The Sister: A psychological thriller with a brilliant twist you won't see coming (9 page)

‘Look.’ I pass Anna the photo of me, Charlie, Dan, Esmée and Siobhan. Ben had taken it outside school. ‘We went to the pocket park and decided it would be a good idea to burn our school ties. We had a pile of old newspaper and some matches. Dan lit the fire and tipped some whisky he’d stolen from his dad’s shed over the flames to make them bigger. It had been such a dry summer that the fire spread quickly. The flames were enormous. We had to ring the fire brigade in the end.’

‘Were you in much trouble?’

‘Huge. The police came around to our houses to tell our families. I was so scared; I’d never been in trouble before. The policeman was really stern. We were lucky they didn’t charge us with arson. The pre-school wouldn’t have employed me with a criminal record.’

‘Did you actually burn your ties?’

‘No. We lost the moment after that. Dan and I still have ours in the wardrobe.’

Anna picks up the silver candlestick and waves it around. The flames splutter and wax drips onto the tablecloth. ‘Go get them. Let’s finish what you started.’

‘I think we’ll give the smoke alarm a rest. It worked hard enough when I forgot the garlic bread in the oven earlier. What about you? Do you have a wild side?’

‘If I did, I’d do something suitably nasty to my boss.’

‘Anna calls him “the octopus”,’ I tell Dan.

‘I’m sick of him trying to put his hand up my skirt or peer down my blouse.’ Anna looks utterly dejected.

I feel so awful for her. ‘I don’t know how you cope.’

‘I have to until something else comes up.’ Anna’s eyes fill with tears. ‘You say I’m thin, but that’s because I’m too knotted up to eat half the time. I go to bed at night and can’t sleep, playing the day over in my head, all the innuendos he has made, the times he’s physically touched me. I spend most of my time worrying about what’s to come, how far he’ll go. My muscles are always so tense, I have constant neck pain.’

I pass her a box of tissues.

Anna blows her nose. ‘How embarrassing. I’m not usually like this.’

‘Can’t you find something else?’

‘I’m trying but it’s difficult. I work long hours and he won’t give me time off for interviews. The rent on my bedsit is extortionate. If I could manage without an income for a couple of weeks I could find something else. It’s so hard when you don’t have family to fall back on.’

I squeeze her hand. ‘You have us now. You’re Charlie’s sister and you must ask for help if you need it, mustn’t she, Dan?’

Dan grunts, swipes the empty bottle off the table and leaves the room. He’s always uncomfortable with tears.

‘Could I stay with you? I really can’t face that awful man again. It would just be for a week or two while I find something else. This is nearer to Oxford than where I am. It’ll be easier for interviews. I want to be closer to you. Find out more about Charlie. You’re beginning to feel like family already.’

Dan crashes plates around the kitchen.

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘It’ll be fun. I’m happy to help.’ But that isn’t the only reason I want her to move in – the sense of being watched is getting stronger, especially after the red car in the lane. If Anna is here and Dan goes out I won’t be alone. Feel afraid. I’ll be safe, won’t I?’

T
he heat
from the fire pushed us back and we watched from a distance as it spat and crackled. Charlie never liked to get too close. Always said she was too scared after being trapped in a fire, even though Lexie said she was making it up. I saw the terror in her eyes as she watched the flames: that fear had to come from somewhere. Guy Fawkes slumped in the middle of the burning logs, head hanging to one side as though wracked with guilt, resigned to his fate. Flames licked around his feet and the crowd cheered as his trousers ignited.

‘Hot dog?’ Charlie tugged my sleeve.

I nodded and we pushed our way through the throng – most of the village had gathered on the green for the annual fireworks display – and joined the queue at the snack van. Onions covered my cremated sausage and I zigzagged ketchup down the middle.

‘Coke?’

Charlie shook her head ‘Let’s go to the beer tent.’

‘There’s no way Mike will serve us.’ The landlord of the village pub knew us.

‘I’m eighteen now.’

‘I’m not.’ I still had ten days before I could legally drink.

‘You practically are. I’ll get them; you wait outside. It’s so busy he won’t know. Then we’ll find the others.’

