The Sister: A psychological thriller with a brilliant twist you won't see coming (8 page)

As we continue to chat, I think about how different my life might have been. At one point, after the waitress has cleared away our plates, I reach out to squeeze Anna’s hand, but a dessert board is slammed between us.

‘Well?’ the waitress demands.

‘Black coffee for me,’ says Anna.

I think of my thighs and resist ordering sticky toffee pudding.

‘Do you have hot chocolate?’

The waitress sighs. ‘No.’

‘A tea then, thanks.’

We sip barely warm drinks from chipped china mugs and I settle the bill.

‘I’ll get the next one,’ Anna says.

‘That would be nice. I hope it hasn’t been too shocking for you today?’

‘It’s a lot to take in, losing a sister I never knew I had. I feel so alone sometimes. The thought that I could have had a sister, a family…’ Anna shrugs. ‘I feel like I’ve found a friend, though.’

‘Me too. How about coming to mine for dinner next week? I can show you some photos of Charlie. You can meet my boyfriend, Dan?’

‘That would be great, thanks.’ We hug our goodbyes and Anna sashays off, reminding me of the half-sister she never knew. I wonder what Dan will think of her. Will she remind him of Charlie too, and if she does, is it a risk inviting her into our home?

Darkness is blanketing the village. We’ve had every other street lamp turned off and it’s gloomy and Sunday-night-still. Families are huddled in front of fires, around TVs, weighted with Yorkshire puddings and thoughts of Monday morning. I walk briskly, stopping when there’s a buzzing inside my bag. My phone is vibrating. Dan must be getting impatient; I’ve been gone hours. The number’s withheld and I answer it, say hello. There’s the sound of breathing on the other end. I hear someone swallow. Sniff. I hang up and the screen lights up almost immediately with an incoming call. An engine purrs behind me. Someone is driving very, very slowly and I duck behind the wall of the church, almost holding my breath as the car crawls past. It seems ages before the sound gets fainter and I uncurl my body, stamp my numb feet. As I stand, I think I see a flash of red disappearing around the corner but I can’t be sure, and I run as fast as I can in the opposite direction, not stopping until I’m home.

U
sually I’m wrenched
from a medically-induced sleep by the trill of the alarm. Not this morning, though. Excitement has nudged me awake early. It’s Thursday. Anna is coming to dinner.

‘Are you asleep?’ I stage-whisper.

‘Not any more.’ Dan pulls a pillow over his head.

‘You will be home on time tonight, won’t you?’

‘Yes. Calm down. It’s only Charlie’s sister. Not the bloody Queen.’

Sister. I hug the word close, as comforting as Dan’s old fleece that I wear around the house. Anna and I have been texting all week. Dan sighs whenever I pick up my phone, but I already feel a strong bond with her. Not a replacement for Charlie of course, but something fresh, a new beginning. I slip out of bed, shower and dress at Olympian speed, bound downstairs and pirouette into the lounge. ‘What shall I cook?’ I ask Charlie, smiling at me from her silver frame on top of the piano.

The kitchen is cast in a daffodil glow. The thin curtains that Grandma made are no match for the early-morning sunshine. I swoosh them open and the birds tweet their good mornings. Everyone is happy today. Mittens purrs, rubbing her face against my legs, as I refresh her water and squeeze a pouch of meat into her bowl, scatter biscuits on the top.

I flick through recipe books as I spoon porridge into my mouth, honey sweet on my tongue. I scribble a list and fuss around the cottage, straightening cushions and refolding throws. It’s still early. If I’m quick, I can call into Waitrose on the way to work.

* * *

I
tilt forward
and push the security buzzer with my nose. The muscles in my arms tremble from the weight of my shopping, plastic bag handles slicing into my palms.

‘Goodness.’ Lyn opens the door as wide as it will go as I inch forward like a cowboy, one hip at a time.

‘Thanks. I didn’t want to put this lot down to find my key.’ I stagger into the staffroom, drop the bags on the floor and massage the indentations on my hands.

Lyn raises an eyebrow at the mountain of food and wine spilling over the lino. ‘Are you sure you’ve bought enough?’

‘Anna’s coming for dinner,’ I say, as though she could forget. I’ve talked of nothing else all week. ‘I daren’t leave this lot in my car all day. Don’t want to poison her.’

