied psychology and gained an understanding of it all. She found herself led down the path of looking at cults; the idea of becoming part of one big happy family was appealing. To give and receive unconditional love, to feel valued and worthy, to be with others who were as disaffected as she was. Compared to her own life, it would be heaven, but then she realised she’d be living life on somebody else’s terms, the same as she was now.

She’d be living a lie, and she needed to get away from that.

When she was in her third year at university, her parents, having been so strong all the way through, collapsed in on themselves. The train that carried their hopes derailed suddenly and so unexpectedly.

Looking back, it was only ever a house of cards. One collapsed, and the other followed.

She never did get to qualify.

She joined the care professions herself, looking after old people, qualifying as a nurse.

Then one day, feeling unfulfilled and insecure, she answered an ad in the local paper completely on impulse.

She managed to secure herself a job, working for Miller’s missing person’s agency. She had this crazy idea she might help herself by helping others find their lost loved ones, and she harboured a hope she might finally find out what had happened to her sister.

In drink, she had tried to pluck up the courage to ask for help, but in going about things the wrong way, she felt compelled to leave. Next, she landed a job working for the elderly Doctor Ryan and at last began to feel the pieces of her life coming back together. She learned a lot from Ryan without actually being a patient of his. He helped her; he had a knack for understanding people, a natural affinity with them. He understood the way her losses had affected her, there was no need for her to say.

She could never have brought herself to seek psychiatric help. He understood that, too.

When he told her he was finally in the last furlongs of his working life, he illustrated his points of view with her, passing on some philosophies and stories. He told her about Gracie, how he knew one day they'd be reunited.

‘A day that’s getting closer,’ he added with a smile.

She sensed in the same way she had with her parents, that she wasn’t quite getting the full story from him. In her last days with him, he’d encouraged her to go out and find another job. He hadn’t wanted her to miss out.

When Miller walked into the reception at Ryan’s office, she knew she’d come full circle.





Chapter 136



Miller phoned Stella from the train on the way back from Edinburgh. Her answer-phone activated a drunken message. Hi, ish Shtella here, if I don’t answer the phone ish 'cosh I’ve on the vodka. I migh' be gone shome time. At the end of the recording, a series of muffled fumbling noises came down the line and then the message disconnected.

On his arrival home, he tried calling her again, but she still didn’t pick up. Bone tired, he was relieved. He’d call her later.

Miller unpacked his holdall and set the few clothing items to one side ready for the washing machine. Upstairs, he flopped on top of his bed. He closed his eyes, hovering in the transition between waking and sleeping for the briefest moment until he heard a familiar gravelly voice. He descended further.

Far, far down he found his grandfather with his back towards him, tending the soil in his back garden. Without turning, he scooped a handful up into a sieve and shook it into an old tobacco tin until it was full and put the lid on. He offered the tin over his shoulder, still without turning. ‘So, you never feel far from home. Take it.’ The weight of it surprised him. It was just like the one his grandfather carried everywhere until he died. ‘Granddad?’ he said, but the old man faded before his eyes and he slept for the first time he could remember untroubled by his dreams.





He didn’t wake up until after 9 a.m. The first thing he did was telephone Stella. Her drunken voice answered; he hesitated; thumb poised ready to disconnect. I’ll have to go round there.

The phone transmitted rattling sounds and then she spoke. ‘Hello?’

‘Stella, are you okay?’

‘Oh, Miller, I got myself into a mess last night.’ She coughed dryly. ‘Sorry, I have something for you that Ryan left. Can you come round later this afternoon, once I’ve had a chance to get my act together?’