The Darkest Secret by Alex Marwood

‘I’m so sorry about your father, Milly. It must have been a terrible shock.’
    â€˜I’m sure you know we weren’t close,’ I say, and let all the accusations that go with that statement echo down the line.
    She doesn’t take the bait. ‘No. But still. I’m sure there are… emotions involved.’
    â€˜Sure,’ I say. ‘Thanks.’
    She can’t just be calling me with condolences, can she? ‘How’s Ruby doing?’ I ask.
    Another little silence. And then, ‘Not good, I’m afraid. She’s in bits.’
    Oh. I have another weird little surge of emotion, and it takes me a moment before I identify it as jealousy. And then I’m disgusted with myself. I had no idea that I still had that in me: that I still think of Ruby and Coco as usurpers, as though I am the only one allowed feelings in the matter.
    I think about my half-sister, this stranger devastated by our common bereavement. Fifteen years old. I don’t even know what she looks like now. Like little lost Coco, she is set in amber in my mind: three years old forever. I’ve honestly never thought about her growing up. Going through the horrors of adolescence, living with a loss so huge it’s hard to comprehend. She and Coco have been no more than bit-players in my own misery. Not people in their own right at all.
    â€˜I’m so sorry to hear that.’
    Claire sighs. ‘It’s not that surprising, I suppose. They hadn’t seen much of each other lately, but she did love him.’
    Another twinge of self-pity. So did I, once. ‘I’m so sorry.’
    â€˜She doesn’t seem to be able to stop crying,’ says Claire. ‘She’s in her room right now. I’ve tried to talk to her. But I… I sort of don’t know what to say. It’s hard. We… your father and I… she knows there was no love lost between us, and…’
    Not my problem.
Not
my problem. You drove a wedge between my parents and took him away, and suddenly he was saying my mother was mad and he’d never been happy, and you want me to sympathise because you couldn’t make it work? I’m not responsible for the world you’ve created, Claire. I have enough difficulty staying above the surface in my own.
    â€˜Claire —’ I begin.
    â€˜No, look, I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to hear about this. But I have to ask you a favour and I know it’s a big ask, but I
can’t
go to his funeral. I just can’t. I can’t. I
can’t
.’
    There’s an edge of hysteria to the last few words. Claire is panicking. She must have been thinking about this for hours before she worked up the guts to ring me, and now she’s started she’s desperate to get her request across before she loses her nerve. But I’m not going to make it easy for her. She never made it easy for me. She wants me to tell her that no one would expect her to, that I understand, but I’m not going to do that. Each time we went to stay with them, she was more sulky, more standoffish, sniping at Dad in a passive-aggressive way that made it very clear that we weren’t welcome, that there was no room for us. I know he was weak to go along with it, but I’ll never forget how she wanted to edit his life so none of the stuff that happened before he met her mattered.
    â€˜So I…’ she continues. ‘I don’t know what to do, Milly. I’m sorry to ask, I really am, but she’s desperate to go…’
    â€˜You want me to take Ruby to the funeral?’
    Another pause. She hasn’t realised that she hasn’t asked. ‘Yes.’
    â€˜Oh,’ I say.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I just don’t know who else to ask. And you
are
her sister.’
    â€˜Half-sister,’ I say, coldly.
    â€˜Yes,’ she says. ‘But she doesn’t have anyone else now.’ And Coco hovers between