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Chapters (60)
  1. Cover
  2. Books by Sheryl Browne
  3. Dedication
  4. KARLA
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Thirty-Three
  38. Thirty-Four
  39. Thirty-Five
  40. Thirty-Six
  41. Thirty-Seven
  42. Thirty-Eight
  43. Thirty-Nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-One
  46. Forty-Two
  47. Forty-Three
  48. Forty-Four
  49. Forty-Five
  50. Forty-Six
  51. Forty-Seven
  52. Forty-Eight
  53. Epilogue
  54. The Affair
  55. Hear more from Sheryl
  56. Books by Sheryl Browne
  57. A Letter from Sheryl
  58. The Babysitter
  59. The Second Wife
  60. Acknowledgements

Pushing the card back into his pocket, my father twizzles his neck, a scowl creasing his forehead as he glances to where Mum’s improvising a slow jive to ‘Under the Boardwalk’ with the son of one of the band members, who’s apparently their roadie. Wearing her black off-the-shoulder Bardot dress, Mum’s a knockout. He’s in ripped jeans and a T-shirt, but I have to admit, he looks pretty hot too.

Narrowing his eyes, my father looks Mum over, looks the young man up and down, and then… ‘She should be so lucky,’ he says, raising both eyebrows in wry amusement as he turns back to the bar, where he immediately homes in on the daughter of one of my mother’s friends. He’s leering at her, invading her space. I see the girl’s discomfort, and feeling a rush of heat to my cheeks, I look away.

Jason has obviously noticed it too. ‘Are you sure you’re related to him?’ he asks, his expression contemptuous as his gaze travels over my embarrassing father.

Unfortunately, yes. I sigh inwardly, so wishing my father wouldn’t act this way. It doesn’t seem to occur to him that he’s doing it in front of me, his daughter. But then I’ve turned a blind eye to his deplorable behaviour before. Kept quiet about things I shouldn’t have. One of which I will regret for the rest of my life. My sister would still be here to celebrate our mother’s birthday with us, if I’d handled things differently.

Glancing again at my father, who’s now draped an arm over the shoulders of the girl at the bar, I wonder if he thinks about Sarah with each passing milestone. About what he did, the lies he told. Does he see her when he looks at me? We weren’t identical, physically or in nature. Sarah, with her freckles and rich auburn hair, was much prettier than me, I think. More extrovert, too – boisterous and confident where I was quiet and shy. He must be reminded of her though, surely, when he sees me? A sister robbed of her twin. If he does, he never shows it.

Shaking off the memory of the dark shadow that hangs over our family, I paint my smile in place and turn back to my husband. Sometimes, when the air needs to be lightened, I find the skills I learned at acting school come in quite handy. I’m not sure playing the role of peacekeeper helps my own frustrations, but it might keep my husband and father civil tonight.