Sisters and Brothers

by Fiona Palmer

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Family Life

Synopsis

A poignant novel of heartbreak, adoption and family secrets by one of Australia's most beloved authors. Emma, a nurse and busy mother of three, has always dreamed of having a sister. Michelle, at 46, wonders if it's too late to fall in love and find her birth parents. Sarah, career woman and perfectionist homemaker, struggles to keep up with the Joneses. Bill, 72, feels left behind after the death of his adored wife. Adam can't stop thinking about the father he never had. These five very different people are all connected but separated by secrets from the past. Sisters and Brothers will both break and warm your heart in a way that only bestselling storyteller Fiona Palmer can.

Release date: August 28, 2018

Publisher: Hachette Australia

Print pages: 384

Sample

1975

‘William MacDonald, shouldn’t you be getting ready to drive to Mrs Noble’s?’

The shrill voice of his mother – the one that echoed through his childhood memories – cut through the smooth notes of Harry Chapin’s ‘Cat’s in the Cradle’ as she stood beside his piano. With a hand on her modest purple tartan skirt, Marge took a deep breath and tilted her head enough that her golden hair, cut just below her ears in a fashionable bob, moved. Instinctively she reached for the large pearl necklace that sat over her purple blouse. Her fingers twisted the beads, a habit begun shortly after the death of his father from a heart attack two years ago. It was the last gift he’d bought her and she never took them off. It still evoked a sadness, not just about his father’s death but the pain his mother carried as if he’d died only months ago. He pushed his thoughts away, his mother’s nagging coming to the forefront.

William’s hands moved over the white piano keys, changing the song to the funeral march. He grinned in satisfaction as Marge rolled her eyes and walked through the shop to the office.

‘I have plenty of time, Mum, the freeway’s usually clear now,’ he called to her as he closed the piano lid. The upright polished ebony Yamaha was his favourite among the four they had on the shop floor. Understated, simple – but it had an amazing sound that vibrated through his body.

Bill – William only to his mother – headed across the room, past musical instruments of all shapes and sizes. The cymbals on the drum kit hissed as the wooden floor moved underfoot. It happened every time. His parents had owned this shop since he was a boy, using the majority of the space for sales and a small area off from the main floor broken into two rooms: one was the office and the other they used for lessons. It was where he had learned to play, taught by both his musically talented parents. Marge had been a church pianist, while his father was in a band that played at her aunt’s wedding. Together they had built the business that Bill now owned with his mum. His sister used to help out as well before she got married. Jilly’s second child was due in six months. And here was Bill, twenty-nine and no wife, no kids. Plenty of girlfriends, but none had felt like the right one.

Bill hitched up his denim flares and bent down to pick up his tuning bag. It carried some tools and his invoice book. Like his mum’s pearls, the worn leather bag was his own treasured possession from his dad. The strong crinkled feel of leather, mixed with the smell, was so familiar. He could picture his dad so clearly with it.

‘I’m off now, Mum. Be back soon.’

‘William, please button up your shirt. We are a professional business,’ she scolded, her neck rigid.

Bill sighed, his eyes threatening to roll, and pretended to do up the button on his striped shirt as he left, but it was forgotten the moment he opened the front door, the bell above it ringing sharply as he went.

It was warm outside, a perfect day in Perth, and Bill paused to watch the sun glimmer off the river between the rows of homes. The pointy collar on his shirt flicked up in the heated breeze, grazing his cheek just below his sideburns, tingling his skin. The air held a hint of blossom and dampness, familiar from his childhood in the South Perth area not far from the zoo, which as he grew up had seemed like his playground.

He threw his bag into the back of his gold Ford Falcon and climbed in the driver’s side. Led Zeppelin filled the interior as Bill merged with the afternoon traffic and headed to his appointment with Mrs Noble. She was a nice enough lady, easy on the eyes and friendly to boot. He tuned her mother’s piano every now and then, not that Mrs Noble played it much, but she always asked Bill to play a few songs for her, ones she’d heard as a little girl. He did it mainly because it was nice to see the tears glisten in her hazel eyes when he played. He wasn’t sure what she thought about in those moments, but whatever it was moved her so much that he could never refuse her.

‘Afternoon, Mrs Noble,’ he said with a smile after she opened the front door. It was a modest house, set on a quiet street a long way from the city. It was almost in Rockingham, a good half-hour drive from the music shop. They serviced a large area and even travelled into the country.

‘Hello Bill, come in, come in,’ she said, almost stuttering his name. ‘And it’s Tammy, please,’ her words rushed out. She gripped the door and held it open for him.

