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‘Don’t walk away from me!’ I shout, grabbing her arm as she turns back to the house. ‘You didn’t answer my question. Where were you when Lottie disappeared? Did you get Aunt Julie to lie for you? Is she in on it, too?’
‘You know why you’re so frantic to get her back?’ Harriet cries, shaking me off. ‘It’s not because you love her so much, Alex! It’s because you didn’t love herenough! You feel guiltybecause you never really wanted her!That’swhat all this is about!’
I reel, as if I’ve been sucker-punched.
It’s because you didn’t love her enough.
Seven words that damn me to hell.
She’s right.
Only a sister knows exactly how to pierce your defencesand strike right at your soft underbelly.I’mthe reason Lottie was taken. I’m the reason my little girl is rotting in the earth somewhere or trapped in a living death in a cellar. From the moment she was born, I handed her off to Luca, to nursery, to anyone who’d take her for five minutes.
I deserved to lose her, because I didn’t want her enough.
‘I didn’t mean it,’ Harriet says, looking stricken. ‘I take it back. I didn’t mean it.’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘Alex, please. I didn’t mean it. I know you love Lottie, of course I do.’
I turn towards the house, sickened to my stomach. The words can’t be unsaid. She can’t retract them, because they’re true. Guilt has underpinned every waking moment since the day my daughter was stolen from me: Harriet just gave it a voice. She calls to me across the lawn. ‘I was having an affair,’ she says.
I stop.
‘The day Lottie disappeared. I left Mungo because I’d met someone else,’ Harriet adds. ‘I was flying out to Cyprus to be with him.’
It totally takes me by surprise. It’s ridiculous, of course: Harriet’s as human as anyone else. And yet I never saw this coming. She may be an artist, but she’s always been such a rule-follower, so proper and conventional.
‘Why didn’t you just tell me?’ I say. ‘Why make such a secret of it?’
‘Because he’s married,’ she says, a flush stealing across her cheeks. ‘And after Luca … I know how you feel about that sort of thing. It’s over now,’ she adds quickly. ‘He went back to his wife after four months. Serves me right, I know. I moved back to the Shetlands a few months ago, but I haven’t told Mungo. I didn’t want to make it any worse for him.’
‘Oh, Harry.’
‘I should never have lied. I’m so sorry, Alex. I didn’t take Lottie, I swear—’
‘I know you didn’t. I’m sorry I ever—’
She pulls me into a hug, the first I can remember sharing with her since we were kids at South Weald House. After a moment, I wrap my arms around her and hug her back.
Only much later, on the drive back to London, does it occur to me to wonder why my aunt lied about being at the airport, too.
