The Sister: A psychological thriller with a brilliant twist you won't see coming (18 page)

It was Siobhan. The pain in my foot fuelled my anger. What did
she
want? Dan and Charlie thought I was pathetic, wanting to forgive her. No wonder they’d gone off together. It was all her fault.

‘Leave me alone!’ I screamed into my phone.

‘Grace.’ Siobhan was crying. ‘Please don’t hang up. Help me. I don’t feel well.’

‘Good.’ I hung up and hobbled home on my heel, keeping the weight off the ball of my foot. My phone rang again and again, but I didn’t answer.

D
an has promised
to help me find Mittens. We’ve been out looking for hours. The sky rearranges its shading – blues, pinks, greys – until it’s jet black, stars hidden above invisible clouds.

‘Let’s go home, Grace. It’s too dark to properly see, and it’s freezing.’

The spring warmth has disappeared with the sun and Dan’s breath billows out in front of him.

‘I want to find Mittens.’

‘I know you do, but you’re exhausted. You haven’t eaten all day. We’ll have some food and an early night. We can start again first thing.’

‘We?’

‘Work can do without me for a day; you need me more.’

I slip my hand inside his, squeeze his fingers.

It’s a relief to find the cottage in darkness. I push open Anna’s door: her room’s tidy, the bed’s made. I yank open drawers. Clothes are neatly folded, socks matched. I don’t know what I’m looking for but I can’t quite believe that Mittens would have run out of the house. But why would Anna have deliberately let her out? It doesn’t make any sense.

I stand under steaming water. The smell of the police station seems to have permeated every pore and I scrub at my skin until it’s pig-pink. I shiver as I step out of the shower, towel myself dry and hurry downstairs. Dan’s warming tomato soup, slicing bread. I’m too on edge to swallow anything solid but I’m grateful for the thought, and we sit at the table spooning steaming liquid into silent mouths. There’s only the chink of spoons on bowls to be heard as we eat our supper. I push my dish away. Shake my head as Dan offers to refill it.

‘Where do you think Anna is?’

Dan plunges bread into his soup; white turns to orange. ‘Far away, I hope.’

‘Do you believe that Mittens ran out the front door?’

‘I don’t know, it’s odd.’

‘I’m going to call her.’

I place my palms against the table edge, am about to push my chair back when Dan covers both hands with his.

‘Leave it for tonight, Grace. Let’s try to get some sleep and we can be out at first light. We’ll talk about Anna properly when we’ve found Mittens.’

‘OK.’ It’s probably for the best. I don’t know what I’d say to her. I don’t know what I think any more.

* * *

I
t’s
dark and cold when I wake. The rain lashes against the windows and I picture Mittens wet and shivering, tucked under a bush, wondering where home is.

I stretch my legs, ice-cube feet seeking out the warmth of Dan’s body, but he’s not there. I pad downstairs and find him sitting at the table hunched over his laptop, the screen illuminating his face.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Look.’ He angles the screen towards me. There’s a picture of Mittens with ‘MISSING’ captioned above her photo. Underneath, a plea for people to check their outbuildings, along with our telephone number. ‘We can put them up around the village and I’ll print smaller leaflets for letter boxes.’

I make tea, and nurse it until it grows old. Scud forms on the top as I sit on the sofa listening to the printer whirr and click, spewing out image after image of Mittens’s adorable face. Dawn breaks and I shower and dress, force myself to chew and swallow toast; I need all my energy today.

* * *

T
he cars slosh
by on the high street, headlights on. Drivers impatiently tap their hands on their steering wheels as the bin lorry holds them up. Everywhere I look, there are dangers for a cat who has never been outside. My grandparents wait for us in front of the post office door, rubbing gloved hands together and stamping booted feet. Grandma looks tiny, wrapped inside too many layers. We hug our hellos and divide the pile of leaflets in two. Dan unfolds a square of paper from his pocket. It’s a map of the village.

‘I thought you could take the roads I’ve marked in yellow, Tony,’ says Dan.

Grandad traces the fluorescent streets with his finger, nods his approval. Grandma unhooks a carrier bag from her arm, thrusts it into my hands.

‘Rock cakes. Keep your sugar levels up.’

Posters are sellotaped to shop windows and lamp posts, pinned to noticeboards in the community centre and library.

At lunchtime, Dan and I buy ham salad sandwiches from the bakery, then walk to the pocket park.

I tip a swing seat upside down, shaking off the drips of water before smoothing a carrier bag over the seat to protect my jeans. I sit, balancing my lunch on my knees.

‘It’s been years since we were here,’ I say. ‘Do you remember the stupid things you used to do to try and impress Charlie?’

