The Sister: A psychological thriller with a brilliant twist you won't see coming (15 page)

‘With your head held high. Honestly, Grace, you’ve nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘Ofsted will be the judge of that.’ I pick pieces of the wet tissue I’m holding and watch them flutter to the floor. Confetti when there’s nothing to celebrate.

‘Will they shut you down?’ Anna asks.

‘Unless we’re found at fault it won’t be made public, thankfully. I couldn’t live with myself if I affected Lyn’s business.’

‘But the parents will be informed?’

‘The children have probably told them by now that an ambulance came, so if they ask we’ll say there was an accident, but otherwise, I’m not sure. It’s up to Lyn how she handles it. I hope they don’t find out. They trust me.’

‘They still will,’ says Dan. ‘You’re great with the kids. They adore you.’

‘Thanks.’ I lean forward; our foreheads touch. ‘I love you, Dan.’

‘I love you, too. Why don’t you go and have a bath. I’ll sort out dinner?’

‘You?’

‘Yes, me. I’m quite capable you know, I’ve done it before. Cod and chips for three?’

* * *

T
he alarm trills
a brand new day, jolting me from a disturbed sleep. I peep out beneath heavy lids. My mouth is dry and sour; I regret last night’s greasy fish and chip supper and wine. I stagger into the bathroom and grab my toothbrush, retching as I brush my back teeth. I can barely face myself in the mirror, my eyes streaked red, my face morbidly pale. I momentarily consider calling in sick, but instead shower, dress and kiss Dan goodbye. Anna’s door is closed and I’m glad she’s not up yet. I was hurt by her reaction last night, even if she was voicing what I was thinking, even if I really am to blame.

Downstairs, I pull open the curtains in the lounge, wincing as light streams through the window. Mittens is curled asleep on the sofa amongst the fish and chip wrappers. Two empty bottles of wine stand on the floor. Did I drink them both? Dan’s empty lager bottles lie on their sides. Our glass recycling tub will be overflowing again. I hope the refuse collectors don’t judge us the way I sometimes judge myself.

The drive to work is over too quickly. I am pensive as I arrive, half expecting to see a row of angry parents lined up outside with placards – ‘Justice for Emily’ – but of course, it’s just another day. The car park is empty, save for Lyn’s car. I let myself in the front door, relieved that my key still works. I haven’t been banished.

‘Come here.’ Lyn opens her arms. ‘You look terrible. Please don’t worry. It was an accident. Today’s a new day.’ Her smile splinters my fears; they fall to the ground. I step over them, atoned, and am enfolded in a bear hug.

The morning is much like any other, apart from Emily’s absence. The children don’t mention the accident or the ambulance. It’s an ordinary day. At lunchtime, Lyn and I read through the report as we share Lyn’s egg sandwiches. I’d felt too rough this morning to even think about preparing food.

‘I think it’s pretty straightforward. Our staff-to-children ratio is good, and all our previous reports are excellent. The equipment isn’t faulty. It’s unfortunate, but I don’t think they’ll take it further.’

‘I hope not.’

‘Emily’s fine, that’s the main thing. And if they don’t take it further and it’s not made public, it won’t affect our reputation at all. It’s business as usual. Now go and make me some coffee.’

I make Lyn a coffee and wash two paracetamol tablets down with a large glass of water. Much of the afternoon session is spent making cardboard hearts that we decorate with glitter, tissue paper and paint. I peg them on the line to dry. My arms ache. I’ve been extra-vigilant all day and am utterly exhausted. It’s a relief to lock the doors and tidy up.

‘I’m off now.’ I stick my head around the office door. Lyn’s face is white and pinched.

‘Is everything OK?’

‘You’d better sit down.’ Lyn nods at the chair, not quite meeting my gaze.

I sit down. My watch strap is fraying. My nervous fingers pick at the pieces of cotton, pulling them off. I watch them drift to the floor.

‘You need to see this.’ Lyn hands me her iPad, her twitter app is open.