‘OK.’ I stayed close behind as we sidestepped children with sparklers looping their names in the air. I wished Siobhan wasn’t coming tonight. I faded into the background whenever she was around, lost behind her fake laughter and hair flicking as she thrust her boobs towards Dan at every opportunity. My boobs were growing bigger, but the rest of me was as well. I’d started forging letters from Grandma to my teacher, pretending I had a bad knee so I didn’t have to do PE and get changed under Siobhan’s scornful gaze. She was so thin. Her sister was a bitch, too. If I passed Abby in the corridor at school she’d look at the floor and scurry away, but when she was with Siobhan she was fearless.

We reached the beer tent and I swallowed the last of my hotdog, licked my fingers clean, pulled my gloves back on.

Charlie shouldered her way towards the bar and I hovered in the entrance to the marquee, stamping my booted feet. The air was biting and my breath clouded before me. I watched the curling Catherine wheels, which were nailed to the fence, while I waited. They spun faster and faster until they were a blur of blue and gold, the sparks shooting through the sky like falling stars.

‘Gracie Grace!’

I jumped as two arms encircled my waist. Sour breath warmed my neck. ‘Lexie.’

‘This is Ant. Isn’t he handsome?’ Lexie giggled and stroked the blushing face of the boy next to her. He worked behind the counter in the Co-op and couldn’t have been much older than me. Lexie slung an arm around my shoulders. Lager sloshed from her plastic pint cup, saturating my scarf. I tried to soak it up with my gloved hand.

‘This is Grace. Isn’t she beautiful? She’s never given me any trouble, this one.’ Lexie staggered and I shifted my weight to steady us both.

Ant shrugged.

‘Don’t bleedin’ shrug.’ Lexie tried to stand tall, swayed like a tree in the breeze. ‘She’s lovely, is Grace. Good as gold she is, too.’

‘And I’m not?’ Charlie thrust a cider towards me. I stepped away from Lexie. She lost her footing and lolled on the frosty grass, clutching her cup.

‘Didn’t spill a drop. Woohoo!’ She lay on her back, raised her beer and kicked her legs in the air like a dying fly.

‘Mum,’ Charlie hissed. ‘Everyone’s looking.’

Lexie clasped Charlie’s outstretched hand and clambered to her feet. Ant mumbled something and shuffled off.

‘That’s right, fuck off. Didn’t like you anyway. You’re a boy; I need a man. Any takers?’ Lexie raised her pint and spun around, landing sprawled against the side of the beer tent. Pegs pinged out of the hard earth and guy ropes flapped in the breeze. Charlie and I dropped our cups, grabbed one of Lexie’s arms each and hoisted her to her feet.

‘I’ll have to take her home.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

The crowd thinned out as we reached the edge of the green. Siobhan, Abby and Esmée were silhouetted in the distance, and as they drew closer my jaw clenched.

‘You leaving?’ Esmée asked.

‘Yeah, gotta take Mum home.’

‘Want a hand?’ said Siobhan.

‘Nah, me and Grace can manage.’

‘Of course, Grace will be more help; she’s much bigger than me.’

‘Don’t be nasty.’ Esmée elbowed Siobhan in the ribs.

‘I wasn’t. I meant she’s stronger, that’s all. Anyway, best let you go.’

We staggered forward a few steps with Lexie.

‘Oh, Grace?’ I twisted my head around. Siobhan was smiling menacingly. ‘I’ll give your love to Dan, shall I?’

‘Cow,’ I muttered.

‘Ignore her,’ said Charlie, as they walked away. ‘I’m getting sick of her. She must be freezing her tits off in that mini skirt. Ben says Dan doesn’t fancy her anyway.’

‘Really?’ Charlie and Ben were going steady. I had visions of them double-dating with Siobhan and Dan, while I sat at home in plaid pyjamas watching
Bridget Jones
on repeat and stuffing myself with sour cream Pringles.

The fifteen-minute walk to Charlie’s house took nearly half an hour as Lexie alternated between lurching forwards and stumbling backwards. By the time we reached Charlie’s, my arms were burning with the effort of keeping Lexie upright.

Charlie propped Lexie against the front door. ‘Grab the key, Grace.’

I lifted Brian the gnome. Grandma had taken Charlie to a garden centre to choose a birthday present for Lexie years ago. Lexie wasn’t one for plants and flowers – ‘All that bleedin’ weeding’ – but Charlie had fallen in love with the little fishing figurine. Lexie had screeched with laughter when she’d unwrapped him – ‘He’s so bleedin’ ugly no one will ever steal him’ – and he’d guarded the spare front door key ever since.

Charlie inched up the stairs backwards, dragging Lexie by both hands as I followed behind, hands on Lexie’s back, pushing her forwards.

