The Half Sister

by Sandie Jones

Genres: Siblings; Psychological Thrillers

Synopsis

The Half Sister is the compelling, twisty novel from Sandie Jones, the author of The Other Woman. Perfect for fans of Sally Hepworth’s The Mother-in-Law and Michelle Frances’ The Daughter.

Her arrival will ruin everything . . .

Kate and Lauren. Sisters who are always there for each other. But as they gather for their weekly Sunday lunch, a knock on the door changes everything.

The new arrival, Jess, claims to be their half-sister, but that would mean the unthinkable . . . That she’s the secret daughter of their beloved, recently deceased father Harry. Their mother Rose is devastated and Kate and Lauren refuse to believe Jess’s lies.

But as the fall-out starts it’s clear that each is hiding secrets and that perhaps this family isn’t as perfect as they appear.

Where there was truth, now there are lies and only one thing is certain, their half-sister’s arrival has ruined everything . . .

Release date: June 16, 2020

Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

Print pages: 320

Sample

1



KATE



Kate sees the familiar nameplate on Dr. Williams’ office door and feels a knot in her stomach. She doesn’t know why, after all this time, it still affects her like this—she should be used to it by now. But every time she walks through his door she’s filled with hope, and every time she walks back out, she feels utter despair and sadness, unable to believe that fate could be so cruel.

As if he knows what she’s thinking, Matt grabs hold of her hand as they sit in the clinic’s waiting room. Squeezing it, as if he is somehow able to transfer his boundless optimism onto her.

He kisses her head as she leans into him. “I think this might be the one,” he says, over-enthusiastically, as if believing it hard enough will prove him right.

“It’s certainly the last one,” she says wearily.

“Let’s see,” says Matt with forced joviality.

“Kate!” exclaims Dr. Williams as he opens his door.

She should call him Ben, as he’s requested a hundred times. But using his first name means she knows him well, and if she knows him well, it would be admitting how long this has been going on for.

“Doctor,” she says, as she stands up and walks toward him with an outstretched arm.

“Good to see you,” says Dr. Williams. “Matt, how are you?”

The two men greet each other as if they’re old friends, meeting at a football match. Kate finds herself wondering at what point the bonhomie will be replaced with the business in hand. She suspects it’s when her legs are in stirrups and said hand is gloved.

“So, are we all ready?” asks Dr. Williams, now seated in front of them at his desk. He doesn’t look up from his computer screen to see Matt’s determined nod.

“Okay, so all your numbers are looking good,” he says, almost to himself. “We’ve identified the strongest embryo which, I’m pleased to say, is of the highest grade.”

Kate feels Matt looking at her, knowing that he’ll be beaming from ear to ear, but she doesn’t have the energy to return his eagerness because she’s heard it all before. “Highest grade,” “4AAA blastocyst,” “It doesn’t get much better than this”—all had been bandied around during their last three attempts, but it hadn’t made that line go blue on the pregnancy test, had it?

Matt’s enthusiasm had propped Kate up at first, when test after test proved inconclusive. She’d relied on his positivity to bring her back around the right way after they were told that the reason they couldn’t get pregnant was due to “unexplained infertility.”

“It means there’s nothing wrong,” he’d said as he practically skipped out of Dr. Williams’ office three years ago.

Kate didn’t have the heart to tell him that it also meant that there was “nothing right.”

Instead, she’d adapted her diet, stopped drinking, and stood on her head after sex. But nothing had resulted in them being able to conceive, hence they now find themselves in the clinic. Again.

Once Kate’s lying on her back with her legs in the air, she sings Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” in her head, to distract herself from the fact that there is a doctor, an embryologist, a nurse and a medical student all staring intently at her lady parts. Galileo Galileo, she hums, in an attempt to take herself to another place.

“Once you’ve had a baby, a smear test will be like just going to the hairdresser’s,” her sister Lauren had offered when they’d inadvertently run into each other at the doctor’s. Kate hadn’t wanted to share her infertility struggles, so had been caught on the hop. Of all the things she could have said she was there for, a smear was the first thing that popped into her head. She could have kicked herself.

You would have thought that an older sister with three children would be the perfect antidote to the situation that Kate finds herself in. Someone who would sympathize, offer unbiased advice and a shoulder to cry on. But Lauren is not that person, or perhaps, more to the point, Kate doesn’t see that person in her. Instead, she sees a woman who is living the life she had assumed she’d be living, and sisters or not, Lauren’s perfect little set-up is not the kind of support network Kate feels she needs to be immersed in right now. And anyway, she thinks, how could she possibly understand what I’m going through when she only has to look at her husband to get pregnant?

