The Sister Surprise Abigail Mann (most difficult books to read TXT) 📖

arguably a hazardous choice of footwear for a ceilidh, more so than my bog-stained trainers.

Moira hugs him, but Andrew doesn’t make it easy for her. He lifts his elbows to allow her space as though he’s getting frisked, his eyes unfocused, staring into the middle distance as though willing himself elsewhere.

‘I didn’t think you were back until next month,’ says Moira, releasing him.

‘Job ended early. They switched the crew at Aberdeen, so I drove up with Albie. Who’s this then?’ says Andrew, glancing me up and down. ‘I recognise you … Did you use to work behind the bar at The Black Sheep near Melkirk?’

‘No …’

Andrew’s eyes narrow. ‘Nah, you’re too young now I think on it.’

‘This is Ava. Are you sure you don’t recognise her?’ says Moira, her words tumbling out, froth-like.

‘Oh, sweet Jesus, give me some warning,’ I say, clutching my forehead.

‘Eh?’

I turn to face the wall. There’s no point avoiding it now, especially considering my terrible track record when it comes to issues of timing. I take a deep breath and ball my hands, my little fingers interlocked at waist height. My heart beats so hard I can hear it pounding in my ears.

We stand in an awkward triangle, the sound of frantic accordion playing and periodic whooping forming an ill-fitting soundtrack. I can’t believe this is him. I’ve spent my whole life not knowing he was alive. It never formed a big, traumatic milestone, because his absence featured far more heavily than his inclusion ever did. He can’t know I exist. If he did, he’d have reached out at some point. That’s what a father would do, isn’t it?

‘I know this is weird, but you know my mum, Lorrie. Lorrie Atmore?’

Andrew chews his lip, his jowls pronounced as he ponders my statement. ‘No … I think you might have got me muddled with another bloke. Name doesn’t ring any bells. Not loud ones, anyway.’ He scratches his chin, the sound like a match on striking paper.

‘You don’t remember?’ I ask.

Andrew shakes his head and shrugs. ‘When would it have been?’

‘1991.’

‘Christ, that’s a while ago. Met all sorts of people back then. Sorry, I can’t help you out.’

I know that Mum and Andrew’s relationship was of the brief kind, but even so, at the very least, I would have thought he still remembers her.

‘Is your mum inside?’ Andrew asks Moira.

‘Yeah, she’s in the kitchen,’ she says.

Andrew nods slowly, rocking back and forth on his heels. He looks between the two of us and turns to walk away, his mullet flicked up like a duck’s bum at the nape of his neck.

‘No, hang on. I’m not wrong,’ I say.

Andrew stops. He folds his arms and scratches the corner of his eye, as though I’m making a fuss over small change.

‘You do remember her, don’t you? She worked in a bar when she was here with The Earth Mamas and I think you know that.’

‘Look, can we not do this here?’ says Andrew, looking over his shoulder to where his friend stands smoking by the pick-up truck.

‘It’s coming back now, is it?’ I say, shivering so much I can barely keep upright.

‘Ava,’ says Andrew. He runs his thumbnail down his palm, cleaning muck out of the creases. A long breath hisses through his teeth like a punctured tyre. ‘If I’m honest, this has caught me off guard. I didn’t think for a second you’d be turning up here.’

‘You knew?’ asks Moira.

‘Eh, it’s not quite as simple as you think. Her mother told me, back when she first knew about the, err … situation,’ he says, looking to me.

‘So why does she think you died in the oil rig explosion?’ I ask, my throat tight.

Andrew shrugs. ‘I can’t answer that. She knew I worked on them. It’s how we came across each other. Don’t look at me like that, Moira, it’s complicated,’ he says. Moira drops her gaze, but I can feel her bristling.

‘It’s a long way to come. London is it? I don’t know what your mum has said –’ says Andrew, waving his hand between us ‘– but after she wrote and told me about you, I thought it would be best to leave it.’

‘It?’ I say, stung.

I’d imagined this situation so many times growing up, but not once was it like this.

‘Albie, I’ll be back in half an hour. I’ve got to run the lad back. He’s had too much to drink. Typical Brody,’ says Andrew, gesturing for us to follow him.

Kian appears at my shoulder, frowning.

‘What did he say? I thought I heard my name,’ he asks, swallowing a belch.

‘Nothing. Dad’s giving us a lift, that’s all,’ says Moira, her eyes tight.

I can’t do anything but frown, because if I relax a single muscle I’ll start crying and I won’t know how to stop. I reach for Moira, who wraps an arm around me as we help Kian over to the truck. We’re both hurting, I can feel it. The worst thing is knowing I caused it all.

Moira pulls open the back door, but Andrew flaps her away.

‘I’ve got bits in there that I’ve got to drive over to the McCullochs’ in the morning. If you want a lift, you can get in the back.’

‘Seriously?’ says Moira. We both look at the flat bed of the truck, where a folded tarp sits next to a gas container and half a dozen lobster pots.

‘I’ve got one seat in the front and you can’t all pile in there. Get in or don’t get in, but you’ll not find a taxi at this time.’

‘All right. Thanks,’ says Moira, far more appeased than she ought to be, considering the ridiculous demand Andrew’s just made. She gives Kian a leg up into the back. He grips the sides and immediately rocks onto his face like a baby attempting to crawl for the first time. I grab hold of the railing to climb up too.

‘Get in the front, Ava. I’ll keep Kian upright,’ says Moira. ‘I’m used to this anyway.’

‘Oh. Are you