Negligent nursery worker breaks girls arm. @littleacorns #getgraceout

‘Is this…’

‘Scroll down. There’s more.’

Don’t send your children here it’s not safe. @littleacorns #getgraceout

Why haven’t you fired Grace? @littleacorns #getgraceout

Grace belongs in jail. @littleacorns #getgraceout

There is tweet after tweet, all baying for blood. My blood. The local newspaper has retweeted and there have been some really nasty comments by people I’ve never even heard of. I feel sick. The iPad swims in and out of focus.

‘Who’s done this?’

‘I don’t know. They’re from new accounts. There’s no personal information or photos.’

‘Could they be from the same person?’

‘I don’t know.’ Lyn beats a rhythm on the side of the desk with her pen. ‘I wonder if it’s Greg.’

‘Maybe. He said he’d make me sorry. He’s got a temper, we know that, and he is Emily’s dad. What should we do?’

‘We can’t keep it quiet. There have been phone calls this afternoon. Word has spread amongst the parents. They’re concerned.’

I wait for her to continue.

Lyn leans back on her chair and sighs. ‘The local press rang. They’re going to run a story tomorrow. They wanted a comment.’

‘What did you say?’ My voice is barely audible, even to my ears.

‘I said no one had been found at fault, the investigation is ongoing but until Ofsted reach a conclusion, you’re suspended.’

My eyes flood with tears.

‘I’m so sorry, Grace, but I can’t risk parents pulling their children out. I have to act in the best interests of the nursery.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’ That word again, but I can’t think of anything else to say.

‘As soon as Ofsted make a decision we’ll get back to normal. This will blow over.’

I rummage in my bag and pull out my key. ‘Here.’ I offer it to Lyn.

‘You hang onto it. You’ll need it when you come back. You will be back, Grace.’

I heave my body out of the chair. It feels heavy. Weighed down with guilt. I walk through the playroom, looking at the row of paper hearts, and feel like mine is breaking.

N
estled
amongst the Christmas cards that plopped onto the mat that morning had been another letter. I’d stuffed it into my schoolbag to show Esmée and Charlie at lunchtime. I was the first into the hall. Why did it always smell like boiled cabbage? We never had vegetables. Despite all the talk of healthy lunches, hot dog and chips were one of the only recognisable things served by grumpy women in pink overalls and hairnets, who looked as though they’d rather be anywhere but here. I pulled a poor excuse for a salad out of the chiller. Iceberg, tomatoes and cucumber with a smidgen of tuna sprinkled on top. It wouldn’t fill me up but I wanted to lose half a stone before Christmas, when I knew I’d scoff my body weight in Quality Street and mince pies.

As I queued to pay for my food, I couldn’t resist adding a cup of hot chocolate. I deserved it for all the calories I’d saved with the salad. By the time I got to our usual table, Esmée and Charlie were already there.

‘Have you heard about Siobhan?’ Charlie jigged up and down in her seat.

‘No.’

‘She’s been expelled.’

‘What? Why?’ Siobhan was the cleverest of all of us.

‘Stealing one of the laptops.’

‘That’s ridiculous. She wouldn’t. She has a laptop.’

‘She was caught on CCTV. There was a police car here earlier.’

‘What about uni?’

‘She won’t be able to go. She can’t sit her A Levels.’

‘God.’ I was stunned.

‘I can’t believe it.’ Esmée chewed her lip. ‘I feel like I never really knew her.’

‘We didn’t,’ said Charlie. ‘Look at what she did to Grace.’

‘Still doing. I got another letter today.’

‘Bitch,’ said Charlie.

‘She is,’ I agreed, but as I looked over at Abby, sobbing in the corner, flanked by concerned ‘friends’ digging for information about her wayward big sister, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.

