The Sister: A psychological thriller with a brilliant twist you won't see coming (7 page)

T
he school toilets
always smelled of cigarettes and cheap perfume. I tried not to inhale too deeply as I stuffed my shirt into my bag, pulled on a fitted T-shirt and rolled over the waistband of my skirt until the hem was way above my knees. I was desperate to look older than fifteen.

I joined Charlie in front of the mirror and picked up her Boots Seventeen mascara.

‘Forest?’ I asked. ‘Or pocket park?’ We were making the most of the balmy evenings.

‘Park. Esmée and Siobhan are meeting us there.’

I sighed, long and hard. ‘Someone took my history homework from my bag. I’m sure it was Siobhan. She really doesn’t like me.’

Siobhan was always inviting Charlie and Esmée round hers without me, saying her mum was really strict and would only let her have two friends in the house at a time. ‘Sorry, Grace,’ she’d say, pulling a face, but I knew she wasn’t sorry, not really. ‘You’d understand if you had a mum.’ And I wanted to smack her. Hard.

‘Well, me and Esmée like you. Siobhan will get used to you.’

‘Charlie, I’ve lived here six years now!’

‘Yeah.’ Charlie grinned. ‘She’s a bit slow.’

‘I heard her saying I was boring. Do you think I am?’ I never quite understood why Charlie stayed friends with me. We were polar opposites.

‘You’re not boring. You’re calming. Mum says if it wasn’t for you I’d have gone off the bleedin’ rails. Stop analysing everything, Grace. I love you, and Siobhan doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Anyway, it won’t be just us. Dan and Ben are coming tonight.’

My feelings for Dan were changing. The sight of him made my insides crackle like space dust. I hadn’t told Charlie yet. I kept my feelings close to me, revelling in the deliciousness of the unknown. I was half-terrified, half-hopeful that he liked me too. At night I’d lie wrapped in my quilt, dreaming of the day he’d catch me in his arms as I whizzed down the slide, praying my bottom wouldn’t get wedged halfway down. ‘You’re the reason I come here every day,’ he’d murmur, before giving me my first taste of a boy’s lips.

Charlie had kissed half of our year already. ‘What’s it like?’ I’d asked her, both curious and repelled.

‘It’s OK until they shove their tongue in your mouth and poke it around. Ethan’s was like an eel. He ran it around my teeth. Cleaned out the salt and vinegar crisps stuck there, though.’

‘Charlie!’

‘You asked. They mainly taste of fags though. You should try it.’

I’d practised on my hand, but that didn’t taste of anything. I was waiting for the right boy. I was waiting for Dan. If Charlie knew I liked him she’d try to push us together. I wasn’t quite ready – too scared of being rejected, I suppose.

Be careful with your heart,
Grandma had told me.
You only get one and it’s precious.

If you can’t be good, be careful,
Lexie had told Charlie, in contrast, while giving her condoms. The condoms had torn, one after the other, as we’d rolled them down a banana. I’d washed my hands three times afterwards. The smell of rubber had lingered for hours.

‘Dan’s asked me out,’ Charlie said now, as she smothered her lips in gloss. I slipped with the mascara wand, and went into a cubicle to get some tissue. ‘
Charlie Fisher is a Slag
’ was written on the back of the door. I’d scrubbed over a similar statement last week. This time, I left it. My eyes sprang tears as I rubbed at my cheek with the tissue until my skin felt as raw as my emotions.

I blew my nose. ‘What did you say?’ I asked, coming out of the cubicle.

‘I told him I might.’ Charlie slicked pink gloss over her lips.

‘You like him?’

Charlie shrugged. ‘Never really thought about him that way. He’s just Dan, Dan, the ketchup man, isn’t he? I want to do it though.’

‘Do what?’

‘Sex. God, you can be so naive sometimes. I’m not sure whether to do it with Dan, though. I think Siobhan fancies him.’

‘Does she?’ I felt sick at the thought.

‘Yeah. I might let her have him. I’ll find someone, though. It’s time we got it out the way.’

Once your virginity’s gone, you can’t get it back. Give it to someone special,
Grandma had told me.

Don’t get knocked up,
Lexie had told Charlie.

‘I’m going outside. It stinks in here.’ I nodded at the cubicle. ‘Someone’s called you a slag.’ I saw Charlie’s mouth fall open and I let the door slam shut behind me.

