The Sister: A psychological thriller with a brilliant twist you won't see coming (13 page)

N
o matter
how many times I tell myself it doesn’t matter that I’ve lost the necklace, the necklace that linked me and Charlie, that I still have my memories, I can’t fight the blackness swirling around my veins. I paint on my happy face every day before work and laugh and play with the children, but it takes every ounce of energy to pretend to be something I don’t feel. By the time I arrive home, my eyelids are heavy with exhaustion although it’s only six o’clock.

Anna cooks every night and Dan makes the effort to finish work earlier, but the atmosphere at home is tense and thick and I know I am mostly to blame. Dan is snappy with Anna and I hear them stage-whispering in corners, angry and frustrated conversations that cease when I enter the room. I think they’re thinking of ways to lift my mood and I am grateful that they care.

While talking to Mum on the phone last night, I broke down. Choking, angry sobs that burned my chest. Mum asked me to go and stay with her in Devon.
The sea air will do you the world of good,
she said, and although I long for the salt stinging my lips, the wind whipping my hair, the sand seeping into my shoes, I can’t leave Anna. I’ve only just found her.

Lexie has taken to telephoning me every day, sometimes lucid but often rambling, her voice slow and thick with alcohol. I stay on the line, listening to her racking sobs, knowing that ten minutes after she hangs up she won’t remember calling, and will likely ring again.

Today, I pull up outside the cottage, relieved it’s Friday, when my mobile rings. I cringe at the thought of talking to Lexie again today and I’m tempted to ignore the phone, but then berate myself and reach to answer. Esmée’s name flashes on the screen and I relax, glad of the chance to immerse myself in someone else’s news. Esmée’s life has always seemed far more exciting than mine, even before she moved to London.

The line is crackly and I switch the engine off to hear her better. Esmée describes her most recent foray into the world of speed dating and my smile is genuine for the first time in days.

‘It’s lovely to talk to you, hun, but I do have a reason for calling,’ Esmée says. ‘It’s no biggie, but I think someone’s hacked your Hotmail account.’

‘Hacked?’

‘I’ve had a few links come through.’

‘For what?’

‘Porn. It’s pretty hard-core stuff. I clicked on the first one thinking you’d sent me a link to shoes or something. I’ve deleted them now, but you need to change your password, hun.’

I’m mortified when I think of the people in my email address book. My grandparents, my mum. Have they all received these links?

‘I’m so sorry, Esmée.’

‘Don’t be. It’s really common. It happened at the Gallery last week. Two hundred prospective clients opened an email from us expecting an invitation to an exhibition, and found a half-price offer for a penis extension instead.’

I promise Esmée that I will visit soon – we both know I won’t – and then I sit in the car, cold and uncomfortable, too sluggish to move. Headlights shine in my rear-view mirror and I wait until Dan cuts the engine, opens his door and pulls a suit bag from the back seat. We walk into the cottage together. Anna is dusting the photos in the hallway. I can’t remember the last time I had to clean.

‘New suit?’ I ask Dan.

‘Nah, got the old one dry-cleaned – for tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’ I root around in my memory banks.

‘The annual Estate Agents’ Dinner,’ Dan sighs. ‘It’s on the calendar, Grace, and I mentioned it last week.’

‘I lost track of the date.’

Anna raises an eyebrow. ‘Is that as fun as it sounds?’

‘It’s a black-tie event held the first weekend in March each year. They give awards to the best agents in the county, and there are speeches. Long speeches.’ I pinch the bridge of my nose.

‘It’s important. I’m up for an award this year.’

It is discomfiting that I didn’t know this and I plaster over my shame with fake enthusiasm.

‘You deserve to win,’ I say. ‘You’ve worked so hard.’ But I can’t remember the last time we celebrated a sale. Is business bad or has he just stopped telling me about his day? Have I just stopped listening?

‘What are you going to wear, Grace?’

‘I’m not sure I feel up to it. How about you take Anna instead?’ The thought of making polite conversation over a three-course meal fills me with dread.

Dan’s eyes narrow. ‘Everyone’s expecting you, Grace. It’ll be fun. We’re sitting with Harry and Chloe.’

‘My hen night dress is ruined – I couldn’t get the wine stain out – and I don’t know if my others fit me any more.’ I think of all the empty Hobnobs packets stuffed inside my glovebox, my bag, my bedside drawer, and conclude that they probably won’t.

‘I don’t mind coming,’ Anna says.

‘No.’ Dan’s voice is terse. ‘I’m sure you’ve got job applications you could be filling in.’