* * *

I
t was
a relief not to see Siobhan every day. Rumours were rife. She was part of an organised crime ring. Her dad was one of the Mafia. Stephen Brown in my class said she’d offered to sell him a laptop for £100. He couldn’t afford a new one but had no idea she’d steal one. That, I believed. Siobhan didn’t have a job like the rest of us. I worked in the coffee shop on Saturdays, Charlie baby-sat and Esmée helped her mum deliver Avon books. Siobhan’s parents didn’t want her distracted from her studies. What did she need money for so badly?

Stationery, most likely. Letters were arriving almost daily and I was snappy and tired. Charlie wanted to start the search for her dad but I was struggling to keep up with my coursework, my concentration marred. We’d tried dropping hints to Lexie, pretending we’d seen a Jeremy Kyle show where a girl demanded her mum tell her who her biological father was, and concocting a story about a girl at school who had just traced her dad, but Lexie lit another fag, poured another drink and ignored us.

* * *

W
e cut
across the park on Friday on the way home from school. A lone figure sat on a swing, blonde corkscrew curls tumbling out of her bright yellow bobble hat. Siobhan.

‘Let’s go the other way.’ I tugged Charlie’s arm.

‘I’m not leaving because of her.’ Charlie crunched across the frosty grass, breath billowing out in front of her. ‘Oi. Thief.’

I tensed, waiting for Siobhan to erupt, but when she turned around I inhaled sharply and the icy air made me cough. Siobhan’s eyes were streaked with blood vessels, her face pale and spotty.

‘I didn’t steal anything.’

Charlie stared hard at Siobhan. ‘I believe you.’

‘Thanks.’ Siobhan reached out a hand and Charlie swatted it away.

‘I believe you like I believe you’re not sending letters to Grace.’

‘I’m…’

‘Save it. You were seen on CCTV. Needed the money for stamps did you? You’re pathetic. Dan loves Grace. He wouldn’t look at a skank like you.’

Siobhan sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her glove. ‘Please. We were friends once.’

‘More fool us.’ Charlie grabbed my wrist. ‘C’mon, Grace. Let’s go and meet the others.’

‘Let me come.’ Siobhan clasped her fingers together as if she were praying. ‘My parents hate me. Even Abby won’t talk to me.’

‘Drop dead, Siobhan.’ Charlie’s voice was hard, but as we walked away I could see the tears in her eyes.

I
can’t believe
I have to go home and tell Dan that I have more than likely lost my job. My Fiesta is in the ‘Staff Parking Only’ space and I scuttle to the driver’s door, head down, key in hand. I throw my bag onto the passenger seat, swing my legs into the car and lock the doors. I feel uneasy; there’s someone out there who clearly hates me. Is it Greg? Is he the person who’s following me?

It’s not the first time I’ve had an enemy. My mind flashes back to the time I was eighteen. I think how that ended and I want to cry. I call Mum. Perhaps when I’ve said the words out loud, things won’t seem quite so bad, and it will be easier to say them again, to Dan. The phone rings and rings and I’m waiting for the voicemail to kick in when Mum answers.

‘Hi, Grace.’ Her breath rasps down the crackly line. ‘You OK?’

‘Are you? You sound like you’ve been running?’

‘Oliver’s daughter is here with her kids. We’re playing hide-and-seek. Did you want me?’

Jealousy rips through me. She never played with me growing up, yet now she’s playing with Oliver’s grandchildren. Although I understand why, it hurts all the same.

‘Nothing important.’ I swallow hard to keep my voice from cracking. ‘Get back to the kids. I’ll call you next week.’

I grit my teeth and start the engine, jumping as noise floods the car. I’d turned the volume up high this morning as the local radio station played a plethora of 80s hits. ELO’s ‘Mr. Blue Sky’ fills the car and I jab the stereo off and rest my forehead on the steering wheel. I can almost hear Dad’s warbling voice,
It’s a beautiful new day. Hey, hey
. If only he were here to talk to. There’s a stillness fractured only by the sound of my ragged breath, and I wish I could remain cocooned in my car forever.

Lyn taps on my window and I raise my head, smile and nod – I’m OK – and reverse out of my spot. If there are any other cars on the road, I’m not aware of them as I drive. The wheels spin round and round, propelling me forward, and all too soon I am home.

