“So are you,” she replies, wiping moisture from her eyes.
“I can’t believe you found me.”
“I’ve been trying for years. And then I saw an article in the paper, and I knew it was you.”
“I’m so sorry, Lottie, about everything…about that night.”
She touches my shoulders and stares up at me. “What? Why are you sorry?”
“Because I never put out his cigarette—the fire started because of me.”
Her eyes turn to slits. “And him hitting us…was that your fault?” she asks.
“Of course, not,” I reply, frowning.
“Exactly. We were innocent, Olly. You saved me. I remember everything about that night,” she says. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead. I never forgot you—not once.”
I can’t believe she’s here. “My parents—I mean, my foster parents tried to help me find you. But we were both wards of the court, and our records were sealed.”
She nods in understanding as I reach out and cup her face, still unable to process she’s here, in my home. My sister. “Were you okay? Were you fostered or adopted? Did they treat you well?” I ask. I always worried about where she ended up. Not able to protect her, some of my nightmares were of the Lottie I knew screaming, but I could never reach her.
“My foster parents adopted, and they are wonderful.”
I let out a breath. “I always worried.”
“I missed you,” she says.
“I missed you more,” I say, and it’s the truth. When we were separated, I thought I was being punished for the part I played in the fire—not the physical scars but the emotional ones, of not knowing if she was being taken care of, whether she was loved.
“Impossible,” she says with a laugh—one so much like our birth mother’s.
“Come sit down, we have so much to talk about,” I say and lead her to the sofa, keeping her hand in mine, not ready to let go quite yet.
RACHEL
I order a double gin and tonic.What the hell. I’ll get a cab home and get my car tomorrow before collecting Molly. I only recognise Mavis who served me when I arrived here, so I find a small table in the corner where I decide to plant myself.
It’s the vision of the way he was staring at her like she was everything I’m not that has me downing my first drink and ordering another. I never imagined pain like this. Why does loving someone hurt so much?
“Rachel?”
I peer up over my (third or fourth, who can count?) glass and make eye contact with Charlie. “Oh hey,” I reply, heat seeping into my face.
I must look a right state in my ripped jeans and the baggy t-shirt I usually only wear when painting. I didn’t change after dropping off Molly because I needed to see Olly. That went fucking swimmingly.
“You alone?” he asks.
“Would seem so,” I reply, trying not to sound rude.
“No hot date?” He smiles, but I know he’s curious as to why I am at his bar this early, drinking alone.
Right now, I don’t care about other people’s opinions of me—it’s none of my business—and those who don’t care, don’t matter.
“I thought Olly was more than a stereotype, but boy, did he have me fooled.”
He takes a seat opposite me with a frown. “What do you mean?”
I down the rest of my drink and get to my feet. I need another. He touches my hand to stop me, then signals Mavis. She nods and minutes later, a fresh drink is in front of me. I take a huge swig. “Thanks.”