* * *

D
an and Ben
were already at the park. Dan stood on top of the slide and waved a bottle of vodka like it was the Olympic torch. Charlie, never one to hold a grudge, turned to me and grinned, hitching her skirt up even higher. Bare legs already tanned. Although it was June, my skin was January pale.

‘Well done, Danny boy,’ Charlie called up to him. ‘Let’s have a swig.’ Dan slid down and landed in front of us. ‘Something stinks.’ Charlie wrinkled her nose.

‘It’s Old Spice.’ Dan grinned. ‘It’s sexy.’

‘To who? You smell like an old man.’ Charlie covered her nose with her sleeve and quaffed the vodka before passing it to me. My throat stung and I swallowed hard to stop myself from choking.

‘Look.’ I nodded towards the gap in the hedge. Siobhan sashayed through, trailed by Abby, who mimicked her big sister’s walk, swinging her hips and pushing out her non-existent chest. With them were five older kids. I’d seen them around, although they didn’t go to our school. Always dressed in black, skin pale, hair rainbow-bright. The Walking Dead, we called them. Grandma always crossed the road whenever we passed them on the high street. Why was Siobhan talking to them?

I took another gulp of vodka so Siobhan wouldn’t notice my smile as she wobbled towards us, heels sinking into the grass, ankles turning.

‘Got any cash?’ Siobhan stood, hands on hips, shadowed by her mini-me Abby. She wasn’t given an allowance. Her parents poured even spare penny into a savings account so Siobhan could go to uni – she wanted to be a lawyer. ‘Bloodsuckers’ was what Grandad called lawyers. Siobhan would fit right in.

‘Nah. I’m skint.’ Charlie never had any money. ‘How about you, Grace?’

‘Some. Why?’

‘They’ve got weed.’ Siobhan jerked her head towards the Walking Dead, barely visible, huddled next to the dark hedge.

‘I’m not buying drugs!’

‘You don’t have to. I’ll do it.’

‘No.’

‘You’re so boring sometimes, Grace. Get a life.’

‘Yeah, get a life,’ Abby said.

‘I have a life, thanks.’ I gulped back the clear liquid. It smarted as it went down my gullet and I coughed until my eyes streamed.

Siobhan snorted. ‘Loser.’

‘At least I’m not a wannabe junkie.’

‘At least I never killed anyone.’

I sprang forward, hands like claws, and raked my nails down her face. ‘Take that back!’

Dan wrapped his arms around my waist and yanked me backwards. I leaned against his solid frame, panting, itching to dart forwards again.

‘Siobhan, don’t be such a bitch,’ he snapped. ‘Grace told us about her past because we’re her friends.’

‘And you know that’s not how it was.’ Charlie’s voice is so low she’s practically growling at Siobhan. ‘Shut up or fuck off.’

‘Sorry,’ Siobhan mumbled to the floor.

I didn’t speak for the rest of the night but I watched Dan watching Charlie, and Siobhan watching Dan and I drank vodka until I couldn’t see anything any more, but Siobhan’s words still rang in my ears. Did I actually kill him? Is that what they all thought?

I
t’s
one of those rare February days that could pass for April: blue skies and cotton wool clouds. Apricot sun pours through the coffee shop window, making it feel far warmer than it actually is. I shrug off my coat. I’m lucky to find a vacant window table. The cafe is busy with Sunday fathers, their shirtsleeves rolled up, lifting whining toddlers out of buggies. Couples stare into each other’s eyes, oblivious to the world around them. Two teenage girls discuss who Nick really fancies.

The cream melts into my hot chocolate as I dissect a muffin. My stomach is rolling with anxiety. The aroma of freshly ground coffee is oppressive.

I can’t quite believe we’ve traced Paul Lawson – or rather, found someone that knows him. Anna’s email was sparse, but she has agreed to meet me, to answer my questions as I will answer hers, as best I can.

My phone rings – an unknown number. As I answer, I pray it’s not Anna cancelling. There’s the sound of breathing, of static, and then nothing.

The bell rings as the front door of the coffee shop swings open. My head jerks around, but it’s a man and I try not to be disappointed. So far, she’s only five minutes late. But by twelve twenty my drink is cold and I have shredded my muffin into enough crumbs for Hansel and Gretel to find their way to Neverland.

My phone vibrates, skittering across the wooden table. It’s another worried text from Dan. He didn’t want me to come alone. I fire off a response: ‘
I’m fine, she’s not here yet
’, and just as my thumb presses ‘send’, a shadow falls over my screen.