‘What can I say? I was an idiot. I still am.’ Dan runs his fingers through his hair.

‘I don’t blame you for loving her. She was easy to love. I miss her.’

‘I didn’t love her; it was a stupid, childish crush. You’re the only girl for me. You know that, don’t you?’ He picks off bits of crust, throws them to the pigeon that’s strutting around his feet.

‘I was expecting Anna to be like Charlie. I wanted her to be like Charlie, but she isn’t, is she?’

‘No.’ His voice is hard. ‘C’mon.’ He stands, scrunches his sandwich bag into his fist. ‘Let’s get going again. We can try knocking on some doors.’

By six o’clock we still haven’t found her. We have run out of posters, rapped on doors until our knuckles are sore. Grandad texts to say they’ve gone home and that they will call me later. Rain is once again pelting down, bouncing off pavements, running in rivulets into overflowing drains.

‘Let’s call it a day, pick up a takeaway. We’ll come out again tomorrow.’

The Chinese is warm and steamy. Evocative smells drift from hissing woks. I unwind my scarf, unzip my jacket, and sit, thumbing through the papers while Dan orders our food at the counter. The bell rings as the door pushes open. I glance up at the blast of cold air. It’s Harry and Chloe. Chloe smiles, pulls out the chair opposite me. Harry leans against the counter next to Dan, both their heads cocked towards Sky Sports on the giant TV suspended over the till.

‘How are you?’ Chloe asks.

I tell her we’ve been searching for our cat all day.

‘That’s terrible. Have you put a picture up on Facebook?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Send me one; I’ll share it. I’m going to put the photos up later from the Estate Agent’s Dinner. It’s a shame you missed it.’

‘I wasn’t well.’

‘I know, Anna said. I was surprised to see her there with Dan.’

‘Do you know her?’

‘Only from the club.’

‘The club?’

‘The football club. She worked behind the bar. I thought that’s how you knew her?’

‘When was that?’

‘She started last autumn, when you didn’t come out, after… You know. Charlie. She’s left now though. I didn’t know Dan had kept in touch with her?’

‘So Dan’s known her for months?’

‘Yes.’

They knew each other when I introduced them, and yet they pretended they’d never met.

I can’t breathe. I spring up from my seat, stumble towards the door, almost tripping over my Dr Who scarf as it falls from my lap.

My feet pound through puddles, arms pump by my sides. The icy air burns my lungs, but I don’t slow down until I reach our lane. I need to be at home. Get my thoughts straight before I confront Dan. I bang open the gate, fumble through pockets for my keys.

‘Grace, dear.’ Mrs Jones is standing on her front step. Light from her hallway illuminates the pathway. She hobbles forward and holds a small cardboard box over the picket fence.

‘I’m so sorry, dear. The postman found her at the side of the road.’

‘No!’ I press my hands together as though I am praying.

‘I thought Dan could bury her for you.’

I want to bury Dan. I want to bury Anna. I want to crawl into a hole myself and never, ever, come out again. I take the box silently and carry the cat that had loved me – that had never hurt anyone – inside for the very last time.

S
o much for New Year
, new start. I sat up, opened my eyes and the light from my bedside lamp sliced through my brain like a cheese wire. I must have slept with it on. I clicked it off before Grandma could find out, could point out that there were villages in Africa without any electricity. My mobile phone was under my pillow and I pulled it out. Nine missed calls. I scrolled through all the ‘Happy New Year!’ messages, searching for texts from Dan.

‘
I’m sorry, please call me.’
He’d sent the same text six times and I deleted them all. There were texts from Charlie, asking where I’d disappeared to, but nothing else from Siobhan. I felt terrible about ignoring her and not keeping my promise to Abby. I should have let her know her big sister had got in touch. I vowed to call them both later. I replied to Mum’s text, wishing her and Oliver a happy New Year, and tossed the phone onto my bedside table. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. I swiped for my water glass and missed, sending it crashing to the floor. I stood to get a cloth. My foot throbbed and stars exploded behind my eyes. I hoped there weren’t fragments of glass in it. I wrapped my dressing gown around myself and teetered to the kitchen on Bambi legs.

Grandad was sat at the table while Grandma fussed around a frying pan. The smell of bacon flooded my mouth with saliva. I just made it to the sink before I vomited, until there was nothing left but the bitter taste of bile stinging my throat.

‘Gracie?’ Grandma rinsed her Empire State Building tea towel in cool water and soothed my brow.

‘I’m not feeling well.’ I stated the obvious. ‘I think I’ve got food poisoning.’

‘Alcohol poisoning, more like,’ Grandma tutted. ‘We heard you trying to fit your key in the lock. Get yourself back to bed.’

