Page 166 of Pull Me Under

Lily stares at me.

I stare at her.

My sister.

I have a sister.

All those years of being alone – after Mum left, after Dad disappeared into the bottle – I had a sister. Growing up in Bristol, in this house with the red door and the daffodils, wondering about the family she’d never met.

‘Holy shit,’ Lily breathes.

I almost laugh. Almost.

‘Yeah,’ I manage. ‘That about covers it.’

Lily is staring at me wild-eyed and I’m staring right back. I see so much of me, but stamps of the Harding brothers too. Her nose is cuter than mine, a little upturn at the edge. Freckles are all Jude. I haven’t seen Kit Harding in a long time, but I bet he’s there as well.

Time lapses. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing on this doorstep rerouting the trajectory of all our lives. ‘Can I…’ I end up prompting, ‘I mean, if you don’t mind.’

Helen’s laugh is a watery tide pool but she pushes her palms against her cheeks and wipes away the tracks of her tears. ‘Of course you can. You’re family, Brynn, no matter how much time has passed.’

Family.

The concept is so alien to me it lodges a lump sideways in my throat.

The kitchen is warm. Yellow walls, herbs on the windowsill, a cat curled on a chair who opens one eye to assess whether I’m worth moving for. Decides I’m not.

Helen puts the kettle on. Because that’s what you do in England when the world turns upside down. You make tea.

Lily hasn’t stopped staring at me.

‘So,’ she says, dropping into a chair across the table. ‘This is mental.’

‘Lily—’ Helen starts.

‘What? It is.’ Lily props her chin on her hand. ‘Yesterday I was an only child with a dad I never met and two half-brothers I’m not allowed to contact. Now I’ve got a sister standing in our kitchen.’ She tilts her head, studying me. ‘You look like me. Around the eyes.’

‘You look like your brothers,’ I say before I can stop myself.

The kitchen goes very still.

Helen’s hand freezes on the kettle.

‘You’ve met them?’ Lily’s voice sharpens. ‘Kit and Jude? You actually know them?’

I should have kept my mouth shut. Should have eased into this, let Helen control the conversation. But I’ve never been good at careful.

‘I’ve recently moved back to Sea Salt Bay,’ I say. ‘I’ve been restoring my grandad’s boat shed. The village isn’t big. You can’t avoid anyone for long.’

It’s not a lie. It’s not the whole truth either.

Helen turns around slowly. The kettle’s starting to rumble behind her but she doesn’t seem to notice.

‘You know my boys,’ she says. Not a question.

‘I know them.’

‘Are they—’ She stops. Swallows. ‘What are they like? Kit must be… God, he’d be thirty now? And Jude⁠—’