Letters From My Sister Read Online Free PDF

history, do you know?’
    ‘Not that I’m aware. I was so sure I had done everything right,’ Mum continues, oblivious. ‘But I should have had a scan. I should have …’
    ‘Stop it.’ Dad raises his voice. ‘Stop blaming yourself.’
    ‘The specialists will go through everything with you. I know it’s hard to take in, but we are very experienced in this field.’ The doctor clears his throat. I can feel a terrible silence stretching out before he adds, ‘I am afraid there is a further problem. She could be brain-damaged, though to what extent precisely we do not know at the moment.’
    ‘Brain-damaged?’ Mum says numbly.
    ‘Yes. We’ll carry out more tests but she …’
    ‘Her name is Isabel,’ Dad says, on the verge of tears. ‘We’ve always loved that name.’
    ‘Isabel, right. That’s a lovely name. You have another girl too, don’t you?’ the doctor enquires.
    ‘Yes, Katie. Why?’
    ‘Nothing’s certain at this stage, but you may need help. Isabel will need constant attention.’
    Poor Mum. This is so unfair. I will help. Let me help.
    ‘We’ll be fine.’ Dad speaks softly to her. ‘We’ll get through this together.’
    I hear the doctor stand up to leave. I rush away from the door and run upstairs.
    Mum doesn’t say goodnight to me like she usually does. Dad comes instead. It seems dark and cold in my bedroom and I feel very alone when I hear his heavy footsteps walk away from me.

CHAPTER SIX
    I look at the picture of Sam in the silver frame by my bedside. He’s wearing the white cotton shirt that I bought him for his birthday, sunglasses perched on the top of his head. Sam is handsome and he knows it. Virtually every feature is symmetrical except for one of his nostrils, which is not as open as the other – he puts that down to his mother smoking when she was pregnant with him. ‘The moment Dad was out of the house, she smoked like a chimney. Fag in one hand, vodka in the other.’ The only other thing he is conscious of is his receding hairline, but I tell him it makes him look distinguished. Noble even. He tells me it makes him look like his father, as he takes a handful of his hair and tries to ruffle it up as much as he can.
    I still haven’t told him about Bells. I’ve put it off for a week and now her train’s arriving in Paddington tomorrow. I don’t know why I believe the problem might go away if I don’t talk about it. The phone rings, it’s Dad. They’re leaving the next day. ‘Who are you staying with in France?’ I ask.
    ‘The Walters.’
    I don’t recognize the name. ‘Who are they?’
    ‘Old friends. He used to work with me at Sotheby’s.’
    ‘I don’t remember them.’
    ‘They moved to France when you were about two.’ Dad changes the subject quickly. ‘Now, you’ve got my mobile …’
    ‘Actually, can I have the Waller’s number?’
    ‘Walters.’
    ‘Right. Can I have their number?’
    ‘You won’t need it.’
    ‘Well, you never know.’
    ‘We’ll call you.’
    ‘I think I ought to have it.’
    ‘Ring us on the mobile.’
    ‘What if there’s an emergency?’
    ‘There won’t be.’
    ‘Why are you being so funny about their number?’
    ‘Darling,’ Dad finally slows the pace of his answers, ‘it’s simply easier if you ring us on the mobile. That way you can call us any time.’
    I agree to this, unwillingly. ‘Remember to turn it on then,’ I add.
    Dad always says he bought the mobile ‘for emergency use only’, but fails to understand it’s useless in an emergency if it’s switched off.
    ‘Darling, I have to go now. Will you thank Sam very much?’
    I put the phone down feeling uneasy. I have to tell Sam about Bells tonight. I rang him from the shop earlier, telling him not to work late this evening, that I was cooking him his favourite meal – steak with homemade chips, just like Aunt Agnes’s. I’ve even made him a pudding: orange ice-cream cake with dark chocolate sauce. It’s his mother’s recipe and easy,