‘Grace?’ The voice is soft. There is the trace of an accent. Northern, I think, but I can’t be sure.

I nod.

‘I thought so, you’re the only redhead here.’

‘Anna.’ My voice sounds small and high. I rub my palm on my jeans before taking her hand. Long fingers grip mine. ‘Thanks for coming. Hope you haven’t travelled too far?’

‘No.’ Anna slips off a baby-pink leather jacket, which I instantly covet, and hangs it over the back of the chair. She smooths her skirt over narrow hips and I resolve to start another diet on Monday.

‘Want another?’ She nods towards my mug. I shake my head, grab my purse and start to stand.

‘It’s OK.’ She gestures for me to sit again, and weaves her way to the back of the queue, glossy blonde hair swishing across her shoulder blades.

I shred the stack of napkins on the table as I watch her. I was expecting someone older, someone Paul’s age, not mine.
Who is she?
I sift through the pile of tissue as if I can find the answers buried at the centre.

‘That took ages.’ Anna places her Americano on the table. Her cup wobbles on the saucer but she doesn’t spill a drop. No cake for her. She can’t be more than a size eight, probably never eats carbs, probably never eats anything. I brush my muffin crumbs and envy onto the floor.

‘Not the place to come if you’re in a rush, but you know what you get here.’

‘Overpriced commercialism?’

‘I was going to say good cake, but yes. That too. I used to work here when I was doing my A levels. Just part-time.’ I’m babbling. ‘It’s not as if we have a great choice here in the village.’

The term ‘village’ is a bit of a stretch; it’s expanded enormously in the fifteen years I’ve lived here. It’s a small market town now, really, with a good selection of shops, but we cling to our rural roots all the same.

We fall into silence. Anna stirs her drink. The sound of the spoon chinking on china jars me. I’m searching for words, staring out of the window, at the floor, as if I might find them written there.

‘So.’ Anna rests her elbow on the table, chin cradled inside cupped palms. ‘How do you know my dad?’

I lean back in my chair so suddenly I thwack my head on the wall behind, but if it hurts I don’t register it.

‘Paul is your dad?’

‘Was. He died when I was eight.’

‘Sorry.’ I scrape my chair back and rush to the toilets.

* * *

I
lean against the sink
, steadying myself against the porcelain, and take slow, deep breaths. My anxious face stares back at me from the streaked mirror. Charlie’s dad is dead. Anna is Charlie’s half-sister. How can I tell her she has lost another relative? I twist the cold tap and cup water into my mouth. It dribbles down my chin and I wipe it away with my sleeve.

‘Are you all right?’ Anna’s come to find me.

‘Yes.’ I talk to her reflection. There are similarities to Charlie. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Her hair is a darker blonde, and she’s not as tall, but her eyes are the same green.

‘So, who are you?’

I turn the tap off, dry my hands on a paper towel and consider lying, but I’m not very good at it.

‘Paul, your dad, was also the father of my best friend, Charlie.’

‘I don’t understand?’

‘Charlie is – was – your half-sister.’

‘Was?’

‘I think we’d better sit down.’

* * *

I
t takes
some time to tell Anna about Charlie and Lexie. I talk slowly at first, recounting how Paul and Lexie met. Anna asks the odd question but for the most part she is silent: face pale, brow furrowed. I explain how Charlie grew up never knowing who her father was, how she always felt there was a piece missing. Anna blows her nose and wipes her eyes.

‘Did she try to find him?’

‘She wanted to. Lexie got upset.’

‘She wouldn’t help?’

‘No.’

‘What a bitch.’

‘I think she had her reasons. She thought it was for the best.’

‘What reason could she possibly have for separating a family?’

‘I don’t know.’ I shift uncomfortably in my seat. ‘She probably wasn’t aware you existed.’

She frowns. ‘Anyway tell me about her, this sister of mine.’

And I try. Falteringly at first – words like ‘beautiful’, ‘funny’ and ‘amazing’ are too generic; they don’t capture the essence of Charlie.

I tell Anna about our school days, about our history project on powerful and inspiring women. Charlie snuck Grandma’s jam funnels into her rucksack and turned up at school the next day with a home-made conical bra, proclaiming Madonna to be the most influential woman in the world. I talk until my jaw aches and my throat is sore.

The barista clears our cold drinks away, returning with a cloth to wipe the table. He scrunches up the rubbish and stuffs it into his apron pocket. ‘We’re closing now.’