She jumps as she feels a sharp pain in her groin.

“Okay, so we’re inserting the embryo now,” says Dr. Williams, though Kate doesn’t know if he’s talking to her or the eager student, who can’t seem to get close enough to see what’s happening.

As it turns out, it doesn’t matter how many times you’ve been poked and prodded, it will never feel like going to the hairdresser’s.

She wants to push the invasive hands and instruments away, restore her dignity and tell them she’s had enough of being treated like a laboratory rat. But then she looks at Matt, with his gentle smile and hopeful eyes. She could so easily take herself down the why is life so unfair? route, but in the rare moments of clarity, when she knows that having a good life isn’t dependent on having a child, she is so grateful to have him.

She’d always wanted a baby with the husband she loves, more than anything in the world. Had been consumed by it at one point. But the pain and constant disappointment were taking their toll. If she’d had her way, they would have stopped at the third IVF attempt. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally; her nervous energy depleted by the tales she’d had to spin to friends and work colleagues who raised a knowing eyebrow whenever she refused an alcoholic drink.

“This is it,” she’d said to Matt, a couple of nights ago, as they were snuggled on the couch watching TV.

She felt him stiffen and sit up straighter. “What, this is our last chance?” he asked, seemingly floored.

Hadn’t he noticed how tired she was? Seen her desolation every time they looked at a blank pregnancy test? Couldn’t he see how their whole lives had been taken over by the process of getting pregnant?

“I’ve had enough,” she’d said quietly.

“But we…” he stuttered. “Darling, we’re so close now—I know it. We can do this.”

Something inside her had snapped. “You keep saying we, as if we’re going through this together.”

He’d looked at her, hurt. “Aren’t we?”

She chastised herself for taking her frustrations out on the person she loves the most. But isn’t that always the way?

She thinks back to how carefree they’d once been. How they’d met on the newsroom floor of the Gazette and bonded over mutual banter about a loathsome editor. It had made the day go quicker, made the shifts under the editor’s watch seem a little easier to bear. Whenever he’d march into the open-plan office, shouting his morning mantra, “Who are we going to throw to the lions today?,” Kate and Matt would race to send each other an email with “YOU?” in the subject heading. It was a regrettable day when the editor himself received Matt’s email.

“I’ll miss working with you,” said Matt, as he and Kate sat in the pub ruing their stupidity. “But every cloud has a silver lining.”

She’d thought he was referring to his new job at rival newspaper the Echo. She couldn’t stop grinning when he added, “Because now I can ask you out.”

They’d spent blissful evenings trawling the pubs of South London and lazy weekend mornings reading the papers in bed. But now she can’t remember the last time they’d done either.

Instead, they’d been referring to ovulation charts before they made love and subliminally avoiding social events with their pregnant and blessed-with-children friends, which seemed to be just about everyone they knew.

In their effort to have a baby, they’d lost the ability to be spontaneous. Ironically, they’d given up what should have been the halcyon days of pre-parenthood to the restrictions of being responsible for another human, despite the painful absence of one.

“Done!” says Dr. Williams with a flourish. He puts the catheter back on the tray and pings his gloves off.

“So, we’ve got two more in the freezer?” asks Matt. “Before we have to go through egg retrieval again, I mean?”

“Yes, we’ve got two more good quality embryos left to go on this cycle.”

“But even if they don’t work, we can still go again, can’t we?” Matt continues.

Kate doesn’t want to have this conversation. She has an urgent need to empty her painfully full bladder and all the time there’s a viable chance of a baby being inside her, she refuses to acknowledge that they’ll have to go through this again. Because that would mean that the little human being who is having to work so hard right now isn’t going to make it.

“Let’s concentrate on the here and now,” says Dr. Williams, as Kate swings her legs down to the floor. “So, just carry on as normal, and I’ll see you in a couple of weeks’ time for the blood test to see where we’re at.”

Kate looks to Matt and smiles. She can’t help but notice that he’s got his fingers crossed.



2



KATE



“So, no Matt today?” asks Rose, Kate’s mum, as she bustles into the dining room carrying a tray of roast potatoes.

Lauren deftly lifts one out as Rose sets the tray down and bites into it, groaning with pleasure as it crunches.

“Afraid not,” says Kate. “He got called into the office at the last minute.”

“Ah well, no bother,” says Rose, going back into the kitchen. “I’ll do you a plate to take home.”