I willed my muscles to carry me back upstairs, where I fell onto my soft mattress. Still wearing my dressing gown, I screwed my eyes tight and prayed for the world to keep still.

* * *

T
he sound
of my door opening wrenched me from fitful dreams.

‘Are you awake?’ Grandma asked. ‘I’ve brought you some lunch.’ I glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was one thirty.

Heinz tomato soup wafted from the tray Grandma held out. The smell of comfort. I blinked away tears – someone still loved me – and sat up, arranging the pillows behind me. My sweat-drenched pyjamas clung to me and I loosened the tie on my dressing gown to shrug it from my shoulders.

‘I’ll run you a bath while you eat; it smells like a brewery in here.’ Grandma cracked open the window.

I checked my phone. There was a barrage of texts from Dan again. I didn’t text him back. Nothing new from Charlie.

The soup was scalding; it burned my tongue and I welcomed the sudden rush of pain, which drew my attention away from my self-pity.

‘Bath’s ready,’ called Grandma and I put my half-empty bowl on my bedside cabinet.

The water was hot. The steam revived my nausea and I washed as quickly as I could, dabbing dried blood from the sole of my foot. The cut wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. Dizziness engulfed me as I stepped out of the bath; I clutched the towel rail until I stopped swaying.

I was cleaning my teeth, trying not to gag as the brush went to the back of my mouth, when Grandad rapped on the door. I winced as the sound penetrated my throbbing temples.

‘Dan’s downstairs,’ he said.

I wobbled down the staircase and beckoned Dan through the kitchen into the utility room. It was the only place we could have any privacy – Grandma didn’t allow boys in the bedroom.

‘You look like I feel,’ he said, running his hands through matted hair. ‘Look Grace, about last night…’

‘So you’re the one?’ I said stiffly, sidestepping out of his reach.

‘The one?’

‘The one Charlie dumped Ben for.’

‘What? No!’

‘I saw you in the corridor. Holding her.’

‘Good God, Grace. How could you think that? I love you. Charlie’s your best friend. She was feeling low. Lexie’s being bonkers. It was a hug between friends. Nothing more, I swear.’

He stretched a hand towards me and I shoved it away. ‘So why send me texts apologising?’

‘Because I didn’t know why you’d left, but I’m a man. I suppose I thought I’d ballsed it up. Upset you somehow. I was really worried, so I came here. I could see your light was on. I tried ringing but you didn’t answer; I even threw a stone at your window.’

‘Just the one?’

‘Didn’t want to risk waking your grandma.’

I leaned back against the tumble dryer. It was stifling in the utility room. My skin was damp and I wouldn’t have been surprised if cider was running from my pores instead of sweat. My stomach churned in time to the freshly laundered clothes, and my head felt too fuzzy to make sense of what I’d seen. I remembered what I’d heard. Could I have got it wrong?

‘You said to Charlie, “I’ll tell Grace tomorrow”. Tell me what?’

Dan wiped his forehead with his sleeve before tugging his jumper over his head. His T-shirt rode up and I longed to touch his bare skin. Instead, I turned and cracked open the window.

‘I didn’t want to tell you like this. I’d planned to cook a nice lunch today, be a bit romantic. A cottage has come up in the village. It needs some work, but it’s a good price. The owners are going into a residential home and they want a quick sale.’

‘So? What’s that got to do with me?

‘I was asking Charlie whether she thought you’d want to move in with me.’

‘What?’

‘She knows you better than anyone. And for what it’s worth, she thought it was a great idea. Even talked about her renting the second bedroom. You, me and Charlie living together. What do you think?’

A flash of shame streaked through me. How could I have thought the girl who’d stuck up for me on my first day of school, my best friend, would betray me? I knew in my heart she wouldn’t.

‘But we can’t just
buy
a cottage,’ I said.

‘We can. I’ve given it a lot of thought. Property doesn’t become available here often, you know that – especially traditional houses like this one. I valued it and took the photos. It could be great with a little work.’

‘But I’m still at school.’

‘I know, but you finish in May, except for exams, and then you’ve got the job at pre-school.’

‘That’s ages away. I only work part-time at the coffee shop now.’

‘My basic salary may not be much, but the commission is great and I am good at what I do. Charlie will pick up work somewhere.’

‘Would we get a mortgage?’

‘We shouldn’t need one. You’ve got the life insurance from your dad now you’re eighteen, and my parents will lend us some money to do it up.’

‘You want me to spend the money?’ Instinctively, I bristled. I knew that Dan was thinking about
our
future, but that money, it was precious, and I didn’t like that Dan had just decided how I should spend it.

