Sister
Emily Archer turned up, Mum says, as she ladles the steaming bowl of pea soup into a bowl. Folks swear they saw her down at the old churchyard yesterday, flowers strewn all over Arthurs grave even Aunt Rose got a glimpse. Rumour has it she wants a fresh monument put up for Arthur.
Sam Fletcher taps his spoon against the bowl, hanging on to every word Mum mutters. His heart aches, wondering if hed recognise her if he saw her. Hed just heard shed arrived. News travels fast at his garage as soon as a strangers car rolls into the village, the local wheelerdealer, the dimwitted Mick,s already itching for a quick buck.
Ive got a client for you, Sam, and you owe me a pint, Mick says, flashing a grin. Im about to pop a tyre whos gonna come round? You, Sam?
Dont you dare! Sam snaps, his temper flaring. I dont need crooked customers.
Mick, you run your side hustle, I run mine. Theres a lady driving a car, a bit of a softheart, carrying a few pennies. Shes Arthurs daughter, Emily Vargas.
Dont even think about it, you hear me? Im not looking at the mess in your head. Get back to work.
The thought of her swirled in Sams chest, draining his strength. How many times had he not seen her? Since the day theyd first met, when he poured out everything hed been keeping inside.
That evening, as soon as he heard shed arrived, he drove to the gate of her familys farm. A red car sat in the yard, lights glowing from the windows. Sam lingered, staring at the panes, a wave of melancholy washing over him. He barely remembered her; after the last time he saw her, shed vanished for years.
Why arent you eating, love? Its gone cold, Mum says, peering into his eyes.
Just not feeling hungry Ive got work to do. The lads need the trucks ready for the front line. Itll be late.
He spent the night tinkering with the old ironwork, trying not to let his thoughts drift. His apprentices, Yuri and Paul, kept urging him. Sam, its time to head home. Tomorrows a new day.
Go on then, Sam replies, Im still at it.
The bloke can work all night if he wants. No ones waiting at home no wife, no kids a lone wolf, the lads whisper.
Sam hears it all. He knows hes that lone wolf: no family, no partner, no children. Hes never met the one person who could untangle his heart from the stubborn chains of love Emily.
Around eleven, Sam jumps back into his van and winds his way down the narrow country lanes to the cottage by the woods. A light still burns in the window. He lights a cigarette, the greyblue smoke curling around his memories. He knows the habit is bad a wound had cost him a lung but it calms the ache, steadies his nerves.
Sam, fetch the spade for Uncle Arthurs fence, his dad says, wiping the sweat from his brow with a greasestained hand. Where the bloody tools are, I cant find em.
Sam tosses the weeds aside not a proper job his mum called him for not finishing his reading, and hops onto his bike, racing like a whirlwind, kicking up dust.
He spots Emily at the gate, a light summer dress dotted with tiny flowers, her hair tied with pink ribbons.
Youre here for us? she asks, squinting against the bright sun.
Just came to pick up the spade the uncle asked for. Where are you off to?
To Aunt Roses for milk. Fancy coming?
Sure, Sam says, leaving his bike by the gate. The spade glints in the sun, and Emilys smile blinds him, wiping away any lingering doubt. He forgets about the fence; being with Emily feels more important than any tool.
Aunt Rose, Sams grandmother and Arthurs sister, lives on the other side of the village. Sam and Emily dash through the fields, the brook babbling nearby, sometimes a narrow snakelike stretch, sometimes a broad, lazy pool. An old wooden bridge creaks over it, darkgreen water splashing through the gaps.
Lets cross the bridge, Emily suggests.
Dont be scared, Sam says, reaching out, showing the bridge is still sound on its ancient beams. He hops on, footfall echoing.
Im scared maybe we should go around?
Dont be daft, youll never get across on a donkey, Sam jokes, and Emily grabs his fingers, stepping carefully, testing each plank.
When her foot lands on solid wood, she beams, and Sam feels like a hero. Theyre both ten, but something odd stirs between them not just siblinglike affection, something deeper.