“So, what’s the big scoop of the day?” asks Lauren’s husband Simon, as he carves into the beef joint that’s resting in the middle of the table. Kate can’t help but feel that he’s taking her dad’s job away from him. “Or are you not allowed to tell?” he goes on.

“I could–” Kate lowers her voice—“but then I’d have to kill you.”

He laughs heartily at the joke he thinks she’s made, but, truth be known, nothing would give her more pleasure. She and Matt had often lain in bed thinking of ways to commit the perfect murder, and her sister’s husband always topped the list of potential victims. He’s tolerated rather than liked, and if it wasn’t for her mother wanting to keep the Sunday-lunch ritual going, Kate could quite easily never see him again. But hey, you can’t choose your family.

“Come on, seriously, I wanna know,” says Simon. “Do you and Matt share stories or are you bitter rivals? Fighting each other to the death for the best ones.”

Kate wonders whether he’d prefer to hear about the imminent cabinet reshuffle or the prostitute who’s claiming to have kept a Premiership footballer up the night before a cup final, both of which she knows Matt is working on. She decides not to give Simon the satisfaction of either.

“I couldn’t possibly divulge our pillow talk,” she says. “Lauren, pass me the carrots, will you?”

“I can’t remember the last time we were all together,” says Lauren.

Kate can. It was three weeks ago, and on the way home, she and Matt had discussed how they might be able to stretch the weekly lunches to maybe every other week.

“I only do it for Mum,” Kate had said. “You know how she loves having us all over.”

“I know,” Matt had replied. “But it’s dictating our weekends. I don’t get much time off as it is, and when I do, no disrespect, I’d rather us two do something together.”

But in the last three weeks, that hadn’t happened either, as Matt had worked, then Kate had been at a film festival, and now, this weekend, he’s had to go into the office again.

“It’s just that everyone’s busy,” says Kate.

“Everyone but me,” laughs Lauren. “I’ll be sitting at this table waiting for the roasties until my dying day.”

“Well, maybe you need to get a life!” Simon laughs.

It’s funny how words are dependent on who says them. If Matt had said that, Kate would have taken it in the spirit it was meant; banter between two people who gave each other as good as they got. But from Simon’s lips, the joke is lost, turning a flippant comment into something that sounds far more disrespectful.

The flash of disdain that crosses Lauren’s eyes tells Kate she’s not the only one who feels it.

“I’d imagine being a mother keeps you very busy,” Kate interjects.

Lauren rolls her eyes. “You have no idea.”

You’re right, I don’t, thinks Kate.

“In all honesty, now that I’m back on maternity leave, I don’t know how I had time to go to work,” Lauren says, laughing.

“It’s all about time management,” says Simon. “Imagine Kate when she has children; it’ll be like a military operation.” He laughs again.

“Not everyone wants children,” says Lauren, and Kate can’t help but feel dismayed at how misplaced and ill thought out her words are.

She fixes an insincere grin on her face, wondering how much longer she has to keep up with this charade of happy families. If Matt were here, he’d at least take some of the flak for her, stepping in to bat away the barbs.

“Some women want careers instead,” Lauren goes on.

Kate struggles to keep her expression neutral, but it feels like her cheek’s been slapped. “I don’t think you have to make a choice between having a career and having children,” she says.

Simon looks at her with an amused expression. “You can’t have both.”

“Why not?” asks Kate brusquely. “We’re perfectly capable. Just because we’re the ones who have babies shouldn’t mean our careers have to suffer while we have them.”

Simon rolls his eyes.

Kate looks to Lauren, shaking her head in the hope that she’ll get some sisterly support, but Lauren has turned away. Kate wonders when her sister became so spineless when faced with her husband’s old-fashioned views.

Up until their first child, Noah, was born five years ago, Lauren had dedicated her life to bringing other people’s babies into the world. In fact, Kate couldn’t remember a time when her sister wasn’t surrounded by children. She’d babysat for family friends as a teenager and had studied midwifery as soon as she’d finished secondary school, which was why she was well placed to make comments about forgetting your dignity when you give birth. Logically, Kate knew she should take her sister’s words as they were probably intended, yet she couldn’t help but feel they were aimed at her personally.

Simon sighs theatrically. “The proof’s in the pudding. Someone like Lauren, who has worked for the good old NHS for fifteen years, isn’t as high up as her peers who have chosen not to have children. Fact.”

“When do you think you’ll go back to work?” asks Rose in an attempt to change the subject, although Kate is quite sure that she already knows the precise date. Lauren and their mum are close like that.