He tried to stop his eyes wandering up and down her gorgeous low-cut blue floral dress that stopped well before her knees, her legs and feet bare. Something about it was sexy and informal. Her brown hair fell in styled soft curls below her shoulders. He cleared his throat and headed to the front room where the piano sat.

‘Can I get you a drink, Bill?’

Her voice quivered. He stopped, catching her eyes, and watched as colour crept up her neck and also spread down towards her breasts.

‘A glass of water would be great, thanks Tammy.’ He turned away to hide his sudden rise in temperature. He bent down and opened his bag to keep his mind on the job.

‘Mr Noble not here today?’ he asked when she returned with the glass of water.

‘Nope, Steven’s away on business.’ She sat on the wicker padded chair and played with the hem on her dress.

Her eyes darted away from him, staring at the small square TV that sat against the opposite wall, silent and grey. A strange sense that she was lying passed over him. Maybe they were having marriage problems? Yet on the odd occasion he’d seen them together he’d never imagined that for a second. But one never knew what really went on behind closed doors.

He tried to focus on the piano, not the long length of Tammy’s legs that seemed to taunt him so, especially today. He was just a man who appreciated the beautiful form of a woman, he told himself. It wasn’t like he missed out; he’d had plenty of girls, including some serious ones. He wanted a family and he wasn’t getting any younger. Tammy, on the other hand, was probably around twenty-five, married and about to start a family no doubt. Why couldn’t he find someone like her? Where were they all hiding?

Bill shut the piano lid ten minutes later, Tammy’s hazel eyes on him the whole time, and sat with his back to her, ready to play something, waiting for the request. He felt her hand on his shoulder, not realising she’d moved, her pressure light but it seemed to burn the longer it remained there.

‘Could you play me your favourite, Bill? Please?’

The last word fell through her soft lips like a whisper of a feather that tickled his skin.

‘Oh, okay,’ he said, suddenly nervous. He thought for a moment before starting the opening bars of Led Zeppelin’s ‘Stairway to Heaven’.

‘I love this song,’ her voice purred.

Her hand disappeared from his shoulder, leaving a coldness, only for his fingers to stumble on the keys as her body pressed against his side as she sat next to him on the tiny piano chair. Her dress seemed to have crept further up her legs; had she made sure of it?

Tammy had always been nice, yet never this friendly. Something deep in his gut said she was flirting with him but he pushed it back down.

She moistened her lips. He could smell her sweet perfume, which lingered like a sugar crystal on the tongue and her warm honey breath caressed his cheek as she began to sing, knowing all the words.

‘You sing beautifully,’ he said as he finished and turned to her.

A soft pink rose up her neck to her cheeks as she glanced at him under her long dark lashes. ‘Thank you. I was in the church choir.’

Bill felt warning bells rattle in his brain as she leaned close enough for him to count tiny freckles he hadn’t noticed before. He almost jumped out of his skin as her hand pressed against his thigh.

‘What …’ he began, but she pressed her finger to his lips.

‘Shh,’ she murmured.

Tammy removed her finger but only after she’d traced his bottom lip. Bill swallowed and was fighting hard to remain still. Not all of his body complied. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the soft rise of her chest, but they flew open the moment he felt her lips pressed against his.

‘I don’t …’ He tried to get the words out but she wouldn’t allow him to speak. Instead she made another hushing sound as she continued whatever it was she was doing. Bill’s mind was struggling to believe what was happening.

Her lips were soft and gentle to begin with, until her tongue found his and heat exploded from his body like she’d stoked him with kerosene. Her hands moved into his hair as she somehow managed to straddle him in an easy fluid motion.

Bill had no response other than to grab hold of her narrow waist, maybe to stop them falling backwards, or maybe it was instinct. Tammy pulled away for a fraction to catch her breath, and Bill knew he should say something. His mind searched through the ‘We shouldn’t be doing this’ and ‘We must stop’ but nothing took hold on his tongue as the pulse of his heartbeat and sudden desire stole his sense.

Tammy pressed against him, leading this … whatever this was. If he wasn’t so turned on a part of him might have felt trapped and used, but he was too far gone for those thoughts. Bill tried to slow her down, give him time to think and breathe; he grabbed for her but her dress rode up and his hands connected with her bare backside. Oh no. There was no control over what she’d unleashed in him now.

Within seconds, it seemed, Tammy had his zipper undone and was riding him. Bill was lost, uncertain if this was a dream but swept along nonetheless. His breaths grew rapid and heavy. A moment of clarity. ‘I … I don’t have anything,’ he managed to pant.

‘It’s okay, I’m good,’ she hissed out as she gripped him tightly.