‘I’m sorry,’ Lexie mumbled into her pillow as I tugged off her shoes.

‘It’s OK, Mum.’ Charlie drew the duvet up to Lexie’s chin.

‘My girl, all grown up. I wish you weren’t. I wish you were still little.’ Mascara ran in rivulets down Lexie’s cheeks.

‘Just sleep, Mum.’

‘My life’s a mess.’

I rooted around in my pocket and found a tissue under a half-eaten packet of Polos. It was clean, and I unfolded it and handed it to Lexie.

She blew her nose. ‘I didn’t mean it. I don’t know how to make it right. You know how it feels, don’t you, Grace? To make a mistake.’

‘It’ll be OK in the morning.’

‘It won’t be. It can’t be. I shouldn’t…’

Lexie’s mouth hung open. I exchanged a worried glance with Charlie, but Lexie’s jowls shook as she juddered out a snore.

‘Thank God for that.’ Charlie flicked off the light and we crept downstairs.

‘Want to go back to the green?’

‘Nah. I’d better stay near Mum. Wanna watch from the front garden?’

I nodded. We fizzed open cans of Stella from the fridge, and went to sit outside, where we dangled our legs from the crumbling brick wall.

We oohed as burning streaks of bright light shot through the sky, bursting into millions of gold and silver particles. It looked as though someone had thrown handfuls of glitter up in the air. We aahed as myriad colours rippled across the sky, popping and fading into blackness.

‘I wish I was a firework,’ said Charlie.

‘Why?’

‘I’d fire myself far away from here.’

‘What’s up?’ I downed the last of my lager, scrunched up my can.

‘It’s Mum. I dunno what’s up with her. She’s been like this for about a month.’

‘Drunk?’

‘Pretty much 24/7.’ Charlie kicked her heels and dry plaster crumbled to the ground.

‘Why didn’t you say?’

Charlie shrugged. ‘Embarrassed, I suppose. She’s stopped going out, keeps the curtains drawn all the time. She was sick all over herself on Monday. I had to hose her down in the shower. It was disgusting. I don’t want to whinge all the time, anyway. It’s not like you’ve had it easy, is it?’

‘No, but you’re entitled to have problems too. Why do you think she’s doing it?’

‘I dunno. She goes through phases.’

‘She was saying about you being eighteen. Perhaps she’s worried you’ll leave home. Grandma’s the same. Thinks I’ll go off to uni after sixth form and forget about them. She’s worried they’ll never see me again.’

‘Maybe. Perhaps she wishes she were still with me dad. Whoever he might be.’ Charlie jumped down; her trainers smacked against the grey concrete. ‘Wanna go find the boys?’

‘What about your mum?’

‘Oh, let her choke. I don’t care,’ Charlie said. But I knew that she did, and when the sounds of the fireworks died down and were replaced with tormented screams, Charlie thundered up the stairs towards her mum.

T
here’s
nothing quite like waking to the smell of bacon. Breakfast in bed always feels like such a treat. I sit up as I hear the telltale creak of the loose floorboard at the top of the stairs, and the squeak of the bedroom door being nudged open. Gritty sleep is lodged in the corners of my eyes and I rub it away. I fumble with my pillows, propping them horizontally behind me, and I lean back against them, my hands resting in my lap, as though I am in hospital and she is a visitor.

‘Morning.’ Anna is wearing my apron. China clinks together as she hands me a tray. ‘Thought I’d make a good impression on my first morning here.’

‘You’ve certainly done that.’ I gulp orange juice. The sharp tang of citrus washes my grogginess away.

‘The bacon is crispy,’ Anna says, ‘the bread lightly toasted and there’s lots of brown sauce. The tea is sweet and milky.’

‘Just the way I like it.’

‘I know. I asked Dan before he went to football practice.’

Anna perches on the bed as I bite into my sandwich. The saltiness of the bacon mingles with the sweetness of the sauce.

‘This is so good. Thank you.’

‘It’s the least I can do. I’m so grateful you’re letting me stay. The last few months seem like a bad dream already.’

I chew my food as Anna peruses the books on my bedside table. ‘
Little Women
. Are they all short?’

I laugh. ‘Haven’t you read it?’

‘No.
Fifty Shades of Grey
is the last book I read.’

‘It’s a bit different to that. It’s about a group of sisters. The eldest, Jo March, is my heroine. She’s so strong.’