‘Dan!’ I’m embarrassed.

Anna smiles at me. ‘It’s OK. How about I take you shopping tomorrow, Grace? I know some fabulous boutiques, and I can ask if they need any staff while we’re there. I
am
trying, Dan.’

‘Yes.’ Dan stuffs his suit back into the bag. ‘You are.’

* * *

T
he lights
in the changing room are muted and golden but that doesn’t soften the horror I feel as too many mirrors reflect angles of my body that I never usually get to see, and never want to see again. My Bridget Jones pants and bra, once white, look far greyer than they did at home. I wrap my arms around my belly, fingers sinking into soft flesh, and wish I were anywhere else but here, half-naked with a personal shopper appraising me.

‘Hmm,’ Tamsin, the stylist says. ‘A pear. Never mind. I will fetch dresses to make you look fabulous, yes?’

She swishes the red velvet curtains with the gusto of a magician. I sink into a gilded chair upholstered with maroon velvet, and sip orange juice. My hand hovers over the plate of complimentary chocolates.

‘It’s incredible here, isn’t it? I feel like a star.’ Anna bursts through the curtains with an armful of cherry-red silk and taffeta on a size eight hanger. I snatch my hand away from the plate.

Anna sheds her clothes and steps into the delicate material.

‘How do I look?’

‘Stunning.’ She does. Her blonde hair shimmers around her shoulders. Tears prick my eyes as I think of all the formal dresses Charlie will never wear.

‘Do you think I need a necklace with this? I’m going to see what they have.’

The curtains part and Anna dashes out as Tamsin totters in, three hangers held high above her head. The dresses look beautiful, stylish, and very, very, expensive. The type of gowns you see in magazines, not on a pre-school assistant.

‘Which one first, Grace? They are all stunning, yes?’

‘I’m not sure. I don’t usually wear stuff like this.’

‘Where do you normally shop?’

‘Mainly eBay.’

Tamsin scrunches her face, as though she has found a caterpillar in her salad. ‘Never mind. You’re here now.’ She slides a floor-length olive-green dress from its padded hanger. ‘This is the new spring line.’ She holds it out for me to step into. I straighten my spine as she zips the back. The dress is heavy, pressing tightly against my ribcage.

‘I have to eat in this, you know.’ I turn to look in the mirror. All thoughts of food vanish as I gape at my reflection.

‘It is good, yes? I have chosen well.’

Marilyn Monroe has nothing on me. I look old-school Hollywood glamour: curves accentuated, bulges hidden.

‘It’s incredible.’ I stroke the material. ‘I’d never have picked this in a million years. Mum wears a lot of green, but I never thought it suited me.’

‘This is why you need me,’ Tamsin says. ‘eBay? Pfft. Now, accessories…’

A gold choker is fastened around my neck, a matching bangle looped over my wrist.

Act confident
, Charlie used to tell me.
Fake it till you make it
. I feel confident in this dress. Sexy, even. Who knew clothes could be so empowering? I lower the tone of the boutique by taking a selfie and texting it to Esmée.

The curtains swing open. ‘Look, Anna.’ I twirl. ‘What do you think?’

‘Honestly?’ She wrinkles her nose.

‘Honestly.’ My hands flutter towards my tummy as if I can hold my confidence in place, stop it escaping.

She looks me up and down. ‘I always think bigger girls should stick to black. Much more flattering.’

I close my eyes to escape my many reflections. How ridiculous to think I could be anything other than what I am.

‘I disagree,’ says Tamsin.

‘But you’re trying to make a sale, aren’t you? I’m speaking as her best friend.’

‘I think Grace has a beautiful figure. Many of our customers are a size fourteen.’

‘Grace is beautiful on the inside; that’s the most important thing.’

‘Can someone unzip me?’ I snap. I’m hot and uncomfortable, and feel like an overstuffed pillow – shapeless and bumpy.

‘I’ll try the black one please, Tamsin.’

I feel boring in the black.

‘That looks great,’ Anna says. ‘It really disguises your tummy rolls. I think you should get it.’

My phone beeps. Esmée: ‘
Hun, you look gorgeous.’

‘Esmée likes the green.’

‘Esmée isn’t here,’ Anna says. ‘You can’t see all angles from a photo. It’s up to you, though; I’m just trying to help. The black one will last you for years; it’s a classic, and you don’t look as lumpy as you did in the green.’