Lauren throws a glance at her husband. “I’m not due back until the end of the summer, but if we need the money, I might go back sooner.”

“Let’s hope that she still has a job by then,” says Simon. “If the current government have their way, the NHS won’t last for much longer.”

Now, you just wait a minute. This government have gone all-out to secure the future of our healthcare system.

Those are the words she knows her conservative father would normally have said, but there’s a deafening silence. Kate looks at the chair he’d once occupied, now sitting woefully empty in the corner of the room, and feels a very real physical tug on her heart.

It’s coming up to a year since he died, yet Kate can still hear him, still see him, sitting at his place around the table. They’d left his chair empty for the first six months, none of them able to remove it from where they gathered every Sunday, but gradually they’d moved a little this way and that, shuffling ever closer, until suddenly it had been banished to where only cobwebs grew. Kate had been a reluctant visitor ever since, finding the slow removal of the man she adored too painful to accept. Where she’d once looked forward to the family getting together, excited to hear about her father’s week at work and revelling in the heated debates between him and Matt, it had now become an effort. Without her ally, the dynamics seem to have shifted, and the once light-hearted, evenly matched pairings of her and her father versus Lauren and their mother now feel heavily weighted in her sister’s favor.

Whenever Kate calls her mother, Lauren seems to be adding her two pennies’ worth in the background. And on the odd occasion Kate’s dropped in to see the children, Rose is there, preparing dinner in Lauren’s kitchen. Maybe it’s always been this way, but now that her father isn’t round at her flat, helping her out with odd jobs, Kate notices it more.

She’d lost count of how many cups of tea she’d made him on a Saturday morning when Matt was invariably on a weekend shift, and Harry had taken it upon himself to fix a leak in the shower in his DIY-shy son-in-law’s absence. Kate had always managed to find a creaky door for him to oil, or a shelf to put up, despite being more than capable of doing it herself; the pair of them as good as each other for finding excuses to spend time together.

“I thought I’d get out from under your mother’s feet for a bit longer,” he used to say when he’d appear on her doorstep on his way back from watching Chelsea play at Stamford Bridge. By then Matt would be home, and they’d all sit and watch the late kick-off on the telly together.

“Do you think you two will have kids one day?” her dad had asked once, ever so casually. She and Matt had looked at each other as they weighed up whether to share their desperate struggle. If any member of the family were to know about it, it would only have been him, but then Kate thought of the sadness that would cloud his features as he contemplated his daughter’s childless future. She’d discreetly shaken her head at Matt and said instead, “We’d love them when the time’s right.”

“I’m going to make sure that whenever it happens and whatever it is, it’s going to be a Blues fan,” he’d said, smiling. “It’ll be chanting ‘blue is the color, football is the game’ before it can say ‘dada.’”

“I don’t think so,” Matt, a lifelong Arsenal fan, had said, laughing. “I’m all right with its first words not being daddy, but if you think for one second that its favorite color is going to be blue instead of red, then I think we might have to put a restraining order in place.”

They’d all laughed together as Kate dared to imagine her father holding the hand of his grandchild, the pair of them wrapped in blue and white scarves as they made their way to the stands. The thought of it had made her want to cry even more than the prospect of it never happening. Now, though, the impossibility of both scenarios threatens to engulf her.

Kate takes her plate into the kitchen, unable to stomach her food or the conversation any longer. She stands facing the units with her hands spread wide on the worktop. Just count to ten, she can hear Matt’s voice saying.

It would be a hell of a lot easier if you were here, she replies silently.

She pictures him in the high-rise tower of the Echo’s offices, pacing up and down, raking a manic hand through his hair as he is forced to go to the wire on tomorrow’s front-page exclusive. Will the government insider get the names to him on time? Will the prostitute want more money, now that Real Madrid are rumored to be interested in signing her one-night stand?

Despite both of them being in the business for over ten years, the pressure never lessens, and the reliable sources were proving to be ever more unreliable. That’s why Kate had opted to stay where she was, on the Gazette’s showbusiness desk, instead of rising up through the ranks where the stakes and stress increased tenfold. She chose not to acknowledge that the bigger reason for not putting herself forward for promotion was that she’d not expected to be there for that much longer. But that was four years ago, when she’d thought that she’d have to hand over coverage of the next Oscars because she’d be too heavily pregnant to fly to Los Angeles. She honestly hadn’t expected to be reporting on the fashion faux pas of Hollywood actresses ever again, but she’d been there for the last three years in a row, without even the merest hint of a bump.