As the piano chair threatened to topple over, Tammy gestured to the floor and he obeyed, lifting her as he stood, turned and pressed her against the floor. Her dress flooded around her waist, and he briefly wondered if he’d misunderstood the married housewife. The danger in what they were doing drove him to the edge faster than ever.

Tammy’s eyes were pressed closed as her hands grabbed his waist pulling him down to her. Oh, this won’t take long at all.

Moments later he lay puffing against her neck. He went to move, but Tammy held him against her. ‘Not yet,’ she almost demanded.

So, he waited. He waited until their breathing returned to normal and finally her hands fell away. He eased himself off her, looking for glimpses in her face of what she’d been thinking in those minutes, but her eyes were closed and a strange calm had fallen across her face.

He got up and sorted himself out. ‘That was …’ he began but she shot him a small smile, her head shook just slightly.

‘Righto, then. I better go,’ he stammered.

Tammy nodded as she adjusted her dress but remained on the floor, rolling to her side and watching him.

He picked up his bag and stepped towards the door. It seemed wrong to just leave like this. But he didn’t want to be around in case her husband came home suddenly.

‘Thank you, Bill.’

Her words were whispered and caught in her throat. A sincere smile spread across her face as tears glistened in her eyes, the same as when he played for her. It made him pause. She truly was beautiful. How that had just happened he had no idea.

‘It’s okay. You better go,’ she added, her slender hand waving him off.

Bill nodded, gave her a half-wave and let himself out. He sat in his car for a long moment as he thought about what had happened. How? Why?

‘Gee whiz, Mrs Noble.’ He shook his head in disbelief. He’d been propositioned before, young girls seemed to find him attractive. His sister said it was his tall lean frame, chocolate eyes and great hair. And that he radiated a contagious energy. That was his sister, though, and he thought she was just fluffing his feathers. But this was the first time he’d ever caught the attention of a married woman.

‘Jesus. What a day,’ he muttered with a grin and started the car.

On the drive home he wondered what would happen the next time he had to tune Mrs Noble’s piano. Heat washed over him, his belly tightening at the thought.

But he needn’t have bothered, because six months later when his mother called to book a time she was informed that their piano had been sold and they no longer needed Bill’s services.



‘MARCIA, HONEY, ARE YOU READY? DON’T FORGET YOUR SWIM goggles. Eric, your soccer boots are in the laundry.’

Sarah took a deep breath, but that was all she allowed herself time for as she spun around to grab her leather satchel. She inserted the agenda for her Council meeting next week, the folder for the soccer club meeting after Eric’s game, and Marcia’s books so she could read while Eric played. She pressed her hand against her black pencil skirt, smoothing it over her slender hips before checking her white silk shirt sat just right at the top of the high waist. White was always a risk, especially around children, but Sarah felt it represented organisation, professionalism and skill. Yes, there was a lot of skill involved in keeping it stain free.

She quickly put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and turned it on, then picked up a tea towel to wipe down the marble bench. Her diamond rings snagged on the tea towel and she made a mental note to buy a different sort. Then she took out a roast from the freezer and left it in the sink to defrost. The heels of her black peep-toe shoes clinked on the large white tiles as she crossed to the dining room and checked that the kids’ school bags were all packed and homework included.

‘I’ll be home late tonight. Are you right with the kids?’ asked Andrew, adjusting his black tie as he walked in.

Tall, lean and handsome, her husband. Not even the silvery four-centimetre scar on his cheek could take the splendour from him; if anything, it gave him a mysterious, sexy look. She used to trace her finger along it when they lay together, talking about the day he got it falling off his bike as they rode in the hills. Back when they were first dating. In a way that scar was the life of their relationship.

Sarah turned to help him straighten his tie and when he smiled his thanks she looked up into his grey-blue eyes. ‘I can ask Dad to watch the kids while I’m at the soccer meeting. I think the company’s good for him.’ She liked it when Andrew wore his plain tie with his white shirt and grey suit. He looked sexy with his hair cut short and styled, aftershave lingering on his smooth pale jaw.

‘Hmm,’ Andrew agreed softly. ‘Bill still seems so lost. Can see it in his eyes.’ He reached up and gently stroked her left earlobe. ‘One of your earrings is a bit loose,’ he added.

Sarah checked her pearl earrings; she’d put them on in a hurry this morning along with her diamond necklace, which always made her think of how much her mum had loved diamonds. ‘He loved Mum so much.’ Sarah’s voice caught in her throat. Funny that more than a year later it still hurt like her funeral was yesterday. Forcing her mind forward, she passed Andrew his briefcase. ‘You’re working late a lot lately.’ It wasn’t said accusingly, more a statement, but Andrew’s eyes shifted slightly.