‘I don’t choose dresses that make people look lumpy.’ Tamsin gives Anna a withering look. ‘This one, it’s not as stunning as the green,’ says Tamsin, ‘but it’s perfectly acceptable, yes?’

‘I did like the green.’

‘Good for you, if you think you have the confidence to carry it off,’ says Anna. ‘Honestly, Grace. Dan will be proud to have you on his arm, however you look.’

‘If you want to try both on at home you have fourteen days to make a return, as long as the item is unworn and the tags are still on it.’

‘I’ll take both.’

At the till, the dresses are folded, wrapped in scented tissue paper and placed in a box, silver stars sprinkled on top.

‘Do you want the red silk dress?’ Tamsin asks Anna.

‘I can’t afford it, and I don’t know where I’d wear it.’

‘It never hurts to have a formal dress in case an opportunity presents itself. It is a one-off. Very beautiful, yes?’

‘It is. I’ll have to pass, though.’

‘Let me buy it for you,’ I say.

‘I can’t let you pay; you’ve done so much for me already.’

‘I want to. It’s a thank you for all you’ve done for me, actually. Meeting you has really cheered me up and I loved the spa day. God knows what I’d be wearing tonight if you hadn’t brought me here.’

‘Thanks, Grace.’ Anna hugs me, scurries off to fetch her dress.

‘You are good friends, yes?’ asks Tamsin.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘We are.’

The boutique door swings shut behind us and I stand blinking in the sunlight, gulping fresh air, not quite believing I’ve just spent nearly £300. I hope I can intercept the credit card bill before Dan sees.

‘Let’s get a coffee,’ says Anna. ‘My treat.’

‘Yes. Shall we go to…’ I tail off. On the opposite side of the road, a figure in a black coat is staring at me. Is it the same person who was outside the coffee shop, and at the cemetery that day with Lexie? The driver of the red car?

I clutch Anna’s arm. ‘No time for questions, but can you make out whether that’s a man or a woman over there?’ I point.

Anna squints, and slides her sunglasses from the top of her head to cover her eyes. ‘I can’t see anything. It’s too bright. Hang on.’ She dashes across the road, but by the time she gets there the figure has gone and I’m not quite sure if they were ever there at all.

T
he empty hangers
in my wardrobe rattled together as I pulled out another dress, held it against myself, and discarded it on the floor. Despite my lack of sleep – Mum and I had stayed up talking until dawn – and my hangover, I wanted to look my best this evening. Who’d have thought I could end up with Dan and rebuild my relationship with Mum all in one night?

I touched two fingers to my lips. They tingled when I thought of last night’s kiss, and happiness bubbled inside me like champagne. Charlie and I were only going to the local pub to meet Ben and Dan but I’d taken extra care with my make-up: eyes lined a little darker, lips glossier. It may have been a Sunday evening, but it felt like a special occasion – and to top it off, I was legally old enough to drink now. No sitting in the corner nursing a Coke, sneaking vodka in my glass while Mike, the landlord, wasn’t looking, from a half-bottle Charlie had hidden in her bag.

There was a tap on my door. ‘Come in.’

Mum perched on the edge of my bed, patted the space next to her. ‘I’m going soon, darling; it’s a long drive back to Devon.’

‘I wish you could stay.’ I sat next to her and rested my head on her shoulder.

‘I’ll be back before you know it.’ She hugged me. ‘Christmas with my girl. I wanted to tell you that now you’re eighteen you’ve come into a trust fund. Daddy left us very well provided for in case the worst ever happened.’

‘Mum?’

‘Yes.’

‘How will I know I’ve met the one?’

‘Do you remember when you had ballet lessons, you used to teach Daddy the steps?’

‘Yes.’ I smiled at the memory of us wrapped in old pink bedroom curtains, dancing around the lounge.

‘There was this big, strong, dependable man that we all looked up to. He spent all day in the surgery diagnosing illnesses, saving lives and listening to the lonely and sick. He was very well respected. Always fundraising for the village and on the local council.’ Mum squeezed my hand. ‘He’d come home, put a pink skirt on and dance to
Swan Lake
, just to make his little girl smile. All he ever wanted was for you to be happy, Grace. When you meet someone, ask yourself, “Would they wear pink curtains for me?” and you won’t go far wrong. Have you met someone?’

‘Yes. I think so.’

‘I have something else to tell you.’ I could guess what was coming. ‘I’ve met someone too. Oliver.’

I waited for the stabbing pain to come. The tears. The sense of betrayal. Instead, I pictured my strapping Dad pirouetting around the lounge.