‘So are you, Grace. It can’t have been easy, losing your best friend.’ Anna flicks through the book before tossing it on top of my endless reading pile. The books teeter and topple; my bottle of tablets rattles to the floor.

‘Sorry.’ She picks them up.

‘Sleeping tablets,’ I offer, although she hasn’t asked. ‘I haven’t slept properly since Charlie died.’

‘Do they work?’

‘Too well. If it wasn’t for Dan I’d sleep through my alarm half the time. The doctor doesn’t like giving them, though. Thinks I should try antidepressants instead.’

‘Grief isn’t an illness though, is it?’ Anna’s face crumples. ‘It’s not as if you get better, like you do with chickenpox. It’s been years since I last saw my parents but I still want to tell them whenever anything happens, good or bad. I forget they’re not here. When you said I could move in, I thought I must tell Mum and Dad how lovely you are. Stupid, isn’t it?’

‘I think it’s natural. It’s so hard to process the fact there are people we’ll never see again. Our minds block it out.’

‘I remember when I’m asleep.’ Anna sits on the edge of the bed and lowers her head so her chin touches her chest. ‘I still have nightmares about the accident. The funeral. Even to this day.’

I swallow the last of the sandwich. It gets stuck in my dry throat and I force it down with a mouthful of tea.

‘Sorry, but I’d better get up. I’m going out this morning.’

‘Out?’

‘Yes. Sorry. If I’d have known you were coming to stay I wouldn’t have arranged anything, but I’ve promised Lexie I’ll take her to Charlie’s grave.’

‘Lexie? Charlie’s mum?’

I nod.

‘I’ll come with you. I want to meet her.’

I hesitate.

‘I’d like to meet her. She’s my half-sister’s mum. I want to see where Charlie’s buried, too.’

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘And I’ll take you to the churchyard, but not today. Lexie’s fragile. She’s not coping well. She doesn’t know you exist.’

‘It might cheer her up. A link with Charlie.’

‘It might, but I’ll need to talk to her first. Prepare her. I can’t just turn up with you.’

Anna nips her bottom lip between her teeth. A shadow passes across her face.

I touch her arm. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll be back by twelve. I’ll dig out the photo albums. We can have a proper girls’ afternoon.’

‘OK.’ Anna picks up the tray. ‘I’ve got unpacking to do anyway.’

* * *

I
’ve never quite equated
cemeteries with death – my grandparents shielded me as much as they could – but as I stand at the entrance to the graveyard, I’m giddy at the thought of all those bodies. This is the place that Charlie, Esmée, Siobhan and I used to run around, climbing trees and making dens, and I feel a sense of shame that we weren’t more respectful – not to the dead, but to the mourners huddled around headstones, bewildered expressions on their pinched faces. What must they have thought of four shrieking girls, darting in and out of bushes playing hide-and-seek?

I cup Lexie’s elbow, guiding her down the frosty path as though she is blind, and we pick our way down mossy paving slabs, eyes lowered, not wanting to see anyone else’s pain. Beyond the crumbling headstones etched with dates too faded to read, there is a large rectangle littered with crosses and shiny plaques: memorials to those recently departed. I was surprised when Lexie had requested a burial here; I had been unaware she’d been brought up a Christian. But an interment of ashes was all this church – already overcrowded – could offer.

Lexie’s bony hand grasps my arm and I pat it. There’s nothing to say, no words that will make this easier. I’d like to be able to tell her the first visit is the worst, but I can’t: it isn’t true. The black plastic vase I’d filled last time is full of stagnant water and withered scarlet roses, and as I pick it up, brown leaves scatter before me. I only brought them a week ago, and I make a mental note not to bring roses again.

‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ I’m not sure whether Lexie has heard me. She doesn’t seem to notice as I leave. There’s a yellow bin at the back of the church specifically for old flowers. The lid doesn’t quite close and I thrust the roses on the top, too wary of the thorns to push them down. I bend and rinse out the vase under the outdoor tap, and fill it with fresh water. As I stand, I see a figure at the top of the overgrown path: black padded coat, hood covering their face.

There are hundreds of black coats in the world. It’s probably not the person who was watching me from outside the coffee shop, I reason, but I’m rooted to the spot. Unsure what to do. The figure is still, and although I can’t see their face, I feel they’re staring straight at me. I don’t know whether to confront them or run. I notice a bunch of flowers hanging from the figure’s hand. They’re visiting a grave.

