The Storm Sister (The Seven Sisters #2) (20 page)

‘Yes.’ Star nodded and I realised she was close to tears herself. ‘It was such a beautiful service, Ally.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And wonderful to hear you playing the flute. You haven’t lost your touch,’ CeCe added.

I saw Celia waving to me and indicating the large black car waiting at the kerb.

‘Listen, I have to go with Theo’s mum, but will you come back to the house?’

‘I’m afraid we can’t,’ CeCe said. ‘But listen, our apartment’s only over the bridge in Battersea, so when you’re feeling a bit better, just give us a
bell and pop round, yes?’

‘We’d really love to see you, Ally,’ said Star, giving me another hug. ‘All the girls send their love to you. Take care of yourself, won’t you?’

‘I’ll try. And thanks again for coming. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.’

As I climbed into the car, I watched the two of them walk down the road together, and felt hugely touched by their presence.

‘Your sisters are so sweet. What a wonderful thing it is to have siblings. Like Theo, I’m an only child,’ Celia commented as the car moved away from the kerb.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked her.

‘No, but it was the most wonderful, uplifting service. And I can’t tell you what it meant to me to hear you play.’ She paused for a few seconds then sighed heavily. ‘I
noticed you talking to Theo’s father, Peter, just now.’

‘Yes.’

‘He must have been hiding at the back of the church. I didn’t see him when I came in. If I had, I’d have asked him to come and sit up front with us.’

‘Would you?’

‘Of course! We may not be the best of friends anymore, but I’m sure he’s as equally devastated as I am. I presume he said he wouldn’t come back to the house?’

‘Yes, although he did say he was in town for a few days and would like to see me.’

‘Oh dear. It’s so dreadfully sad that we couldn’t even be reunited for our own son’s funeral. Anyway,’ she said as the car pulled up in front of the house,
‘I’m so grateful for your support. I couldn’t have got through this without you, Ally. Now, let’s go and greet our guests and celebrate our boy’s life.’

A couple of days later, I woke up in the comfortable, rather dated guest room in Celia’s house. Flower-sprigged Colefax and Fowler curtains hung at the windows, matching
the counterpane of the large wooden bed I was lying in and coordinating with the now faded striped wallpaper. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost half past ten. Since the memorial
service, I’d finally begun to sleep again, but almost unnaturally heavily and I would wake in the morning as if I had a hangover, or had taken one of the sleeping pills that Celia had offered
me but I’d refused. I lay in the dim light feeling just as exhausted as when I’d gone to bed – even though I’d slept solidly for over ten hours – and contemplated the
fact that I really couldn’t continue to hide away here with Celia, comforted as we were by our endless talk of Theo. Celia was off to Italy tomorrow and even though she’d kindly said I
was welcome to join her, I knew I must move on.

The question was, where I would go from here?

I’d already decided that I’d contact the Swiss national sailing team coach to tell him I wouldn’t be joining him and the crew for the Olympic trials. Even though Celia had told
me repeatedly that I mustn’t allow what had happened to ruin my future and diminish my passion, every time I thought about getting back on the water, a shiver ran through me. Perhaps one day
it would pass, but not in time to begin what I knew would be months of arduous training for the most important sporting event on the planet. There would be too many people at the training camp
who’d known Theo, and even though talking to his mother had provided a wonderful outlet, I felt incredibly vulnerable when anyone else mentioned him.

But now that I was without Theo and also no longer sailing, the days in front of me were suddenly empty, an endless void I had no idea how to fill.

Perhaps, I mused, I was the new ‘Maia’ of the family, destined to return to Atlantis and grieve in solitary splendour as she once had. I was fully aware that Maia had taken wing and
flown off to her new life in Rio, which meant I could easily go home and install myself in her nest at the Pavilion.

What I had come to understand from the past few weeks was that I had lived a gilded life before, and if I was to judge myself and my faults, I would have to acknowledge that I had always looked
down on anyone weaker than myself. I hadn’t understood why they couldn’t get up, dust themselves down from whatever trauma they had borne and move on. Brutally, I’d begun to
realise that until one had experienced loss and deep pain oneself, it was impossible to truly empathise with others in the same predicament.

Trying desperately to remain positive, I told myself that at least what had happened to me would perhaps make me a better person. And inspired by this thought, I eventually pulled out my mobile.
I was ashamed to admit that I hadn’t turned it on since Theo’s death, over two weeks ago now. Seeing the battery was dead again, I plugged it in to charge. I went to take a shower and
as I did so, heard the insistent ‘pings’ of the backlog of voicemails and texts arriving as the mobile came back to life.