I check my watch. ‘It’s half past four. I can’t believe we’ve been talking so long.’

‘What’s the pub like down the road? Fancy a drink and an early dinner? I really want to hear more about Charlie.’

‘That would be great. I’ve never eaten there, I usually go to The Hawley Arms by the park, but I’m sure it’s fine. I must just text my boyfriend and let him know.’

‘Oh, let him wait.’ Anna links her arm through mine and we walk towards the door. Anna chatters as we walk through the village and I’m glad I’m not alone. The fear I’d felt last night while being chased rests beneath my skin, ready to speed up my pulse, heat my blood. I don’t know who it was and I try to ignore the thought that they’ll come back, but no matter how hard I push it away, it creeps back in.

* * *

T
he pub is quiet
. Faded striped carpet sticks to the soles of our shoes as we tramp towards a chipped wooden table in the corner. It wobbles as I rest my bag down, and I stuff beer mats under one leg to steady it. A chalkboard menu hangs behind the bar and I squint to read it.

‘You ready to order?’ The waitress hovers over us, pad poised, chewed biro in hand. Black ink stains the corner of her mouth. Her grubby once-white shirt strains at the buttons.

‘Lasagne and chips for me please.’

‘And a chicken salad for me,’ Anna adds

I am aware of my thighs spread over the chair and I cover my lap with a paper napkin.

‘Drinks?’

‘Glass of wine?’ I venture.

‘Sod it, we deserve a bottle. White?’

‘Perfect.’

‘I’m just nipping to the loo.’

I take the opportunity to check my phone. There are several texts from Dan, each one more frantic than the last. I reassure him that I’m fine. That Anna is lovely, not an axe-wielding murderer.

The waitress plonks a bottle of lukewarm house white and two glasses on the table. I pour our drinks but before I can take a sip, my phone rings. It’s an unknown number again. As I say hello, the dial tone fills my ear. I glance around the pub, mute the ringtone on my phone and stuff it in my bag.

‘What’s the wine like?’ Anna slides back into her seat.

I take a sip and pull a face. ‘If they don’t have any vinegar for my chips this will do nicely.’

‘That good, huh?’ Anna laughs.

‘What happened to your dad? I understand if it’s too painful to talk about.’

‘It’s OK. It was a long time ago.’ Anna twirls her wine glass. ‘We were going on holiday and I was so excited we were going to see the sea. Mum bought a pack of jelly babies for us to eat on the way. I loved the orange ones; I’d bite the head off and work my way down. Of course, I ate too many and began to feel sick. Mum told me to get some fresh air. I hung my head out of the window like a dog until I felt better, but then I heard buzzing. I thought a bee had flown right into my ear. I shook my head and screamed. Dad looked around to see what was wrong and that’s the last thing I remember. Apparently he veered onto the wrong side of the road and we hit another car head-on. Mum and dad died instantly.’ Anna lowers her head and I reach over the table, covering her hand with mine. ‘I was only nine. I blamed myself: if only I hadn’t eaten so many sweets; if only I hadn’t opened the window; if only I hadn’t screamed. I wish I’d just let the bee sting me.’

‘You lost both parents at once?’

‘Yeah. Little orphan Annie, that’s me. I just need your red hair and I could sing about the sun coming out tomorrow.’ She pats my hand and offers a wry smile.

The waitress slops two plates in front of us. Yellow grease pools out of the lasagne. Anna forks salad into her mouth as I push chips around my plate.

‘Where did you live afterwards?’

‘Let’s move onto something a little more cheery, shall we? Save that tragic story for another time.’

I gulp my wine, grateful now for the sour taste, which diverts attention from the aching sadness that threatens to overwhelm me.

‘What do you do?’ Anna asks.

‘I work in a pre-school. I love it. Do you like kids?’

‘No.’ Anna sloshes wine into my glass. ‘You’re lucky to do something you enjoy, though. I’m working as a secretary and I hate it.’

‘Why?’

Anna’s face contorts. ‘Let’s just say I call my boss “the octopus” for good reason.’

‘That’s horrible. Can’t you report him?’

‘It’s only a small company. Another job will turn up. It’s not exactly a vocation. I didn’t grow up dreaming of taking notes for some middle-aged man while he drooled down my blouse.’

‘What did you want to do?’

‘I thought about being a nurse. It would be great to be able to help people who have accidents, you know?’

I nod. ‘What stopped you?’

‘Money, I guess. I had to support myself as soon as I turned sixteen.’