‘Dad would be glad.’ And I believed that. He wanted the best for her. For us. Always.

‘Thanks, darling. I would like very much for you to meet him. I could bring him when I come back next month?’

‘I’d like that, too.’ And I found that I meant it.

* * *

I
had
to redo my make-up after Mum left, removing streaks of mascara with cotton wool pads steeped in baby lotion. I’d chosen one of Mum’s old 60s tunics: the aqua swirling pattern looked like water being sucked down a plughole. I spun around, checking my reflection from behind, hoping that my bottom was covered. Although I was wearing black opaque tights and leather boots, I felt self-conscious, and I practised flicking my hair back, to exude a confidence I didn’t really feel. My nails were cherry red, a daring choice for me, and I blew on them, wanting the varnish to harden so I could check my mobile again. It had buzzed so frequently with texts from Dan I’d had to plug it in to recharge.

Charlie thundered up the stairs and burst into my room, a silver gift-wrapped box tucked under her arm.

‘This is for you. I found it on the step.’

‘Ooh, a late birthday present. Wonder what it is.’

‘
Grace
’ was scrawled across the paper in felt pen, in spidery handwriting I didn’t recognise.

‘You could always try, I dunno, opening it.’

‘In a sec. Wet nails.’ I sat cross-legged on the bed, splayed out my fingers and shook my hands. ‘I can’t wait to see Dan. We’ve been messaging all day.’

‘You had a better night than me. Bloody Mum. She was more pissed than all of us put together.’

‘How is she?’

‘Really weird. Didn’t want me to come tonight. She’s gone out, though. Want me to open the present?’

‘No.’ I checked the tackiness of my thumbnail with the pad of my index finger. Picked up the gift. ‘It’s light.’

‘Maybe it’s full of kisses,’ Charlie grinned.

A white envelope fluttered to the floor as I eased the cardboard shoebox out of the paper.

‘Shoes: very Cinderella,’ said Charlie. ‘Think Prince Charming sent them?’

I rested the box on top of my bed and opened the envelope, unfolding the sheet of lined A4 paper inside.

‘Is it from Dan?’

My hand flew to my throat.

‘Who’s it from, Grace?’

I handed Charlie the note, too shocked to speak.

‘What the fuck?’

I chewed my thumbnail as she studied the paper. Unlike the label, it wasn’t handwritten. Letters had been cut from a newspaper or magazine, glued together to form the word ‘BITCH’. It looked like a ransom note. It looked like a joke – but I wasn’t laughing.

‘Open the box, Grace.’

‘I can’t.’

Charlie reached over and lifted the lid, then recoiled as the stench of dog shit filled the room. She slammed the lid down, but it wasn’t square and the box tipped on its side. Excrement fell onto my bedspread. I gagged. Charlie wrenched the cover from the bed, bundled everything together and flew downstairs. I flung open my window and took huge gulps of cold November air. Damp circulated around my lungs, causing me to choke.

‘Breathe, Grace.’ I’d been so lost in my thoughts I hadn’t heard Charlie come back in the room. She rubbed my back and I felt myself relax under her warm palm.

‘Where did you put it?’

‘In the bin. Do you want me to tell your grandparents?’

I sniffed. ‘I don’t know. Grandma will notice the bedspread’s missing. She made it herself.’

‘Who do you think sent it?’

‘I can’t think of anyone I’ve upset, except…’

‘Siobhan.’

‘Yes. But surely she wouldn’t do this? I know she fancies Dan, but…’

‘She’s fancied him for years. She did catch you kissing. The paper looked like it was torn from a school exercise book.’

‘What shall I do?’

‘We’ll ask her. She might be there tonight with Esmée.’

We fell silent. I shivered and slammed the window shut.

* * *

‘
C
’mon
. It’ll be fine.’ Charlie clasped my hand and tugged me through the heavy wooden door to the Hawley Arms. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor as we walked towards the bar, taking deep breaths of stale, musty air.

‘Badger’s Bottom?’ Charlie raised an eyebrow as she studied the optics.

‘You may laugh, but we have the best selection of real ales for miles.’ Mike, the landlord, was polishing pint glasses. He held one up to the light and rubbed a smear with his cloth. ‘Tony said you might be in.’ Mike and Grandad had been friends for years. ‘You’re in for a treat tonight.’

‘Squirrel’s Tail to go with the Badger’s Bottom?’

Mike scratched his beard and appraised Charlie, before turning back to me. He leaned forward. The smell of stale smoke clung to his clothes. ‘Karaoke.’