It’s probably seconds later – but it feels like minutes – that the figure drops their flowers, turns and runs back down the path towards the gate. I wait to compose myself before returning to Lexie.

She’s standing where I left her, clutching her bunch of pink carnations tightly between her fingers. I ease them out from her grasp, arranging them in the too-narrow vase as best I can.

‘That’s brightened it up,’ I lie. The plot still feels as stark and black as the hole Charlie has left.

‘Thanks for bringing me, Grace.’ Lexie’s voice is small and quiet and I tilt my head so I can hear her. ‘I don’t deserve your kindness.’

‘Of course you do.’

‘I don’t. I’ve been awful. Everything’s such a mess.’ She presses balled fists into her eyes as though she can change the scene in front of them. ‘I haven’t been here since the funeral. It’s horrible.’

I nod. It is. The smattering of words on a colourless stone do not comfort me. How could they? Charlie is not here. My logical mind knows that, but I come every week all the same, afraid that if I don’t, she might think I’ve forgotten her.

‘Do you want to go home?’

‘No.’ Lexie’s tears spill onto her pale cheeks. ‘Can we go for a drink?’

‘Just the one,’ I tell her, but one turns into two, into three, into four, and, by the time I drop her home, it is nearly half-past four.

* * *

T
he house smells of comfort
. I lift the lid off the saucepan and breathe in home-made soup.

‘I’ve used up all the vegetables in the fridge. Hope that’s OK?’

I start. I hadn’t heard Anna come into the kitchen.

‘Yes. It smells great. I thought you couldn’t cook?’

Anna’s blonde hair is piled up on top of her head; she tucks a stray tendril behind her ear. ‘Not can’t, just don’t. It’s a treat to have someone to cook for. I want to earn my keep. I feel so bad that I’m not paying rent.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of taking your money. You’re a guest. Besides, it’s only for a few days.’

‘How was Lexie?’

‘Not good.’ I flick on the kettle, pull mugs from the cupboard. ‘I’m sorry I’m so late. I took her to a pub afterwards. Had a job to get her to leave.’

‘Is that usual?’

‘Sometimes. She goes through phases. Charlie said Lexie lay on the lounge floor once for hours – Charlie couldn’t wake her, but was too afraid to leave her.’

‘That sounds like an awful childhood.’

‘It wasn’t always like that. Lexie had her moments, but seemed OK when I met her, right up until we turned eighteen. I’d be surprised if Lexie can remember any of that year.’

‘Any idea why?’

‘No.’ I fight to keep my breathing measured. I don’t want to talk about that year, still don’t like to think about it, and not just because of Lexie. ‘She cleaned herself up, though, and has been sober ever since. Well, sober-ish. Until Charlie…’

‘Are there no relatives to help? Aunties? Uncles?’

‘No. Lexie moved here when Charlie was small. She doesn’t have any family.’

‘But she has you.’

‘Yes. And my grandparents help her out. You’ll have to meet them. They loved Charlie.’

‘It sounds like everyone did. Hungry?’ Anna ladles thick soup into my bowl. It splashes on my shirt and I dab it off with the dishcloth, hoping it doesn’t stain.

* * *

W
e sup
soup sitting at the table, its surface smooth and gleaming under the electric light.

‘Have you dusted?’

‘Yes. I wanted to make myself useful. It didn’t take me long to unpack. I’ll show you what I’ve done in the garden when we’ve finished. I didn’t use polish on the piano – it looks really old. I didn’t want to damage it.’

‘It was Dad’s. He taught me to play.’

‘Are you good? I wish I was musical.’

‘I was. Haven’t played in years, but I can’t bear to part with it.’ Whenever I look at the worn leather stool I can almost feel Dad, my small body leaning against his large frame. Smell his Aramis aftershave. Feel his fingers touching mine as he guided me to the right keys. Whether I’d played ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’, or later, ‘Ode to Joy’, he’d always clapped with the same enthusiasm.

Bowls rinsed, coats on, I follow Anna through the French doors into the dusk. Mittens sits inside, watching us, pink nose smearing the glass. We wind our way across the stepping stones towards the greenhouse. I stop. Gasp. Spin around in a slow circle with my hand over my mouth.

‘My borders!’

‘They were a mess, weren’t they? I’ve tidied them all up for you.’ Anna gestures to shrubs and perennials she has wrenched from the ground, roots exposed, leaves curling.

‘Anna, what have you done?’

I drop to my knees, lifting plants as gently as I would an injured child.