Aunt Rose pours cold buttermilk into tin mugs. She hands Sam the larger mug, Emily the smaller, spreading plum jam on thick slices of bread. Dont spill it, Sam, she chides, youll waste it.
Right, I wont, Sam grins, and the children laugh, their cheeks bristling with white moustaches from the buttermilk.
Later, Miss Tessa Hammond, the schoolteacher, scolds them. Vargas lot, quiet down! Youre disturbing the class with your chatter. She reads a dictation slowly, each word enunciated twice. Sam watches Emily, her blonde hair catching the sunlight through the windows, her cheek brushed by the tip of her pencil. She whispers, What? when he glances her way.
Sam feels a strange ache, a mix of jealousy and longing, as Emily laughs with Michael Titchfield at break, twirling her hair. After school, Michael walks her home, and Sam lingers behind, picturing Michael tripping over his own feet, or a stray dog tearing his trousers. Those ridiculous thoughts ease Sams pain a bit, but reality hits hard Emilys hand is clasped around Michaels.
Later, while picking blackberries in the thicket, Emily leans in, Ive never kissed anyone grownup before She places a sweet berry on his lips, murmuring, It feels impossible to describe.
I love you, Sam whispers, voice cracking.
Its not always love, Emily says, Youve never even kissed anyone. Scared of girls, huh? Want me to show you? She moves close, smiling, her hair in twin braids, eyes as deep as a lake.
Sam cant stop himself; he grabs her face and kisses her with a hunger that feels like drinking the finest ale.
You fool! Emily shrieks, What a idiot you are! She darts away, nearly knocking over Aunt Rose.
Everyones arguing again. Wholl pick the berries now? Aunt Rose remarks, chuckling.
Someone, get me that branch over there, she says, pointing to the orchard. Sam swings the axe, the wood splintering loudly, startling Aunt Rose.
Whats the matter, lad? she asks, puzzled.
All good, love, Sam replies, shouting a bit louder.
Why arent you with Emily? You two are like twins, Aunt Rose jokes.
Shes with someone else now, Sam mutters.
Aunt Rose sits on a bench, pulling back her headscarf, smoothing her grey hair with a comb. Come sit, Sam, she says.
Sam sighs, My chest feels heavy. I know Emilys my sister, but I cant do anything about these feelings.
Ah, love at sixteen youre just a lad in love, Aunt Rose sighs. Your sister isnt really your blood. No Vargas blood runs through you.
What? That cant be right, Sam asks, stunned.
Yes, Sam lifes strange. Uncle Arthur, after his service, brought home a bride from Odessa, a girl named Valentina, with a child. The whole family pretended the child wasnt Arthurs. Emily was barely a year old then.
So shes my real sister? Sam asks.
Exactly. Theres no point pining for Emily; there are plenty of girls out there.
No ones like Emily, Sam protests.
The school leavers ball swirled in a light waltz. Sam could barely keep his eyes off Emily, who floated across the floor like a butterfly in a white dress, radiant and happy. The night stretched on, and by dawn the classmates started heading home. Michael escorted Emily back, while Sam lingered near her house, hoping for a chance to speak.
Cold? Michael said, draping his jacket over Emilys shoulders. He tried to kiss her, but she slipped away, saying, See you bye.
Sam stepped forward. Emily, I need to talk
Im exhausted, Sam. I just want to crawl into bed. What are you on about?
I love you, he whispered, barely audible, Ive loved you all my life.
Youre sick, Sam. You cant love me. Im your sister, we share the same blood
No, our bloods different, she retorted, eyes flashing.
What are you saying? Sam demanded, voice shaking.
Your uncle Arthur isnt your real dad
Youre mad! You need a doctor! Emily shouted, storming off.
Sam stood there for a moment, then trudged home. He didnt see Emily for weeks, then bumped into her at school; she was with her friends, not even glancing his way. She seemed sad, her eyes dim, no laughter.
MidJuly, Emily and her mum flew to Odessa to start medical school. Summer slipped by, and they never returned. Aunt Rose kept saying Valentina, Emilys mother, was only waiting to escape to Odessa.