‘Not on your first dinner, anyway. It’s probably colder outside at the moment than it is in the fridge.’ Lyn picks up a bottle of Chardonnay as it rolls across the floor. ‘I hope Ofsted don’t turn up to do a spot check today. How much alcohol have you bought?’

‘Just three bottles. I had to buy red, white and rosé, and some orange juice in case she doesn’t want to drink, and sparkling water in case she doesn’t like fruit juice. I got some real coffee too, and herbal teas and after-dinner mints, although I’m sure she won’t touch those. Did I tell you how tiny she was?’

‘Several times.’

I kneel down in front of the tiny staff fridge and Lyn passes me a bag of leaves. I have to pierce the plastic before I can squash it in the fridge.

‘Rocket. Very posh. Look, Grace, I know how much this means to you, but really, if she’s anything like Charlie she won’t want a fuss. A bag of chips and can of lager will do.’

I lean back on my heels, picking up a box of silver candles. ‘Dan says I’m acting like the Queen’s coming to tea.’

‘It’s natural that you want her to like you, that you want that connection to Charlie, but we all love you just as you are. Give Anna the chance to get to know you and she will too.’ Lyn unpacks four shallow glass bowls. ‘What sweet treat is going in these?’

‘They’re finger bowls. We’re having garlic bread.’ I hold up a stray lemon. ‘Too much?’

‘Much too much. Slice the lemon into a gin and chill out a bit?’

‘Shouldn’t we wait until lunchtime or shall we share with the children?’

‘I bet a few mothers would welcome a G&T. Probably not this early, though.’ Lyn checks her watch. ‘It’s time to open up. You finish tidying this lot, Nigella, and I’ll unlock the doors.’

I slot a bottle of balsamic vinegar in the fridge door, wishing I had bought a jar of Hellman’s mayonnaise instead.

* * *

I
paint
my face like a tiger for the kids and spend the day prowling and pouncing. By the time the last mother has left, I’m exhausted. I’m clunking the toys back into their brightly coloured storage tubs that are stacked against the wall when Lyn hefts my shopping – neatly packed back into bags – into the room.

‘Oi. Stripy. I’ll finish up. You get home and iron your napkins.’

‘The butler should already have done it.’ I pull on my coat and fish car keys from my pocket. ‘Thanks, Lyn. I really appreciate it.’

‘Hope it goes well. If it doesn’t, you’ve got enough wine here to drown your sorrows.’

‘And an emergency-sized bar of Dairy Milk. See you tomorrow.’ With the bag handles cutting fresh grooves into my hands, I bustle my way to the car.

* * *

E
verything is ready
. The newly lit candles hiss and flicker before the flames glow tall and strong. Fairy lights twinkle around the lounge window.

‘Can you open the wine?’ I ask Dan.

The cork is pulled with a squeak and a pop.

The doorbell chimes and I rush to answer, smiling brightly as I pull open the door. There’s no one there. I step forward.

‘Anna?’

The lane is dark. Quiet. I shiver and shut the door.

I fill a glass with water and swallow down half a tablet. It’s just because I’m nervous. Anyone would be. The smell of garlic and basil triggers a deep rumble in my stomach: we’ve normally eaten by now. I scroll through my classic iPod before settling on Einaudi,
Islands
. I hum along to the piano music as I polish already gleaming cutlery. There’s a rap on the door and I answer, cloth and knife still in hand.

‘Wow. Is this a rough area?’

‘I was just…’

‘I’m kidding. At least you’re not telling me to fork off.’

Anna steps into the hall, thrusts a box of chocolate-covered Brazil nuts into my hands and brushes a sprinkling of snow from her coat. ‘Something smells delicious.’

‘Spag bol. Is that OK?’

‘One of my favourites.’

‘I’ve gone a bit overboard on the garlic, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s OK. Rest assured I’m not a vampire.’

‘I can tell that by the way you stepped in uninvited.’ I grin. Our friendship feels easy already. Natural. ‘Did you pass anybody on the lane?’

Paranoid Polly
,
Grandma would say.

‘No. There was a car, though.’

I stiffen. ‘What sort?’

‘Don’t know. It was red I think. Why, have you…’ Anna’s speaking; I watch her mouth move and I hear the sounds but I can’t understand what she’s saying. There was a car. A red car. It must be the Corsa from the other day.
Someone is definitely following me.

‘Hello?’ Anna swooshes her hand up and down in front of my eyes. ‘Earth to Grace.’

