The Lost Sister by Kathleen McGurl (i can read book club .TXT) 📕

test to see if either of us are a good match for bone marrow donation – that’s on Monday. Apparently it’s unlikely we will be, but we have to try.’

Harriet poured Sally some tea. ‘Here. And please take a croissant. I want to be tested too, to see if I can be a donor.’

Sally pulled a card out of her handbag and passed it over. ‘I remember you said you would. Here’s the number to call to make an appointment. They only need take a blood sample at this stage to see if there’s any chance. And if none of us match, then they can look through a national database of people who’ve signed up to be potential donors. If I’m not a match, I’m going to sign up to that database to see if I can help someone else at least.’

‘That’s a lovely idea,’ Harriet said, taking the card. ‘I’ll call this first thing on Monday. I’m probably too old to go on the national database but I will enquire.’

Sally smiled. ‘Thank you, Mum. God I really hope one of us will be a match. Remember the support nurse said that the donation procedure can be quite painful for the donor. I’d rather it was a family member that had to go through it, than a stranger.’

Harriet glanced at her daughter, judging whether to say out loud the thought that had crossed her mind. Yes, she decided. Why not? ‘When Davina next rings … I could ask her … whether she would go to be tested?’

‘Huh. No, don’t bother, Mum.’ Sally gave a hollow laugh. ‘She’s never done anything for me.’

‘She’d be doing it for her nephew, though.’

‘There’s no point. It’s too unlikely that she or her kids would be a match, and it’d only wind her up, asking. No, Mum. I don’t want her involved. She’s out of my life.’

Harriet sighed. ‘Do you think you could ever forgive her?’

Sally shrugged. ‘Don’t know. But it’s irrelevant – I don’t suppose she’ll ever forgive me. That day in Weymouth, with Lucas.’

‘Yes. That was … misguided.’ To put it mildly, Harriet thought.

‘Mmm. Seemed like a good idea when Lucas suggested it. But it fucked everything up, didn’t it?’

Harriet stared at Sally, astonished to hear a rare swear word from her. There were tears in Sally’s eyes, too. It was time to steer the conversation away from Davina. ‘Anyway, they said they always manage to find a match on the register. And I’m sure that if someone’s altruistic enough to sign up for it, they’d be only too delighted to have the chance to save a child’s life at the expense of a little discomfort. I know I would.’

Her daughter dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, took a second croissant and smiled through a mouthful of pastry. ‘You are probably right. And of course we’ll take any donor that’s a match. It’s not a time to be fussy. Then there’s treatment to prepare Jerome’s body for a bone marrow transplant. I don’t know the details, but Charlie has read up on it all and understands what’s going on better than I do.’ She smiled tightly. ‘And now let’s change the subject, or I’ll get all tearful again. How’s your house-clearing going?’

‘Slowly but surely,’ Harriet replied. ‘I’ve done a bit more in the attic – there are some more boxes of stuff to throw out or give to charity that I need you to help me bring down. But I must admit,’ she looked sheepishly at Sally, ‘I came across an old photo album which kind of distracted me for a while.’

‘What kind of photos?’ Sally asked. ‘Your grandmother again?’

‘No. John and me, in the early days of our marriage. We had a camping and cycling trip in northern France – carrying everything in panniers on our bicycles. I’d never done anything like it before. We’d cycle about forty miles, then find a field or a cliff top or something, and set up our little tent. We had a little Primus stove to cook on but mostly we ate bread, cheese, tomatoes, and melon bought locally. The way I remember it the sun shone every day but the photos definitely show cloud and rain one day so my memory’s definitely a bit off.’

‘Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention that holiday before,’ Sally said. ‘Sounds awesome. So, shall we get on with stuff in the attic?’

‘In a moment. Let me show you these photos first.’ Harriet went through to the sitting room where she’d left the album after finding it the previous day. There was a pile of photo albums strewn across the coffee table and sofa – she’d forgotten she’d left so many out. And not just photo albums – there’d been a box of souvenirs amongst them. Bits and bobs they’d bought or picked up on their travels. The old Primus stove itself. A little flag they’d made with their initials entwined that they’d attached to the tent pole. A collection of stones from beaches they’d visited. All of it was spread across tables and the floor of the room.

Sally had followed her through to the sitting room. ‘Good grief, Mum! You’re supposed to be sorting stuff out. This is a terrible mess in here! Remember what I said about only handling each item once – pick it up, make the decision whether it’s to keep, give to charity or chuck, and then box or bag it accordingly. Not spread everything all over the place and wallow in memories. You were better than that when we started a couple of weeks ago.’

‘Yes, but that was my mother’s old stuff. This,’ Harriet waved a hand at the memories strewn across the room, ‘this is John. Our marriage. My life. And, well, it’s a lot harder to throw these things out.’ She picked up a postcard that John had sent her when he’d been away for a few days on a training course.

Sally snatched it off her and glanced at