One day Sam overheard the locals gossiping about Uncle Arthur, saying hed been visiting Odessa for his wife, who refused to come back. No one really knew the truth.
In August Sam got his call-up papers. By October the conscription started, and by the end of the month he was sent to serve in Chester.
After the war, Sam struggled to find purpose. He drove for a construction firm, then a mate suggested a job in Poland. He earned enough to bring back a battered red van, sold it, and opened his own garage, fixing cars that came over the border.
He drove to Odessa once, hoping to see Emily, but the address Arthur gave was empty. Through a friends aunt he learned Emily was dating a decent bloke, planning to marry, currently on holiday in Montenegro. Sams heart tore apart.
Years passed like a flash of fire, and Uncle Arthur died. Emily and her mum came for the funeral, then rushed back to Odessa. Aunt Rose screamed at the graveside, blaming Valentina for Arthurs death. Sam tried to approach Emily, but shed become a stranger, cold and distant.
Time kept galloping, and Sams mother kept pestering him about grandchildren, urging him to think about a family. His father never saw any of his kids, passing away ten years after Arthur.
Sam never settled with any woman, always chasing that impossible ideal hed imagined as a child. Then, one scorching summer in 2012, Sam drove a friends mates new babyboy to the hospital in a bright red car. The midwife on duty was none other than Dr. Emily Archer, the same Emily who had once tended his sisters grave. The coincidence knocked the wind out of him. He didnt go straight home; after she finished her shift, he invited her for a drink. She agreed, and they spent the evening chatting, later strolling along the seaside promenade.
Emily talked about her married life, how shed never had children yet, work draining her. I help bring little lives into the world, yet Im still childless, she sighed. Sam tried to reassure her that there was still time. They ended up taking a midnight dip in the sea shed never seen the water at night before and it felt like theyd turned back the clock. He kissed her, and she didnt pull away. The night turned into a hotel room, a night of passion.
I love you, Emily, Sam whispered at sunrise, Ive loved you forever.
Emily pulled herself together, This was a mistake. Lets promise never to speak of it again.
They tried to meet again, called each other, but Emily vanished to a new job, no one knew where. Eight long years slipped by.
When the war broke out again, Sam volunteered straight away. He was wounded twice, then a third time, losing a lung and part of his liver, but doctors said hed survived a bullet that passed inches from his heart. Maybe it was Cupids arrow, Sam joked, and now my lonely soul will finally find peace.
A few weeks later his mum called, I saw Emily at the shop. Shes got a little girl now. I invited her over, so dont stay up late at the garage. Come around seven, well have a cuppa and chat about the family.
Sam left the house, the fresh wound on his side throbbing. He wanted to see her, to feel her hand, her face, to hold her close and never let go.
Around seven, he walked into her house, hearing voices from the kitchen.
His husband died early in the invasion he was a medic, Emilys mum said, her voice heavy with grief. The days were horrible, I was in the makeshift delivery rooms, births in shelters, my daughter and I trying to survive.
Sam entered, Good to see you, he said, his throat dry. Emily moved close, resting her head on his chest. She looked at him with such warmth.
This is my daughter, Katie, she said, pointing to a tenyearold girl.
Nice to meet you, Im Sam, he replied, pulling out a soft toy tiger. For you.
Katie smiled, Thank you, and Sam felt a flash of his own childhood.
They talked long into the night about life, death, hope, and the future.
When they finally stepped out, rain poured down in heavy May drops, drumming on the tin roof, splashing through the overgrown lilac bushes.
How long are you staying? Sam asked.
I want a memorial for my dad maybe later. Im exhausted.
Goodnight, Sam. Thanks for the tiger, Katie chirped.
Goodnight, love, Sam replied, hugging Emily a little tighter.
May I stay in your life? Look after you, protect you? Emily whispered.
Yes, Sam answered, feeling her lean into him.
The rain intensified, a steady downpour beating on the shutters, the world turning a soft, grey hush.