Drying myself and getting dressed, I mentally prepared myself before picking up my phone and scrolling through the endless text messages from Ma and my sisters, and the countless others who had
heard about Theo.
Ally, I wish I could be there with you, I can’t imagine how you must be feeling, but I’m sending you all my love
, Maia had written.
Ally,
I’ve tried to call you, but you’re not picking up. Ma’s told me and I’m devastated for you. I’m here for you, Ally, night and day, if you need me. Tiggy
x
.

Then I moved on to the voicemails. Doubtless most of them, like the texts, would be from people offering condolences. But as I dialled in to retrieve them, my stomach did a flip when I heard the
oldest message left ten days ago. It was a bad connection and his words sounded muffled, but I knew it was Theo.

I abandoned all thought of listening to other waiting messages and simply replayed Theo’s again, and again, soaking in every word. I knew from the time it was left that he must have called
only an hour or so before he went onto the deck to see Rob being hurled off it. And went to his death to save him. I wasn’t sure how you saved a message forever, but I knew I had to find
out.

‘I love you too,’ I whispered. And any last vestiges of anger that I’d held inside me about him ordering me off the boat that day dissipated into the air.

Over breakfast, Celia told me she was heading out to do some last-minute shopping for Italy.

‘Have you decided where you’re going next, Ally? You know you’d be more than welcome to stay here while I’m away. Or come with me. I’m sure you could get a
last-minute flight to Pisa.’

‘Thanks, it’s so very kind of you, but I think I’ll probably go home,’ I said, worrying that I might be becoming a burden to Celia.

‘Whatever you decide. Just let me know.’

After she’d left the house, I went upstairs and decided I was strong enough to give CeCe and Star a call. I dialled CeCe’s number first, as she was the one that arranged everything
for both of them, but it went to voicemail and so I called Star instead.

‘Ally?’

‘Hello, Star. How are you?’

‘Oh, I’m well. But more importantly, how are you?’

‘I’m okay. I was thinking I might pop round and see you tomorrow.’

‘Well, I’ll be by myself. CeCe’s off to take photographs of Battersea Power Station. She wants to use it as inspiration for one of her art projects before it’s turned
into a new development.’

‘Can I just come and see you then?’

‘That would be lovely.’

‘Good. When’s the best time?’

‘I’m here all day, Ally. Why don’t you come for lunch?’

‘Okay, I’ll come over around one. See you tomorrow, Star.’

As I ended the call, I sat on my bed and realised that tomorrow’s lunch would be the first time I’d ever spent more than a few minutes with my younger sister without CeCe present
too.

I took my laptop out of my rucksack, thinking I should check my emails. I set it up on the dressing table, and plugged it in. There were further messages of condolence and the usual spam,
including a girl supposedly called ‘Tamara’ offering me comfort now the nights were drawing in. Then I saw another name I didn’t immediately recognise: Magdalena Jensen. After a
few moments, I remembered she was the translator who was working on the book from Pa Salt’s library for me and thanked God I hadn’t pressed ‘delete’.

Opening the attachment that contained the translation, I read the first page. And then the second, and by the third, I’d moved the laptop and plugged it in by the bed so
that I could make myself comfortable while I continued . . .

Telemark, Norway

August 1875

Anna Tomasdatter Landvik paused as she waited for Rosa, the oldest cow in the herd, to make her way down the steep slope. As usual, Rosa had been left behind by the others who
had all moved on to fresh pastures.

‘Sing to her, Anna, and she’ll come,’ her father always told her. ‘She’ll come for you.’

Anna sang a few notes of ‘
Per Spelmann
’, Rosa’s favourite song, and the tune flowed out of her, ringing bell-like down the valley. Knowing that it would take Rosa a
while to lumber towards her, Anna sat down on the rough grass, folding her slender body into her favourite thinking position, with her knees tucked up to her chin and her arms wrapped around them.
She breathed in the still warm evening air and admired the view, humming along to the buzzing of the insects in the field. The sun was beginning to sink towards the mountains on the other side of
the valley, making the water of the lake below shimmer like molten rose-gold. Soon it would disappear completely and night would fall quickly.

In the last two weeks, as she’d counted the cows down from the mountainside, dusk had fallen noticeably earlier each day. After months of it being light until almost midnight, Anna knew
that tonight, her mother would have lit the oil lamps by the time she got back to the cabin. And that her father and younger brother would have arrived to help them close up the summer dairy and
move the livestock back down the valley in preparation for winter. This event heralded the end of the Nordic summer and was the advent of what, for Anna, felt like interminable months of near
perpetual darkness. The vivid green of the mountainside would soon be wearing a coat of thick white snow and she and her mother would leave the wooden dwelling where they spent the warmer months
and return to their family farm just outside the small village of Heddal.