He leaned back, angling away. ‘I may as well. You’re always busy,’ he said flippantly.

Her phone chose that moment to ring, its sound piercing the quiet house like a gong in a temple. Sarah ignored it; messagebank could take it. Besides, she had a feeling it might be Ray Burton, a fellow Councillor.

Andrew stared at her for a moment, his eyebrows sitting up high as if this call proved his point. When she didn’t reply, he sighed.

What did he want from her? It wasn’t like she’d answered her phone – and Andrew took just as many work calls at home as she did. They were a busy couple, both busy parents. She watched him take long purposeful steps to his briefcase, which he picked up quickly from its position by the hall table. He left the house, calling out goodbye to his kids as he went.

Sarah let out a frustrated breath. What did he expect when she was looking after two kids, her job as a Councillor and her many volunteer roles? Sometimes it was after eleven before she got to bed. One night she was up until one o’clock just trying to get all the washing, ironing and housework done. She’d asked Andrew if they could get a house cleaner, but he didn’t want anyone strange in their house and said they could cope. When she said she wasn’t, he told her to drop a job.

She did seriously think about it, even went as far as trying to find someone to take over the secretary job at Eric’s soccer club, but no one had come forward yet and here she was still doing it. And her position as a city Councillor was one of prestige and standing in her circles; not only that, but it made her feel like she was contributing to the area where she’d been born and raised. Sure, it came with a lot of phone calls and emails from locals – upset about building work starting too early, or traffic issues, or just wanting to say their bit about a proposed new centre near the foreshore – but it was Sarah’s job to listen, and most of the time she preferred to meet them in person, rather than have her emails end up on Facebook. It wasn’t a full-time job – the agenda briefing was once a month just before the Council meeting – but sometimes there were special meetings, as well as citizenship ceremonies every six weeks and Council competitions and awards she was involved in, and it all added up. Her mother had taught her that if she wanted to make a change she had to be prepared to stand up and use her voice. Her mum had been so proud when she’d been voted in as a Councillor. Sarah could still picture her front and centre at the ceremony, a big smile on her face and clapping as if Sarah had just won the Nobel Prize. She would never forget the tears in her eyes; that single moment had made all the months of campaigning worthwhile.

‘Mum, where did you say my soccer boots were?’ asked Eric as he wandered into the kitchen.

He was dressed for school, his grey socks pulled up to his knees, his white shirt buttoned properly and his tie – admittedly a clip-on – perfect. His light-brown feather hair was still bed ruffled, but she wouldn’t have time to sort it out properly. Wetting her fingers under the kitchen tap, she tried to settle his hair as she replied, ‘In the laundry, darling. Where they always are after I’ve cleaned them.’ Was six old enough to start cleaning his own stuff yet, she wondered.

Marcia, eight, with long brown hair, walked in with tears in her eyes and her lip quivering. ‘Mum, I can’t get my ribbon in.’ She held out the silky green length in her palm.

Eric headed to the laundry as Sarah moved to her daughter. Marcia had done a great job putting her hair up in a ponytail, and she played with the hem of her green patterned uniform dress while Sarah quickly tied the ribbon.

‘All done. Are you ready?’

‘Yes, is it perfect?’ Marcia asked, reaching up to feel her hair.

‘It looks spot on,’ she replied. Marcia had come home in tears on a few occasions because she’d had the ‘wrong’ earrings or pencil case. Had little girls been that nasty when Sarah was that age? She had been at the same all-girls’ school that Marcia now attended and remembered those days without fondness.

On the days Marcia came home upset Sarah wondered if it was all worth it. Another reason she had joined the school board – to see if she could help implement changes to stop the bullying. It was hard for Andrew to understand why she took on these positions, but he didn’t see Marcia when she was distraught. Sarah had to try to do something. If she didn’t, who would?

‘Mum, we have to go. I can’t be late,’ said Marcia as she reached for her school bag. Her matter-of-fact words felt like they came from an adult rather than an eight-year-old with a soft round face, two front teeth she was yet to grow into and bright green eyes that seemed to come from a long-ago soul, so much they seemed to take in and understand. Even Eric, with the same green eyes but for tiny yellow flecks, seemed to watch the world with a wonder that Sarah had long ago lost.

‘Yes, you’re right. Eric, are you ready?’ she asked as he shoved his boots into his school bag.

He didn’t reply but nodded, heaving his much-too-big bag onto his back.

