The Sister: A psychological thriller with a brilliant twist you won't see coming (11 page)

I looked up and gasped. It wasn’t Siobhan. It was Mum.

‘
W
here were you last night
?’ The breakfast table is heavy with preserves and accusations. Dan unscrews a jar of marmalade, plunges his knife in. I try not to tut as butter seeps into the orange jelly. I dip a clean teaspoon into the strawberry jam and heap it onto the side of my plate.

‘I went for a quick drink with the lads.’

‘Until midnight?’ I don’t want a row before work, but my head throbs and my eyes are gritty with tiredness. I’d lain in bed, muscles tense, eyes wide open, until I heard the scratching of Dan jabbing his key in the front door lock, his unsteady tread as he stumbled his way up the stairs. He’d undressed with exaggerated slowness and, when he’d tumbled into bed, I’d turned away from his alcohol fumes, wanting to avoid a late-night row. I’d been conscious of Anna sleeping in the next room.

‘I was worried, that’s all – I wish you’d left a note.’

‘I didn’t think you’d notice.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You’re usually with Anna, hunched over photo albums. If she spent as much time looking for a job as she does quizzing you about Charlie, she’d have gone by now.’

‘You want me to throw her out?’

‘It was only supposed to be a few days. It’s been three weeks. We’re nearly in March.’

‘I know.’ I pour tea. It has brewed for too long and is dark and unappealing.

‘I just thought we were going to concentrate on us.’

‘I’ll talk to her.’

‘No.’ Dan swigs tea, screws up his face. ‘I’ll do it. You’ve had enough stress.’

‘Morning.’

We both jump. Anna usually stays in bed until after we’ve left for work. I wonder how much she’s overheard. I lower my head, letting my hair fall over my burning face, studying the table as if it’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen.

Dan pushes his chair back, fastens his top button and eases the knot on his tie upwards. ‘See you later.’

‘Grace, can I borrow your laptop?’ Anna asks. ‘I want to send off some more CVs and look at some flats for rent. I don’t want to outstay my welcome.’

‘Borrow away, and you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you like.’ I mentally apologise to Dan as I sweep toast crumbs and guilt into my cupped hand.

* * *

T
here’s
a staff meeting after work, but I find it difficult to focus my busy mind. I don’t want Anna to move out, but Dan and I do need some quality time together. I wonder whether we should book a weekend away. We still haven’t resurrected our sex life. I’m too aware that Anna could overhear our creaking headboard and squeaky springs.

The muscles in my back are tight as I drive home. Rain lashes against my windscreen and my wipers swish at double-speed, but it’s still difficult to see. I drive carefully. Puddles form at the side of the road and fat drops of water bounce off my bonnet. I hold my hand in front of the heating vent. The air hasn’t warmed yet and I’m freezing. I can’t wait to step into a warm bath and scrub the poster paints from my fingernails, wash the glitter out of my hair. I decide on a Chinese for tea; we can curl up on the sofa with the laptop and check out country hotels. Anna might be glad of a few days to herself; she could look after Mittens.

Glaring white light slices through my thoughts and I squint through my windscreen. I can barely see the road. I flash the oncoming driver.
Dip your lights, idiot
. In my rear-view mirror I see the car screech to a stop. It spins around in a U-turn. I turn the radio down. Concentrate on the winding road ahead of me. An engine revs. Headlights flash. The car has caught up with me. It’s so close it’s almost touching my bumper.

My palms are damp with sweat. I remove my hands from the wheel, one at a time, and wipe them on my jeans. My foot squeezes the accelerator. I weave through the country lanes I know so well, but the car stays on my tail. There’s a horn. A flash. And I’m scared. Really scared. I don’t like driving fast. Don’t like driving in the dark at all, especially in this foul weather. I’m pushing eighty now. Far too fast for these wet roads with their sharp corners and potholes, but I can’t bring myself to slow down. We squeal around corners, tyres slipping. I think of a film I saw once with a serial killer chasing a driver, and I lean forward as though I can make my car go faster. As I reach the lane, I slam my foot on the brake, make a sharp right and screech to a halt. My car skids sideways as the tyres lose traction. The other car doesn’t turn but it stops at the top of the lane, engine put-put-putting. The orange glow of the lamp post illuminates its bonnet. It’s red and I know with certainty that this is the person who’s been following me.

My left hand grips the steering wheel. My right rests upon the door handle.
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon
. I could step out of the car. Ask them what the hell they’re playing at. My fingers twitch and my lower back aches where I’m twisting around in my seat. There’s a beat. The interior light floods the red car as the door cracks open. A shadowy figure moves, but with the rain pelting down I can’t see them properly. I know I should go home but I’m transfixed. The snake and the charmer.

A horn. A bus grinds to a halt behind the car, bus driver beeping impatiently. The car door closes. The interior light darkens, and as the car pulls away, I feel I’ve escaped something – but I don’t know what. I rest my forehead on the steering wheel momentarily. Then I urge my trembling legs to move, press my feet against the pedals and speed towards the cottage.

* * *

‘
D
an
!’

The smell of roast beef greets me as I push open the front door. In the lounge, the candles are lit and the table is set for two. There’s a large vase of baby-pink roses on the coffee table.

‘You’re late?’ Anna bustles towards me, wiping her hands on my apron.

‘I had a staff meeting. Where’s Dan?’ I’m panting.

‘He’s gone out. It’s just you and me.’

‘Did he say where he’s going?’

‘No. Just “don’t wait up”. Are you OK? You look pale.’

