‘Matthew and I didn’t fall out. We just drifted apart, I suppose. Gran’s sister died young. Gran used to tell me tall tales of how her sister had saved her life somehow, but I never quite believed her.’ Harriet smiled at the memories. ‘She used to love telling me stories.’
‘Ah, that’s sad that her sister died young.’ Sally turned the picture over and began carefully opening up the back of the frame, twisting the little catches that held the back board in place. Behind it, a slip of paper was glued to the back of the photo. ‘The Three Higgins Sisters, 1911,’ Sally read out. ‘So there were three of them. I wonder why your grandma never spoke of the other sister?’
Harriet widened her eyes in surprise. ‘Well I never! I wonder, too, why she never mentioned her. You know, sometimes I wish I could go back in time, just for a day, sit at my gran’s knee again and then I could ask her. And this time I’d write everything down so I wouldn’t forget it. She told me so many stories when I was little but I only have such vague memories of them now. I’d love to ask her about this lost sister. What happened to her? What was her name?’
‘I’d love to know too,’ Sally said. ‘Anyway. What do you want to do with all this stuff? It’s mostly clothes underneath.’
‘I’ll throw out the clothes, I think. Look, they’ve had the moths at them.’ Harriet held up a chemise that was full of holes. ‘I’ll keep the pictures. Maybe I can find out this other girl’s name and details. My friend Sheila knows how to check the old census returns – she’s really into all that genealogy stuff. I’ll get her to show me how. If I check on the census returns from the beginning of the century I might be able to find out.’
Sally laughed. ‘Beginning of last century you mean. Maybe the 1901 or 1911 censuses would help. Can I have the trunk, if you don’t want it? It’d be great for storing some of Jerome’s toys, if I clean it up a little.’
A perfect use for it. ‘Of course you can. Right, we’ll need your Charlie to help get this trunk down, next time he’s here.’
‘Sure, I’ll ask him to come round at the weekend. We’ll bring Jerome who’s been begging to see his Nanna again soon.’
‘I’d love to see him, too. Right, what are we tackling next then? Or have you had enough for one day?’
Sally smiled. ‘I’m all right, Mum. Still got time before I need to pick up Jerome. Let’s have a go at some of the old toys, shall we?’
‘OK. Those should be quick to deal with. Keep any you want for Jerome and the rest can go to charity.’
Sally looked at Harriet, tilting her head to one side. ‘You’ve given up on Davina ever bringing her girls here then?’
Harriet bit her lip and shrugged. ‘I’ll never give up. Your dad always said we must never give up on her. But the girls are probably already too old for some of the stuff I kept.’
Sally was already opening a box and tugging items out. She held up a doll, whose hair had been messily cut. ‘Oh my God. Belinda! I haven’t seen you for years!’
Harriet chuckled. ‘I remember when you gave her that haircut then cried because the hair wouldn’t grow back.’
‘That wasn’t me, Mum. That was Davina. I was bloody furious with her for doing it.’
‘No love, it was you. You came to find me, sobbing like the world was ending, and said you’d cut Belinda’s hair but now you wanted it to be long again. It was definitely you.’
Sally shook her head. ‘We thought you’d be cross, so I took the blame. Davina always thought you’d be more angry with her than with me.’
‘That’s not right – I treated you both equally!’ Harriet was astonished. Had Davina really thought that?
‘I thought so. But she didn’t. So when we were little if she did something stupid like this,’ Sally glanced at the mutilated doll, ‘we’d tell you I did it.’
‘You thought I’d be less angry with you because you were the older one?’
Sally shrugged. ‘That might have had something to do with it. I felt protective of her back then.’ She scoffed. ‘Looking back I don’t know why I bothered. She’s not been much of a sister to me for the last fifteen years. Haven’t seen her in all that time.’
‘Yes you have. Briefly, anyway, at your dad’s funeral. Less than a year ago.’ Davina had turned up out of the blue. Harriet had had no way of contacting her younger daughter to tell her her father had died, but she’d put a notice in the Guardian, John’s favourite paper, on the off-chance Davina might see it. And although Sally had refused to, Harriet knew some of the girls’ schoolfriends had posted the news publicly on Facebook, in case Davina was keeping tabs on them quietly.
‘Doesn’t count. She didn’t say two words to me, that day.’ The hurt in Sally’s voice was evident. ‘She sat at the back of the church, hung back at the graveside, then left as soon as Dad was in the ground. Wouldn’t even come back for a cup of tea.’
Harriet remembered all too well. She’d been glad that the news had reached Davina, and pleased that her younger daughter had made the effort to come to the funeral. But her hopes that the occasion might be the start of a reconciliation had been dashed when she’d gone over to give her daughter a hug afterwards, and Davina had stepped away. ‘I just want a moment alone with Dad, then I’ll go. I’ll ring. Hope you’re OK.’ That was all she’d said, those three short sentences. Harriet had gone over the words endlessly, trying to draw comfort from the fact Davina had said she’d ring, that she’d