‘Not if you don’t want to. I’m sure about what I want, Grace, and I’m worried about you. All these letters, your car being vandalised. What’s next? If we lived together, I could look after you properly. Make sure you’re safe. Your grandparents would probably love some time on their own, I know my parents would.’

Would they? I’d never felt in the way, and it was disconcerting to think I might be.

‘I’d have to speak to Mum. It’s only fair, with the money coming from Dad.’

‘Does that mean you’ll think about it?’

‘There’s no harm in looking.’ It didn’t mean I’d agree.

‘Really?’ Dan picked me up and swung me around. I clutched his shoulders and buried my head into his neck, hoping I wouldn’t be sick.

‘You smell like a Polo,’ I said.

‘I’ve used half a bottle of mint shower gel and brushed my teeth three times. I stank. God, I felt rough this morning.’

‘Me too. I still do.’

He put me down and swatted my bottom. ‘Go put some shoes on, woman. We’ve a cottage to view.’

‘Now?’

‘Some fresh air will sort your hangover out. There’s no time like the present. The sons are pushing for a quick sale. We’d better walk. I think I’m still over the limit. If we go the long way around, we can sober up a bit and swing by the office for the keys. Do you want to call Charlie? Ask her to meet us there?’

* * *

W
e trudged through the village
. Grandma had bandaged my foot and given me some paracetamol. It didn’t hurt any more. Our wellington boots stamped footprints in virgin snow, past skeletal trees and squealing children dragging toboggans behind them. It seemed impossible that we were going to view a cottage, could potentially be buying a home together.

Charlie wasn’t answering her phone. Where was she? Probably still in bed with a hangover, but Dan said if I liked it then Charlie could see it tomorrow. The crisp air drove out my pounding headache, and then we were there, standing in front of two tiny cottages tucked away on the outskirts of the village. Icicles hung from the eaves.

Dan pushed the gate; it squeaked open. The front garden was coated white; I couldn’t properly see whether anything was growing, but there was a tree I thought to be apple, and two trellises hanging either side of the faded red door.

‘Are they roses?’

‘Probably. It’s called Rose Cottage.’

I clapped my hands, hangover forgotten.

‘It’s your domain, anyway. Woman gardens, Man decorates.’ Dan thumped his chest like Tarzan before turning the key with a creak. I stamped the snow from my boots and stepped over the threshold onto a flagstone floor. The hallway was narrow and musty; faded yellow paper curled from the walls. There were brighter rectangles where light hadn’t dulled the colours, where picture frames would have hung. I could imagine rows of photos of chubby baby boys lining these walls. Toddlers who grew into men to be proud of, clutching scrolls and tossing mortar boards into the air.

There was a flight of stairs in front of me but I headed down the dark passage and stepped into the room on my left. The living room was larger than I’d expected, and bright despite the low beamed ceiling. Winter sun poured in through the French windows, pooling on the dusty grate of a real fire. Light in the summer and cosy in the winter. I bounced up and down on tiptoes as I looked around. There’d be room for a compact table and chairs as well as a bookcase and a sofa. If we got a sofa bed, Mum would be able to come and stay. I envisaged an old-fashioned sideboard to house my record deck. It was perfect. The garden stretched long and thin, a greenhouse at the bottom.

‘My grandparents will love this.’

‘There’s a vegetable patch too, somewhere under the snow.’

The kitchen was opposite the lounge, smaller because it was tucked under the staircase. There was a sink under the window, overlooking a paved patio area and a bird table.

‘You can watch the birds when you wash up.’ Dan grinned, held his hands up before I could thump him. ‘Just kidding. I’ll buy some Marigolds.’

Upstairs housed a large main bedroom, a smaller second bedroom that would be Charlie’s, and a bathroom with a roll-top bath and a small, glass shower cubicle in the corner.

‘I can’t imagine owning this. It feels so grown-up.’

‘You are all grown up.’ Dan stood behind me and slid his hands up my top. ‘Do you like it?’

‘That’s an understatement.’ This was somewhere I could live. Somewhere I could love.

‘Thought you would. We can make an offer if you want?’

I looked around the empty bedroom, imagined lying here on a Sunday morning in bed with Dan for the rest of our lives, reading the papers and eating bacon sandwiches. I was sure he was the one. I recalled Mum’s words.

‘Dan. Would you wear a pink tutu for me?’

‘What? Why?’

I took his hands in mine. ‘It’s important. Would you? If I asked?’

‘I’d wear anything for you… But not in public, though.’

I grinned. ‘How soon can we move in?’

‘Not for a few weeks, but we can christen the place now.’

And the wooden floor wasn’t the only thing that was stripped.