The sound of raised voices hits me before I’m properly through the front door. I clatter my keys into the bits and bobs bowl on the telephone table and call out, ‘Hello!’ in a loud voice.

The TV is on in the lounge; engines roar as Formula One cars race around the screen.

Dan is perched on the edge of the sofa, head bowed, PlayStation controller in hand. Anna towers over him, hands balled at her sides.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Dan’s a sore loser. He doesn’t like playing games do you, Dan?’

‘Not yours, no.’ His eyes are dark. His voice low.

‘That’s because…’

‘Shut up, the pair of you. This is the last thing I need today.’ I aim the remote, mute the set. ‘I’ve been suspended.’ I sit next to Dan, rest my head on his shoulder. Mittens jumps onto my lap and I scratch her neck, glad of the distraction.

‘What? Why?’

I recount my day. ‘But Lyn’s being lovely. She told me to keep my key as I’ll be going back to work. It’s just a matter of when. But I don’t know, it depends what Ofsted think.’

‘That’s terrible,’ says Anna. ‘Someone’s really got it in for you. Any idea who?’

‘Someone without their own fucking life,’ says Dan.

‘Lyn thinks it’s Greg, Emily’s dad. I had a confrontation with him a few weeks ago.’

‘But you don’t?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve been thinking I’m being followed for a while.’

Dan looks doubtful. ‘Are you sure? You know how… suspicious you can be.’

‘It’s true. I’ve seen them,’ says Anna. ‘I chased their car.’

‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’ Dan looks furious

‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

‘If I catch anyone following you they’ll have me to deal with.’

‘Quite the knight in shining armour, aren’t you?’ says Anna.

‘Anna?’

‘Yes, Dan?’

‘Shut the fuck up.’

‘Will you two give it a
rest
!’ The silence is thick and uncomfortable, more oppressive than the shouting. ‘I want a bath and a peaceful evening.’

‘I won’t be here. Football practice.’

‘I’m going out, too.’ Anna looks mutinous.

‘Anywhere nice?’ I ask her.

‘A date, actually.’

Dan stands up, the muscles in his neck twitching. ‘Shame it’s not an interview. I’ll see you later.’ He kisses the top of my head. I try to catch his hand, but I grasp air as he disappears out of the door.

‘Sorry you came home to that, Grace. I’m quite competitive.’

‘So is Dan.’ I inhale deeply. ‘And I think he’s finding it difficult, sharing our space. I love having you here, we both do, but it would be nice to have some idea of your plans.’

‘Of course. Sorry. I know I can’t stay here indefinitely. I’ll sort something out soon. I promise. It’s been so lovely getting to know you though, learning about Charlie. I just wish I could meet Lexie. Hear some baby tales and see some photos. Anyway, I’ll run you a bath. I’ve got some lovely oil that will relax you.’

‘Thanks, Anna.’

She tramps upstairs and the tension in the room dissipates. I close my eyes and stroke Mittens, lulled by her soft purring. ‘What would I do without you? You don’t care what people say, do you?’ She pats my hand with her soft paw.

‘Bath’s ready,’ calls Anna.

My phone beeps. It’s Dan. ‘
She has to go.
’

I can’t wait to wash away the day.

* * *

A
nna’s
unearthed a bag of tea lights and the bathroom flickers and glows. A fluffy white towel hangs over the warmer; my robe is on the back of the door. A chilled glass of white wine stands on the windowsill, next to my iPod and headphones.

‘Here,’ Anna hands me
Jane Eyre
. ‘Anything else you need?’

‘I think you’ve thought of everything. This is fabulous, I feel like I’m in a rom-com.’

‘We all need looking after every now and then.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. Do you want me to get you any food before I go?’

‘No, thanks. There’s a pizza in the freezer if I get hungry. Who’s your date with?’

‘Just a guy I met online; we’re going for a bite at the Beefeater.’

