Chapters (60)
- Cover
- Books by Sheryl Browne
- Dedication
- KARLA
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Epilogue
- The Affair
- Hear more from Sheryl
- Books by Sheryl Browne
- A Letter from Sheryl
- The Babysitter
- The Second Wife
- 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.