‘Kate has a mental illness?’ I exclaim. ‘That’s not possible.’
But then I hear my father’s words again: She’s dangerous, Sally.
‘You didn’t see her,’ Paul says. ‘She was like a mad woman. The neighbours were terrified. She tried to attack one of them.’
‘But when she came to see me, she was fine,’ I say. ‘I would have noticed if she was behaving strangely.’
‘Would you?’ He lets out a sound that falls between a laugh and a sigh. ‘Would you really? Honestly, Sally, you’re so wrapped up in your own world. You only see what you want to see, what suits you.’
‘I know my sister,’ I reply but even as the words come out I know they’re not true. I have no idea who Kate really is. Was.
Another scrap of that last phone call comes back to me. Kate’s voice, pleading: I’m calling to ask you a favour.
‘They dropped the charges, thank goodness,’ says Paul. ‘But on the condition that Kate leave Herne Bay. They made it clear they’d take out a restraining order against her if she went near the house again.’
I think of the way Kate used to rage against my father; how she would fight back, her eyes bulging, her fists raised.
‘When she was released I picked her up and gave her a lift to the train station,’ Paul goes on, drumming his fingers on the window ledge. I hate it when he does this. It sets my nerves on edge. ‘And that was the last time I saw her. So you see, when you say I have no idea, you’re very wrong. I saw Kate deteriorate right in front of my eyes, just like I saw Hannah fall apart.’
‘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.