The Lost Sister: A gripping emotional page turner with a breathtaking twist. Tracy Buchanan

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СКАЧАТЬ no more inviting journalists into her home to chat. Becky had been surprised at how much she’d resented that. She was hungry for more details of her mum’s life outside the brief visits they had before they became estranged, so her mum’s new solitude made her angry.

      And then her mum had moved to the vast house above the cave. Becky had found out about it a few years ago after reading a feature in one of the glossy Sunday magazines, a photo of the ‘reclusive author’ outside her new home, the cave sprawled out below it. Becky wanted to call the journalist who’d written the piece and scream: ‘That cave was where she ran away to! That was what she abandoned me for.’

      But she hadn’t. Of course she hadn’t. Instead, she tried to ignore any mention of her mum, of her growing book sales and accolades, glamour and enigma.

      ‘I think Becky could have been a good writer actually,’ her mum says now.

      Becky laughs. ‘Seriously?’

      ‘You won that short story competition once, remember?’

      Becky knows what she’s referring to. And she hadn’t won it, she’d got third place. She was still proud though, and had even brought it to one of the monthly meet-ups she’d had with her mum in those initial years after she’d left. Her mum had read the story, then peered up at her. ‘You’ll improve, with time.’ And that was it, nothing else.

      ‘I came third, Mum,’ Becky says now.

      ‘Oh, first or third, it doesn’t matter. It was a wonderful story.’

      Becky frowned. ‘You didn’t give that impression when you read it!’

      ‘Probably because I was trying to hide the fact I was about to start crying.’ She looks at the doctor. ‘I get teary when I’m proud. What about art?’ she continues. ‘You were always so good at drawing, Becky. Remember that painting you did of the horse for my fortieth birthday?’

      ‘Dog.’

      ‘Ah yes, dog. Such a fabulous painting. If you’d just put your mind to—’

      ‘I did put my mind to something!’ Becky exclaims, her patience running out. ‘I’m a vet!’

      The doctor raises an eyebrow. ‘Okay, I’ll leave you both to catch up.’ She backs out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

      ‘You’re a bit tetchy this evening,’ her mum says when the doctor leaves.

      ‘Discovering your mother’s dying kind of does that to a girl.’

      Her mum smiles and Becky can’t help but smile back. She knows how spiky her mum can be. Why get upset about it now, when they have so little time left?

      ‘So the hospice your doctor mentioned sounds nice,’ she says, sitting down again.

      Her mum makes a face. ‘I don’t think so.’

      ‘It’ll be the best place for you, really.’

      She crosses her thin arms. ‘Nope. Not happening.’

      ‘But you can’t stay here,’ Becky counters as gently as she can. ‘Hospices like the one your doctor mentioned are there for a very specific reason. And many of them have lovely, beautiful grounds. They’re peaceful places, and more spacious.’

      Her mum pulls at her sheets, biting her lip. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’d still feel trapped.’

       Trapped.

      Becky has a memory then, of her mum standing in front of the mirror at home. ‘Trapped, I feel trapped,’ she remembers her saying.

      She pushes the memory away. ‘Look Mum,’ Becky says gently. ‘I think it’s important you—’

      ‘I said no!’ her mum shouts. Her voice bounces off the walls. She leans forward, grasping Becky’s hands. ‘I know where I want to die and I need your help to do it.’

      ‘Where?’

      ‘The cave. I want to die in the cave.’

      Becky moves back. ‘It’s out of the question.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘You don’t understand the care involved. Your priority soon will be comfort. Rest and comfort. And being in a cave will not provide that.’

      ‘It did once,’ her mum counters.

      Becky feels anger bubble up. It’s so tempting to ask her mum where her eight-year-old daughter’s comfort was when she was lying in bed alone at night, wondering when her mum would return. But instead, Becky forces a soft smile, squeezing her mum’s hand.

      ‘I promise you won’t regret going to the hospice. Let me get more information about it, and some others too so you have options. I think you’ll come to realise it’s the right thing to do.’

      Her mum shakes her head in frustration. ‘Please, you’re the only hope I have, Becky! These people here won’t chance it, all obsessed with health and bloody safety. What does it matter when I’m dying anyway?’

      ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I couldn’t do that to you. Let me go and ask about those brochures. Is there anything you need me to get for you while I’m out there? Shall I go to the shop, get some chocolates, a magazine?’

      Her mum’s face turns glacial and she looks away. ‘No. I’d like to be alone actually. Probably best if you go home. It’s late.’

      Becky watches her mum for a few moments. ‘Are you sure? I can stay, really.’

      Her mum folds the top of the bedsheet down, smoothing it. ‘Absolutely.’

      ‘Right.’ Becky stands up. ‘You know my number, just call if you need anything. I’ll be back first thing tomorrow.’

      Still no response.

      Becky leans over, squeezing her mum’s shoulder. ‘It’ll be okay,’ she says softly. ‘Sleep on it. Things always seem clearer in the morning.’

      Her mum’s forehead crinkles slightly. ‘Someone else said the opposite to me once. That clarity comes with darkness.’ Then she sighs and closes her eyes.

       Chapter Six

       Selma

       Kent, UK

       27 July 1991

      Idris was wearing just shorts, holding a fishing line in his hands. His golden hair fell to his tanned shoulders, and his green eyes were so vivid they didn’t seem real. His bare chest was bathed in moonlight and, in that light, I saw scars tapering down his chest.

      ‘You can,’ he said again, stepping towards me. ‘Whatever the question in your mind СКАЧАТЬ