I open my mouth to tell her what happened, but I think how ridiculous it sounds:
There was another car on the road and I got scared. I think I’m being followed.
An overactive imagination, Grandma would say.

‘I need a drink.’ There’s a bottle of Shiraz on the table. Not my favourite, but it will do. I twist the cap off, slug some into a large goblet and knock it back in one. The alcohol burns my throat and my head swims.

‘Grace, are you OK?’

‘Fine.’ I pour another glass. ‘Look out of the window, Anna.’

‘What am I looking for?’ She crosses to the window and parts the curtains.

‘A car.’

She looks right and then left. ‘There’s just your car.’ She steps back and the curtains fall from her hands, coming back together like magnets. There’s still a strip of light shining through and I press my back against the wall, scared someone might be looking in.

‘What’s going on, Grace?’

‘Never mind. I’m going to get changed.’ I pause by the front door on my way to the stairs, make sure it’s locked, but I’ve only climbed three steps when I come back down, rattle the handle and put the chain on.
You’re safe – you’re safe – you’re safe.

There are no missed calls or texts from Dan when I check my phone – so much for our chat about communication. I swallow a fragment of a tablet, strip off my uniform, drop it in the laundry bin, and jump in the shower. Rinse away the cold sweat and dread that had covered me during the journey home. By the time I’m dry and dressed, I’m encased with the familiar warm medicated feeling and the terror has seeped away.

I take the wine Anna proffers. I’m feeling fuzzy, but it’s Friday. Everyone has a drink on a Friday, don’t they?

‘Good day?’ I ask.

‘A productive one. I’ve applied for quite a few jobs. There are some nice flats on the market too. I’ll need a hefty deposit, though, and the first month’s rent in advance.’

‘I might be able to lend you some.’

‘Don’t be silly. I’m used to taking care of myself. Now, I have a surprise for you. A little thank you for all you’ve done for me.’ Anna passes me an envelope.

‘What is it?’

‘Open it.’

I run my finger under the seal and peel it open. Inside is a gift voucher for a spa day.

‘It’s for tomorrow. I hope you’re not busy? Dan says he’ll be at football.’

‘I don’t have any plans. This must have cost a fortune?’

‘Not really. It was a Groupon offer. Virtually free.’

‘Thanks.’ I’m genuinely pleased. I read aloud the list of treatments on offer as Anna serves the food. ‘Chocolate mud wrap, orange zest facial…’ My mouth waters. ‘They all sound good enough to eat.’

‘Try this instead.’ The roast beef is pink, goose-fat potatoes crispy, and when I’m finished I don’t think I can possibly eat dessert, but then I’m presented with tiramisu covered in cream and dusted with chocolate. It tastes just as good as it looks.

‘Dan doesn’t know what he’s missing.’ My jeans feel tight and I slouch back in my chair, unfasten my top button.

‘No. He’s a moron.’ There’s a bitterness in Anna’s voice that I haven’t heard before. ‘Grace, I don’t know how to put this, so I’ll just come out and say it.’

I sit up straighter.

‘I heard Dan talking on the phone before he went out. Arranging to meet someone.’

I freeze but then shake myself.
Don’t always jump to the worst conclusion, Grace.
I look at Anna steadily. ‘It was probably Harry.’

‘Does he always call Harry “babe”?’

The room suddenly feels cooler and I wrap my cardigan a little tighter. ‘Are you
sure
that’s what you heard?’

‘I think so. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I thought to myself, what would Charlie do?’

Brandy and cream tap-dance together and I feel sick. Why do I always overeat?

‘I could have misheard. The TV was on. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.’ Anna springs to her feet and begins to stack plates, clattering cutlery. I squeeze my eyes shut, and when I open them, she has gone into the kitchen. The candle flickers and hisses, fighting to stay alight in its diminishing pool of wax. Black shadows prowl around the walls, the strangers from my nightmares, the monsters under the bed. Chills run down my spine and I blow out the candle and switch on the light.

Anna is running steaming water into a bowl. Bubbles froth and multiply, out of control, much like my thoughts.

I pop the lid of the bin open, begin to scrape the plates. Beef fat and stray peas land on a piece of lined paper. Recognising Dan’s handwriting, I fish it out and shake off a piece of potato peel that’s stuck to it. ‘
Going for a beer with Harry. See you later x’

‘Anna, did you put this in the bin?’

She reads it. ‘No.’

‘Why would Dan write me a note and throw it away?’

‘Maybe he was afraid you’d check with Harry? Catch him out? Or maybe it just blew in there. I had the back door ajar when I was cooking; the bin lid was open for the peelings. I did shut the door when I thought I saw a figure in the garden, though.’

‘There was someone in the garden and you’re just telling me this now?’ I snap, tossing the cutlery into the bowl. Frothy water splatters up over the tiles. I cross to the back door, rattle the handle to make sure it’s locked and peer out through the glass into the garden.

‘I wasn’t sure if I imagined it. It was so dark.’

‘But still. You’d know if you saw someone, surely?’

‘Or something. I’m not used to the country. Easily spooked. It could have been a badger squeezing under the hedge.’

I pull the roller blind down on the back door and draw the kitchen curtains. We finish cleaning the kitchen in silence, then head upstairs to bed. I read my book, and have just got to the part where Mr Rochester makes Jane Eyre cry, when I hear a hammering on the front door. I bang the book shut and test the weight of it, as if I can use it as a weapon.
They’ve come back.
The figure Anna saw in the garden earlier. I should have rung the police.

A bang. A thud against the window. A voice. ‘Grace?’

It’s Dan. I remember I pulled the chain across, and I run downstairs to let him in.