“Are you okay, darling?” asks Rose, coming into the kitchen to fetch more gravy. “You look a little pale.”

For the briefest of moments, Kate considers telling her why she might look peaky, why her temper seems to be on a short fuse and why everything everybody’s saying seems to be rubbing her up the wrong way. But no, she and Matt had decided they’d do it together, when there was something to say, and anyway, Rose has already disappeared through the side door and into the garage.

“I don’t like vegetables,” says Noah, spitting out a mouthful of chewed-up swede as Kate walks back into the dining room.

“Come on darling, just a few more for mummy,” says Lauren patiently.

“No! Vegetables are yucky.”

Lauren looks at Kate, as if to say, Aren’t you glad you’re not me?

You’re exactly who I want to be, Kate says to herself.

Over the years, she’s fallen into the trap of gauging everyone’s good fortune and sense of self-worth on whether they have children or not; using their ability to have a baby as some kind of currency that makes them rich beyond their wildest dreams. So in her eyes, Lauren is a multimillionaire. Though when she looks a little closer, she notices the finer details of what her sister’s life might really be like. For example, the fact that her husband has almost cleared his plate while she is yet to start her dinner, as she’s too busy cutting up carrots for eighteen-month-old Emmy, chasing the peas that Noah is flicking onto the table, and maneuvering baby Jude’s hungry mouth onto her breast.

The juxtaposition of the scene and her selfish thoughts jolt Kate into action.

“Here,” she says, moving around the table to stand behind Emmy’s highchair. “Let me do that.”

Lauren gratefully gives her sister a child’s plastic knife and fork while throwing a sideways glance at her oblivious husband.

“Thanks,” says Lauren, as Kate cuts up Emmy’s vegetables before kneeling to retrieve the errant peas.

It somehow feels easier to be under the table than sitting around it. A place to hide from all the words that are said and unsaid. Kate can hear them forcing a conversation, changing the subject to one that isn’t deemed to be in the least bit controversial, so that nobody gets on their high horse and threatens the equilibrium again.

She’s still on the floor when the doorbell rings, and Rose huffs before putting her knife and fork down. “Who can that be on a Sunday afternoon? Simon, be a love and go and get that, will you?”

Kate watches as Simon walks out of the room, and waits to hear his voice at the door. The conversation is muffled and she strains to hear, relishing his discomfort as he no doubt listens to a Witness regaling him about the power of Jehovah, or a landscaper who just happens to have finished a garden down the road and has a few pergolas and statues left over.

Emmy is hitting Kate on the head with her plastic bowl and she waits expectantly for more peas to rain down on her.

“Oi, you little rascal,” she laughs, grabbing hold of Emmy’s bare foot. Just feeling her soft skin in the palm of her hand makes Kate’s chest tighten and she swallows the tears that are prickling the back of her throat.

“It’s someone looking for Harry,” says Simon, as he walks back into the dining room with a young blonde woman behind him.

“What?” asks Rose abruptly, looking from the woman to Simon and back again.

Kate is still on her knees, surveying the scene across the top of the table.

“Yeah, it’s actually Harry I’m after,” says the woman. “Harry Alexander. Is he around?”

Kate feels her blood run cold as her brain struggles to comprehend what this woman might want. But whichever way she looks at it, asking for a man almost a year after his death can’t be a good thing.

“Sorry, what is it we can help you with?” asks Kate, rising to her full height.

The woman looks at her feet as they shuffle from side to side. “It’s probably best if I speak to Harry first,” she says.

“Well, he’s not here,” says Kate tightly, her chest feeling like a coiled spring. “What is it you want with him?”

“Are you Lauren?”

Kate feels her mum shift beside her, but Lauren, she notices, is stock still. Even her swaying to comfort the baby has stopped.

“Sorry, who are you?” asks Kate, ignoring the question.

“I’m Jess,” says the woman, before clearing her throat.

“And what do you want with Harry?” asks Rose shakily.

Jess eyes her warily. “I need to talk to him. It’s really important.”

Kate looks to Rose. “I’ll let him know you came by,” she says, as her mother’s and sister’s heads turn in her direction. “What should I say it’s about?” she goes on, ignoring their perplexed stares.

The woman looks down at the floor again, as if summoning the courage she needs to say what she’s about to say.

“I’m his daughter,” she says eventually. “Tell him his daughter came to see him.”


Copyright © 2020 by Sandra Sargent.