Sure enough, Emily arrived on the dot of two. Clara was struck afresh by her similarity to Luke, the almost identical way they smiled, the exact shade of their eyes. She watched Emily as she moved around the living room, her fingers trailing over shelves and ornaments as she drank everything in. When she came to the photograph of Luke and Clara, she picked it up and gazed down at it for a long moment. “Tell me about my brother,” she said. “Tell me what he’s like now. He was such a lovely little boy, so kind and funny and loving. Is he still like that?”
And Clara heard herself replying, “Yes, yes he is,” because despite the disturbing things she’d learned about him over the past few days, the Luke she’d known had been kind and funny and loving—at least to her.
“We were so close when we were kids,” Emily said wistfully. “What sort of man is he now?”
So Clara told her everything she could think of: how Luke had traveled around Asia in his gap year, the university he’d gone to, the friends he’d made, his career, the music and books he liked. She told her about the Luke who made the best roasted sea bass she’d ever tasted and did the worst impression of Michael Jackson she’d ever seen, the Luke who cared about his friends and his family, and her.
Emily listened avidly, her legs curled up beneath her where she sat on the sofa next to Clara, her head resting on her arms, her quiet, thoughtful gaze upon her face. “You love him very much, don’t you?” she said, and mutely Clara nodded. Outside on the street the thudding bass of a car stereo swelled, then faded, and a child cried out one long, plaintive wail, yet up here all was quiet and still.
She felt strangely shy in Emily’s presence here in her flat, far more so than she had at the bar. She wasn’t entirely sure what Luke’s sister wanted from their meetings, sensing that there was something more to it than the simple desire to keep abreast of the search, and she could only conclude that talking to her somehow made Emily feel closer to her family, a connection to her parents and brothers after so many years apart. But that, too, didn’t seem quite right. Hoping to get her to open up, Clara asked tentatively now, “What was it like growing up at the Willows? It’s such a special place—it must have been idyllic.”
Emily’s eyes lit up. “Oh, it was! Mum and Dad built such a wonderful life for us, you know? That big lovely house, so full of people, so many parties, they’d both met so many interesting people through their careers, and they welcomed everyone—you’d be just as likely to be sitting down to dinner with the local dog walker as with the local MP.” She paused, lost in thought for a moment. “But I think Mum, despite her career and devotion to Dad, loved more than anything just being our mother. Her family has always been everything to her. She put so much love and time into making our home beautiful for us all. It was perfect.” She smiled sadly. “You’re right. We were very lucky.”
“They’ve always been so lovely to me,” Clara told her. “I was so nervous before I met them—I was afraid they wouldn’t think I was good enough for Luke, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.” She paused, remembering the talks she’d had with Rose over the years, how sometimes Rose had felt more like a mother to her than her own ever had. It struck her now for the first time that perhaps Rose had had similar thoughts: replacing Clara in her head with her own lost daughter, that it was Emily she’d been thinking of when she’d wrapped Clara in one of her warm hugs or given her advice while they’d cooked or gardened together.
She glanced at Emily and the sadness on her face made her catch her breath. “It must be hard for you to talk about them,” she said.
But Emily shook her head. “No, I want to.” She looked at Clara. “They were always very close, Luke and my parents. Are they still?”
“Incredibly so. That’s what makes it all the more heartbreaking, to see Rose and Oliver so desperate.”
Emily nodded, and unable to stop herself, Clara leaned forward and said, “You obviously love your family so much. What made you leave? You said it would be dangerous to go back to them now, but—”
“Clara . . . ,” Emily began, a warning in her eyes.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but if you’re in danger still, if you think your parents might be in danger . . . surely we should go to the police? I can help you!”
But Emily looked away and a silence stretched between them, before Clara pressed gently, “Why did you want to meet with me? I mean, I know you wanted to talk about Luke, find out how the search is going, but . . . I get the impression there was another reason. . . .”
Something in Emily’s face altered and Clara understood that she was right. Carefully she reached out and touched Emily’s arm. “If there’s something you want to talk to me about, you can. I want to help you.”
Abruptly Emily got up and went to the window, staring down at the street below. “Clara, please don’t . . . ,” she began. In her agitation she swiped a hand through her hair, an unconscious, nervous gesture that caused the T-shirt she was wearing to rise a few inches.
Clara felt her heart almost stop. “Jesus,” she said in alarm. “What happened to your back?”
Emily turned to face her, hurriedly tugging her T-shirt back into place. “Nothing. It’s nothing,” she said, backing