‘Sorry.’ I plaster over my fear with a smile.

‘I said you’ve not fixed me up with a blind date, have you?’

‘No.’ I remind myself how to act. ‘Come and meet Dan.’ I lead the way into the lounge. Dan stands, hands in pockets, shuffling from one foot to the other.

‘Hello, handsome man.’ Anna opens her arms and Dan half hugs her in that one-armed way you do when you feel uncomfortable. He’s put a shirt on and made an effort, but damp patches are visible under his arms. Poor Dan. He isn’t really a dinner party type of guy.

‘Look what Anna brought.’ I rattle the box.

‘You’re allergic to nuts.’ Dan frowns.

‘I’m sorry. I…’

‘Don’t worry, Anna. It was a lovely thought. Dan will eat them. Drink? Glass of wine?’

‘Please.’

‘I'll get them.’ Dan seems relieved to have something to do. Small talk is not his forte. He returns a minute later with two glasses of white wine and hands one to Anna.

‘Is white OK for you?’ I ask. ‘We have red and rosé too.’

‘I didn’t think to check. Sorry,’ Dan mumbles.

‘It’s OK. White’s my favourite.’ She takes a sip. ‘Better than that paint stripper they served at the pub.’

‘It couldn’t be worse.’ I scrunch my nose as I remember.

‘So, is it rude to ask why you are orange?’

I touch my cheek. Despite my scrubbing with a flannel, the face paint hasn’t quite come off. ‘I was a tiger today.’

Anna grins mischievously. ‘Lucky Dan.’

Dan’s neck turns red and blotchy. I rub his forearm and frown encouragingly at him. I don’t know why he’s being so awkward. I really want this evening to be a success.

‘Anyway, make yourself at home.’ I motion towards the sofa where Mittens is asleep on the faux-fur throw draped over the arm.

‘You have a cat.’

‘Mittens. I’ve had her since she was a kitten.’

‘No Tom or Moppet?’

‘You’re a Beatrix Potter fan?’

‘My dad used to read them to me.’

Memories explode in psychedelic colour. I hurry to the kitchen, lean my hot face against the fridge, trying to cool away the images of Dad and me on my bed, giggling our way through the tale of the naughty kittens.

‘Are you OK?’ Dan stands in the doorway. ‘This was a bad idea. I’ll ask her to leave?’

‘No. I’m fine,’ I say. ‘I’m just tired and over-emotional. I want everything to be perfect.’

An expression I can’t quite read flickers over Dan’s face, and then it is gone.

‘Everything’s good. Honestly. You go and sit with Anna.’

‘I’ll stay and help you.’

‘It’s rude to leave her own her own.’ I half push him towards the door. It doesn’t take long to plate the food up and we cramp around our bistro table, which creaks under huge bowls of pasta, garlic bread and sauce, eating with our elbows pulled firmly into our sides.

‘You’re a good cook,’ says Anna. ‘This sauce is divine. What make is it?’

‘It’s not shop-bought. Grace grows her own herbs,’ says Dan. ‘The garden’s her pride and joy.

‘Very clever. I live on salads. It never seems worth cooking for one.’

‘Well, you look fabulous on it. I’m always saying I need to lose ten pounds. Dan gets bored of hearing it, don’t you, Dan?’

‘I’m sure he likes curvy women, not sticks like me. What do you say, Dan?’

‘I say, I’m going to fetch some cheese.’ Thin-lipped, he rises from his seat. He has hardly touched his food.

‘Very tactful,’ says Anna.

‘He’s learned with age. He wasn’t that sensitive when we met, believe me.’

Dan returns with a bowl of Parmesan.

‘Have you known each other a long time?’ Anna’s expression is quizzical.

I twirl spaghetti. ‘Ages. We met at school. Our first meeting didn’t go well, did it, Dan?’

‘Why?’

Dan groans. ‘That’s a story you really don’t want to hear.’

‘Of course she must. It involves Charlie, too.’ I relay the details of our first meeting. Anna’s eyes widen as she hears how her half-sister took revenge for me.

‘Dan, Dan, the ketchup man,’ she splutters. ‘That’s so funny.’

Dan shrugs. ‘I was only ten. I learned my lesson pretty quickly. Don’t mess around with girls.’

‘No, you shouldn’t.’ Anna scrutinises Dan over her wine glass.