*
Annie was vaguely aware of things. The warmth and crackle of the fire on the backs of her hands. Sarah and Dr. Max in the kitchen, murmuring to each other in low Scottish voices, the kettle boiling, the clink of cups. He had, she thought, tactfully explained the situation with Annie and her mum and Jacob. The light was fading outside—they wouldn’t make it back now before the real weather set in. Snow was already whirling around the windows, until Sarah whisked the curtains closed. She pushed a mug into Annie’s hands, which were cradling her head. “Drink that. You’ve had a shock.”
“I’m sorry. I just—I never thought I’d even meet him. I thought he was gone, and then suddenly I thought I might meet him, after all, and...I never will now.”
“He wanted to meet you. He knew he’d not done right by you, love. I tried to get him to write for years, but he was afraid.”
Dimly, Annie felt the blow, and knew she would suffer for it later. Her mother hadn’t told her they were in touch, for whatever reason—and now it was too late. That was what death meant. It meant it was too late for everything. There was no way back. No wonder Polly was trying to do so many things, be so many different people, all in the space of a hundred days. Once she was gone, it would be as if she’d never existed, and the rest of them would have to turn around and keep trudging on. Annie swallowed some tea, hardly tasting it. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known.”
“We wanted you to, love. I wrote inviting you to the funeral.”
Her father’s funeral. He’d been buried and she hadn’t even known. If she’d found out in time, she could have met him. Forgiven him, maybe, for running out on her and Maureen. So many emotions were swirling in her head, she felt like she was in the middle of a blizzard. At least one person could understand. As Sarah and Dr. Max busied themselves in the kitchen, making yet more tea, just for something to do—Morag crept back into the room, her eyes red. “Hi,” Annie tried.
“Hmph.”
“I’m sorry about this. I had no idea—I didn’t know about you. I swear.”
“So...you’re, like, my sister or something?”
“I guess so.” It was so strange. A lifetime of being an only child, of having only her mother, and now there was this girl, sneaking looks at Annie out of the corner of her eye. A sister. “How old are you?” asked Annie.
“Fifteen.” Reluctantly, she flicked her eyes to Annie. “You?”
“Way older. Thirty-five.” So she’d been twenty when this girl was born. Working already, dating Mike. Morag could have been her flower girl at the wedding. But no, it couldn’t have been like that. There was no point in all these what-ifs. There never was.
Morag leaned in, lowering her voice. “Is that your husband? Or your boyfriend or something?”
“Dr. Max? Oh! No, no, he’s not. He’s...” She looked over at him, moving around the unfamiliar kitchen like he moved around his operating theater, picking up mugs and spoons, totally focused. His hair was damp with snow and his fleece was old and ratty. He must have felt her look because he glanced up, and mouthed a quick, Okay? Annie tried to summon up a smile back, but couldn’t quite manage it. She was going to need time. There was so much to explain. That she’d had a husband, but didn’t now, and Dr. Max definitely wasn’t it. And it hit her, suddenly. Jacob had been part of this family, too. He’d been her father’s grandson, and Morag’s nephew, but they would never know him. A fresh wave of loss slammed into her and she leaned back slightly, as if from a physical blow. “He’s just my friend,” she said.
Morag was watching her carefully. Her eyes were the same as Annie’s own—blue, watchful. Their father’s eyes—she’d never known. Annie wondered what else they’d inherited. His inability to stay in anything, not a job, not a marriage? At least, that was how her mother had described him. But he’d stayed here, hadn’t he? Morag was fifteen or so. Fifteen more years than he’d had with his other daughter.
The feelings were swamping her. That her father had chosen this other life, other family, other child. That she had no one now. He was dead; her mother was lost in the darkness. And Polly. Soon Polly would be gone, too. She stood up, shakily. “I’m sorry,” she said, raising her voice so they could hear her over the boiling kettle. “I think we better go.”
Sarah looked disappointed. “Oh, hen! I thought you were stopping for dinner? You can stay the night, too, if you like.”
“No. No, we can’t. Our—my friend’s ill. We need to leave early tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?” Dr. Max had a flowered tea towel over his shoulder—it seemed he’d been washing up. “It’s no trouble to stay awhile, Annie.”
Why couldn’t he understand? She started looking around for her bag, ignoring the hostile expression that had crept back onto Morag’s tearstained face. “No. We should go. Will you take me, please?”
*
Much, much later, in the wee small hours of the night, as Dr. Max described it, the car pulled up at the gate of his mother’s house. It was icy cold, and still, not a breath of a mouse stirring around. Annie was stiff and freezing, her eyes sore. She hadn’t spoken the whole way back, over dark hills and rivers, the headlights catching the glowing eyes of nighttime animals. “We could have stayed, you know,” he said, turning off the engine.
She stared at her cold hands. He must be disappointed in her. She’d been cold, she knew, and awkward. “It’s a bit much to take, okay? Finding out my dad lives here, only then I find out he’s dead, and guess what, he was trying to meet me only Mum never passed on the letters, and I can’t ask her why because she thinks I’m her friend from school, oh, and I also have a sister I never knew about.”
“I know. I know it’s a lot. But...they were really trying. It’s not their fault.”
“Yeah, well, it’s none of your business.”
He paused for a moment. “I know it isn’t.”
“Look, I’m grateful to you for taking me. It’s just—it doesn’t seem fair. That I could have seen him, could have known him, but I’m too late. Story of my life. Nothing ever works out.”
She had the impression he was trying very hard not to snap at her. “Annie, I know things have happened to you, bad things... It must have been dreadful. But you’re not the only one, okay? Polly’s dying. Her family are going to lose their sister, their daughter, at thirty-five. And Dr. Quarani—you know he’s from Syria? Came here on a work visa but they wouldn’t let the rest of his family in, so he’s working all the hours he can to try and get them out. His sister’s stuck in Aleppo with her two little kids. He’s got their picture in his office—you might have seen it. No one’s heard from his brother in months. He’s basically all alone here, in a country that thinks he’s a parasite, while he works himself to the bone trying to save lives.”
Yet more sadness, yet more suffering. “I didn’t know.”
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad.”