‘Enjoy it. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

‘Now, where would be the fun in that?’ She smiles, then leaves me alone with my bath and my thoughts, rough and jagged. The water acts like a sander, smoothing away the edges until I’m able to close my eyes and relax.

I lie in the bath until the water cools and my fingers prune. Emotionally drained, I skip dinner and go straight to bed, falling into a dreamless sleep. I don’t hear Anna or Dan come home.

* * *

D
an drops
his towel to the floor and yanks a shirt from a hanger. I can’t remember the last time I saw him naked. I usually leave for work before him, and often at the weekends he dresses in the bathroom, leaving early for football practice. He senses me watching, turns.

‘I talked to Anna yesterday,’ I whisper, although it is unlikely she can hear. ‘She’ll be gone soon. We can…’

‘We can.’ Dan pads over to the bed. His palms rest on my shoulder, weighted, pushing, and I lie back against the pillow. He kisses my neck, his hand snaking under my top.

‘What about Anna?’

‘What about us? It’s been too long.’

He tugs down my pyjama bottoms and my nails claw his back as I bite my cheek to stop myself from crying out. I swallow blood, dark and salty. It’s over in minutes but I’m giddy with relief that he still wants me. That I still want him.

Dan sits up, brushes the hair from my eyes. ‘I’ve missed that.’

‘Me too. I love you.’

‘I love you, too.’ Dan rubs my lips with his thumb. ‘We could do it again later?’

‘We could.’

‘We should take a break. Have a long weekend with your mum. I’m owed some hours at work. Fish and chips on the seafront?’

‘What about all the stuff with the pre-school?’

‘There’s nothing we can do right now. At least the signal at your mum’s is so rubbish you won’t be checking Twitter every five minutes.’

‘I’ll ring her later and arrange it.’

We kiss goodbye – a proper lingering kiss, none of the short, sharp pecks we’ve grown used to – and it’s ridiculous to think that with everything going on at work I could be happy, but I do feel lighter. Part of a team again. I know whatever happens, Dan and I will deal with it together.

The day spans before me and I think I’ll spring-clean. Bessie Smith croons ‘Downhearted Blues’ and I hum along as I hoist up the sofa to hoover beneath it. There is enough fur there to make a new cat. My heart springs into my mouth as someone taps my shoulder.

I spin around. Anna switches the vacuum off at the wall and I pull out my earbuds. There are two policemen behind her.

The room tilts and shifts and I feel as though I’ve gone back in time. ‘Is Dan OK?’

‘Grace Matthews? I’m PC Dunne and this is PC White.’ A badge is flashed at me. I nod wordlessly, hands on cheeks.

‘Do you mind telling us where you were last night?’

‘Last night?’ My voice breaks. I run my tongue over dry lips and start again. ‘Last night? I was here.’

‘Was anyone with you?’

‘No. Why?’

‘I believe you work at Little Acorns?’

I nod.

‘Last night, someone vandalised the place.’

‘What? Who?’

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out. There was no sign of a break-in; whoever did it probably had a key. Do you have a key, Miss Matthews?’

‘Yes.’ My voice is barely a squeak.

‘Do you mind checking if it’s still in your possession?’

I’m followed into the hallway. I bunch my keys, picking out the one to Little Acorns.

‘Here.’

‘We’d like you to come down to the station and make a statement, please. Can you get your shoes?’

Anna fetches my trainers. It takes two attempts to slip my feet inside, but my hands are shaking so much I can’t knot the laces.

‘Let me.’ Anna kneels and ties them. ‘Do you want me to call anyone?’

I stare blankly. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Miss Matthews?’ PC White opens the front door. I walk outside to the squad car, past the rows of daffodils and bluebells poking through the verge.

Mrs Jones is standing on her step. ‘Is everything all right, Grace?’

I don’t answer.

I climb into the back seat, hardly believing I’m in a police car again. Memories roll by, along with the country views I usually find so soothing. Today they’re cold and hostile. I close my eyes and the Twitter feed flashes through my mind.
Grace belongs in jail.