‘Really?’

‘It’s what they’re all doing in London. Got to move with the times. Look,’ he gestured behind him. ‘We sell Scampi Fries now as well as crisps. New in today.’

‘Really forward-thinking.’

I kicked Charlie on the ankle. ‘That’s great, we'll have two bags of Scampi Fries and two Strongbows for now, please, Mike.’

I stuffed the snacks into my bag and picked up my pint. The glass was slippery with condensation, and so full I had to take a sip before I could carry it to the table in front of the fire.

As we drank, the warm bloom of alcohol spread through my veins and my muscles began to unclench. Charlie nudged me in the ribs and my cider sloshed over my hand. I licked it off and followed her gaze to the bar. Dan was pulling change from his pocket, paying for drinks for himself and Ben. I tried to pretend I hadn’t seen him as he walked towards us, but I could feel heat rising through my body.

‘Room for two more?’

‘You two?’ My voice was small and high.

‘No, I thought the two bearded guys sat at the bar.’

Dan squeezed between Charlie and me and the hairs on my arm prickled as our thighs touched. We’d been messaging all day but I felt uncomfortable with the shift in our relationship. I didn’t know how to act, who to be.

I gulped my drink, draining the glass, and stood to get another.

‘Let me.’ Dan touched my arm.

I clunked the empties into the middle of the table to make way for the tray full of pints and Walkers crisps that Dan came back balancing in his hands. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up and his forearms were covered in fuzzy dark hair that I hadn’t noticed before.

By the time nine o’clock came and the karaoke started, I was no longer stiff and uncomfortable. Siobhan hadn’t turned up and I pushed my thigh against Dan’s, laughing too loudly at his jokes. Charlie sprang up to sing ‘Hit Me With Your Best Shot’. We whistled and cheered as she strutted up and down the makeshift stage. Afterwards, she sat on Ben’s lap, their mouths locked together, her hands entwined in his hair. Dan turned towards me. ‘Let’s find somewhere quieter.’

He picked up our drinks and I followed him through to a tiny round table in the corner of the lounge.

‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ he asked, once we were settled.

‘You know everything; I’ve known you for years.’

‘Not like this.’ Dan sandwiched my hand between his; my fingers tingled.

‘Tell me about your dad, Grace.’

I didn’t think I wanted to, but once I started talking, words began to pour out of me in an uncontrollable flow. By the time Mike rang the bell for last orders, Dan knew almost everything about me. The fabric of our relationship had changed into something that I didn’t yet understand. As he rubbed his thumb across the contours of my knuckles I felt a tug of longing I hadn’t experienced before.

‘Can I walk you home?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘How about I get some bottles to take out? If we leave now we’ll catch the chippy before it shuts?’

‘Great.’ I was really hungry. I’d been too busy replaying the events of my party to eat dinner. Grandma had grumbled as I’d pushed roast potatoes around my plate.

I told Charlie we were leaving. She smiled through bee-stung lips. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’

‘That leaves me with plenty of scope. I’ll call you tomorrow.’ I kissed her goodbye and as I walked towards the door I was aware of Dan’s hand resting on the small of my back, his warmth penetrating my winter coat. There was a frost, and I linked my arm through his as we hurried down the high street, lit by street lamps and the blue glow of television sets from the row of net-curtained stone cottages. The smell of frying fish wafted up the road and I thought about what I was going to have. I always found it difficult to choose between mushy peas or curry sauce.

The chip shop was warm despite the glass door being propped open, and I pulled off my gloves as we joined the back of the queue.

‘What do you fancy?’ I asked.

‘You,’ said Dan, tilting my chin, brushing his lips over mine.

‘Chips, Grace? Aren’t you fat enough already?’

I spun around. Siobhan stood behind me, hands on hips, scarlet lips twisted into a sneer. Abby giggled, a couple of steps behind her.

‘Siobhan, I…’

‘Grace isn’t fat, she can eat what she wants.’ Dan looped his arm over my shoulders.

‘Of course she can. I wouldn’t eat chips from here, though. They taste like shit.’ Siobhan flounced out of the door.

The vision of the box, the dark brown excrement splattered over the cardboard, was suddenly vivid in my mind. My stomach rolled as I gulped in the oily air.

‘Next,’ called the man behind the counter. I stumbled from the shop, doubled over and vomited four pints of cider onto the icy pavement.

‘You shouldn’t have crossed my sister,’ said Abby, as she stomped down the road after Siobhan. ‘Watch your back, Grace.’