Sarah collected her satchel, then picked up her phone and growled under her breath when she saw her missed call. Ray bloody Burton. He was an arrogant, leery-eyed man who thought himself the next city Mayor. Right now he was lobbying for approval of a high-rise building, the vote scheduled for the next meeting. The proposed building would restrict river views and cut out most of the park area, so Sarah planned to vote against it – Ray had got wind of this and had been calling her constantly, trying to change her mind. Why he was so vested in it she could only guess; maybe he planned to put his law firm in there once built. Ray’s true colours had certainly come out recently, but she would not be steamrolled by such a man. Though when she thought about calling him back, she felt her stomach tie in knots and a thump begin behind her eyes. With a finger and thumb she tried to massage her temples. The day had only just begun.

‘Mum, we’ll be late!’ said Marcia.

Sarah screwed her face up, willing away her headache, and sucked in a deep breath. ‘I’m coming.’

She locked the house and set the alarm, and they all climbed into her black BMW four-wheel drive, a birthday present from Andrew last year. His white Audi Sportback wasn’t big enough to comfortably fit the family, which wasn’t accidental; it was his toy masquerading as his work car. As the executive manager of operations at a private health insurance company, he was on a great salary. But it felt like it was starting to come at a cost.

It seemed lately that their marriage consisted of two cardboard cut-outs that lived under the same roof and shared children. Even weekends were quiet, and Andrew hadn’t made any of the kids’ sports of late. What was worse for Sarah was the delight the other mums took in asking pointed questions about why Andrew wasn’t there. She felt their underlying judgement, knew they thought she wasn’t good enough and that maybe this meant cracks in the marriage. No one ever voiced these opinions, but Sarah felt them in their glances and hushed words. She wished her mother was here; with just a few sentences Debbie had always known how to put Sarah at ease. Since Debbie’s death Sarah struggled more and more to find that ease; instead it continued to build like a pressure cooker, the pounding in her head as constant as the evening meal. How would she cope with all that was happening without her mum to guide her? Her stomach twisted tightly again. Maybe she had ulcers? Maybe her stress was giving her cancer?

Sarah shook her head, trying to focus on the now. She had two kids to get to school before she headed to the city office to prepare for the meeting, then there were the upcoming elections and the question of whether she wanted to run for re-election in her Council.

Right now a holiday in Broome sitting on Cable Beach with a large glass of wine watching the sun set seemed much more appealing. But she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had one of those holidays. Before the kids were born? Andrew used to take her to the zoo when they were dating and she’d found it so romantic. It had become their special place. When was the last time they’d even gone there with the kids? Sarah raised her hand and prodded at her temple as she tried to focus on the congested traffic.

Marcia’s private school was the first drop-off. ‘Bye, honey, have a great day.’

‘Bye Mum,’ she said, climbing out of the car and walking slowly, head down, towards the flow of girls moving along the path to the old brick building set amid perfectly manicured gardens. She didn’t glance back once. With a sigh Sarah pulled out of the kiss-and-drop lane and headed to Eric’s school.

It was hard to watch her babies walk away, growing up so fast. Everything about life was going so fast. How could she stop it? Sarah watched Eric, his skinny legs carrying that big school bag, as he plodded towards the school gate. Beside him a little boy was hugging his mum ferociously, then kissed her cheek before running off waving. Why didn’t Sarah get those kind of goodbyes?

Looking down, she tapped a long manicured nail on the face of her gold Cartier watch. Squaring her shoulders and adjusting her sunglasses, she put her car into drive and headed for the Council office.

•

‘How did you go at swim club?’ Sarah asked as Marcia climbed into the car that afternoon. She had only just managed to get to Eric’s soccer training for the last ten minutes, then rushed across to collect Marcia. Now she had to get them both to her dad’s house so she could hightail it back to the soccer club for the meeting. She glanced at the green-lit clock on the car dash and willed Marcia to move faster as she reached over to pull in her school bag and put it on the back seat.

‘Okay. We did turns today.’

Finally, when Marcia was strapped in, Sarah took off to her dad’s place, trying not to swear when a red hatchback doing forty-five in a sixty zone slowed her down. Sarah pressed the horn as she overtook and muffled words under her breath. She was getting better at controlling her road rage after Eric had yelled to a car, ‘It’s a bloody green light!’ when they were waiting at an intersection. It was a slap in the face and a lesson in self-control. Since that day she had let her horn do the talking.

‘You use your horn a lot, Mum,’ said Marcia as if reading her thoughts.

‘That’s what it’s for. No point a car having a horn that never gets used,’ she said with a smile. ‘That’s what my dad always told me.’

In ten minutes they pulled into her father’s dr. . .