33 Evie

33

Outside, there is a battle being fought by the seagulls, who are bickering over who gets the chimney and who gets the valley of the roof. It ends when they launch off in unison and swoop down to the beach.

Cyrus is holding the photo album. I touch each image with my fingertips. Agnesa is older but the same, beautiful but more grown up. I want to be angry at her for not coming to find me, but she thought I was dead.

A new page. More pictures. A birthing suite, and a newborn covered in gunk is being weighed and swaddled in a blanket. Agnesa looks exhausted but happy. Tucked under her chin, the baby has one finger pressed against her cheek, as though deep in thought, contemplating her future. My pose. My dimple.

Murdoch's phone has been on silent, but the screen lights up. He picks it up, reads the message and puts it down again on the coffee table. Then he walks to the window overlooking the sea. Two people are waiting at the bottom of the steps to the cottage. Addie is with her aunt, who is holding onto her shoulders, as though trying to stop her from climbing.

Addie waves nervously. I wave back. She's wearing red shorts over a blue one-piece swimming costume. She turns, seeking permission from her aunt. Moments later, she's running, taking the steps two at a time. I open the front door and meet her on the path. I think she's going to fly into my arms, but she stops suddenly as though unsure of what happens next.

‘I'm named after you,' she declares, ‘but nobody calls me Adina.'

‘Do you know what it means?' I ask.

She shakes her head, hair swinging.

‘Adina is a Hebrew name, meaning delicate.'

‘I'm not very delicate,' she says.

‘Neither am I.'

‘Can I hug you?' she asks.

‘Yes.'

I expect to flinch when her arms close around me, but it doesn't happen. I relax and hold her and smell her wonderful girlish smell of deodorant and pool chlorine. She steps back. Her legs are thin and tanned and her bare feet milky white. Her face is a prettier version of mine – with a small nose, brown eyes and a high forehead.

‘You're too young to be my auntie,' she says, making it sound like a challenge.

‘You're too old to be my niece,' I reply.

‘And we're almost the same size.'

‘You're going to be taller.'

‘What are we then?' she asks.

‘We could be friends.'

‘Or sisters,' says Addie. ‘I've always wanted one of those.'

I can't swallow the lump in my throat.

Addie is still talking excitedly. ‘Sisters keep secrets for each other, so you can't tell anyone about the smoking or the thieving.'

‘I guess not.'

‘Or about Flossie and Soot and Ziggy.'

‘Who?'

‘My cats.'

‘OK.'

‘And you have to help me convince Dad to let me have a dog.'

‘I'll try.'

Another silence. ‘Can I show you something?' she asks eagerly, taking my hand and leading me along a small brick path down the side of the cottage and up steps into a terraced area, with a wooden bench seat, and a view over the headland and a rock platform exposed by the tide. Addie picks a wilting flower from a rose bush and breaks the petals in her hand. She releases them over my head like snowflakes and laughs.

‘This is my favourite place in the whole world,' she says.

‘Why is that?'

‘This is where my mum used to sit every afternoon and read books and watch me play in the garden. I don't remember much about her. I was only three when she died.'

‘I can tell you about her.'

It's then that I notice the small square of polished metal screwed into the uppermost railing of the bench. The bronze plaque reads:

IN LOVING MEMORY OF AGNESA OSMANI, WHO STOPPED HERE A WHILE AND ENJOYED THE VIEW.

I don't realise I'm crying until Addie puts her arms around me and says, ‘I miss her too.'

I'm not sure how I feel. I'm exhausted and disappointed and angry and sad and excited and scared. My sister has come back to me. She has added a drop of condensed colour into my black-and-white world, giving definition and shade to things that have been lost in grey.

I finally feel as though I belong here. The contours of the country have become mine. The sun is mine, the grass, the trees, the birds, the bees, the waves, the wind. This is my home and I know what comes next. I'm going to have the biopsy on my brain. And if they say I need an operation I will. And if they want me to wait and see, I'll wait and see.

I have a reason to fight now. A sister. A niece. A purpose.