The Sisters (34 page)

Her stomach drops. ‘Why did you lie to her?’

‘So that she would come back. If I can talk to her, explain, I can make her see …’ His voice trails off and he stares at the phone in his hands. When he looks up at her again she takes a step back from the bleakness in his eyes. ‘She knows.’

Beatrice gulps. ‘Knows what?’

‘Everything,’ he says, in a monotone that is beginning to alarm her.

It is as though Beatrice’s windpipe is narrowing. She tries to keep the panic from her voice. ‘How can she know everything, Ben? It’s impossible.’

‘I’ve tried to stop her finding out,’ he continues, still in the same eerily calm voice. ‘It was my worst fear. You were the only thing I couldn’t control, Bea. I was scared you were going to tell her.’ He turns again to the window, as if searching for answers in the stormy night.

‘Me?’ she laughs nervously. ‘Why would I tell her?’

He turns to look at her again, kneeling on the floor in front of him now, but she can’t read his expression, his face is concealed by shadows. The only light in the room comes from the full moon outside. ‘You never had anything to lose, did you? Except me.’

‘I didn’t tell her, I promise.’

He carries on as if she hasn’t spoken. ‘I know you’re in love with me and I think it’s fucking disgusting. I hate what we did, I hate having to look at you, to be reminded. And then I meet her, so beautiful, so precious, so vulnerable, and there you are with your jealousy and put-downs, always reminding me that I have to play along if I want to live in your fucking house, have your fucking money, otherwise you might spill the beans.’ His voice is gradually rising, spit forms in the corners of his mouth.

She can’t help herself. She laughs bitterly. ‘You’re joking, surely? Ben, don’t you see? You’ve chosen a woman who looks exactly. Like. Me.’

He frowns as if it’s occurring to him now.

‘And I wouldn’t have spilled the beans, I wouldn’t …’ She trails off, anger spent as she contemplates their situation.

He shakes his head although he doesn’t take his eyes off her. ‘I couldn’t take the risk. Especially when the two of you seemed so friendly. I had to keep you both apart.’

Then it hits her why Abi really left, what she was talking about the other day when she walked out. ‘You did it all, didn’t you? You stole my bracelet and her letters, you wanted her to believe that I had it in for her, that I was jealous of your relationship. And you wanted me to believe she was jealous of ours. Is that why you wanted to go to the Isle of Wight that day? I didn’t know that’s where Abi was, but you did. She saw me on the wall – did you plan that, Ben? Was it another mindfuck? Did you plant that photograph too? And send the flowers? What about that dead bird on her bed? I had my doubts Sebby would do such a thing, but I thought I was wrong. Oh my God, Ben that’s … that’s so sick.’

He laughs. But it’s a laugh devoid of humour and it scares her more than anything else has tonight.

‘It wasn’t hard to do. You made it even easier with your possessiveness.’

It hurts to hear the venomous way he’s talking to her. Does he hate her that much? ‘You’re right, I am possessive – because I love you. I’m in love with you, I can’t help it. I’ve tried to see you as my twin brother, but I can’t, I can’t …’ she sobs, her whole body convulsing at finally being able to say the ugly truth. ‘I want you so, so much. And I know you love me too. That’s why you chose her, don’t you see? Because you actually want
me
but you can’t have me so you chose the next best thing, someone who looks like me, someone—’

‘Shut up,’ he says.

She stands up so that she’s towering over him, tears and snot running down her face. ‘Don’t you think I feel fucking guilty too, Ben? Don’t you think I worry about what will happen to me? It’s against the law, what we’ve done. But I don’t care any more. I love you and I want to be with you—’

‘I said SHUT UP,’ he screams, jumping up and grabbing her by the wrists, shaking her. ‘Shut your fucking disgusting mouth.’

‘Stop it. Ben, stop it, you’re hurting me,’ she pleads, a ricochet of fear making her tremble. ‘Please, I want to be able to move on too. I don’t want to love you this way.’

‘You’ll never let me go, will you?’ He says through clenched teeth. He yanks her away from the bed towards the balcony. When he next speaks his voice is once again calm, detached – terrifying. ‘I’m sorry, Beatrice, but I have to do this. I have to end this ridiculous situation and then there will be no more secrets. No more lies.’ And it occurs to her, for the first time ever, that he could cause her physical harm.

She screams for him to stop as he drags her on to the Juliet balcony, pleads with him as he pushes her hard against the metal railings, and she kicks out at him, tries to strike him in the shins, but he’s so tall, so strong and she’s unable to stop the blow to the head that makes her cry out, causing her eyes to lose focus; she’s unable to prevent his hands from clamping her throat; and as he presses his fingers around her windpipe she finds she’s unable to make any sound at all.

Chapter Thirty-Four

It’s raining as I step out of the taxi and pay the driver. I stand at the wrought-iron gate and watch as it creeps away into the dark night. I pull the hood of my parka over my head and look up at Beatrice’s house. I’ve always thought of it as her house and now I know why. It never belonged to Ben. It still makes me queasy when I think of the secret they were so desperate to hide. Incest, the ultimate taboo, and I’ve been living alongside it, unaware, for months. Paul had assured me that it was all a long time ago, before they even knew they were related, but how can I be sure? How can any girlfriend Ben has in the future ever be sure? They had a sexual relationship before they discovered they weren’t merely brother and sister but twins. Not surprising they are so messed up and that Ben went to such great lengths to ensure I never found out.

The sash windows look dark, opaque, and the shutters are open. When I rang Ben earlier he told me he was away with work and that Beatrice was in Frome with Pam and Cass, visiting friends. His voice was distant on the phone, no more pleas for me to return, no more declarations of love. He didn’t even react when I told him I knew what he’d done, the secret he was trying to protect. It was as if the fight had gone out of him. As if he no longer cared about losing me.

After I put the phone down on Ben, I told Nia I was returning to the house. She urged me to wait until Monday, so she could come with me. ‘I’m on weekend duty,’ she explained, wringing her hands. But I assured her I’d be fine, that Ben was away so I wouldn’t have to face him. My plan now is to grab the rest of my stuff and then take a taxi to Mum and Dad’s.

I turn my key in the lock and let myself into the dark hallway, dumping my bag on the doormat and shouldering off my wet coat. I flick the switch, blinking as my eyes adjust to the light, nausea rising when I see Beatrice’s leopard-print pumps sitting neatly beside Ben’s black Chelsea boots. I never want to see either of them again. I tear my eyes away from their footwear and shiver. I’m cold to the bone. I’ve been sitting in my damp clothes for the two-hour journey from London and my jeans are sticking to my legs. I peel them off and wriggle out of my long-sleeved top so that I’m standing in the hall in my underwear. I bend down to rummage through my holdall for something, anything, to put on when I hear it.

A bang. Coming from above my head. Ben’s room.

I stand up, my heart racing, and listen. Was I mistaken? Nothing. Then I hear a miaow and see Sebby padding down the stairs and my whole body relaxes. It’s only the damn cat. I bend over my holdall again and pull out the first thing that comes to hand. Ironic, I think, as the silky material runs through my fingers. Beatrice’s green Alice Temperley dress. I throw it over my head, inhaling her scent as I do so. Parma violets. And I remember how Ben had stared at me that night in the drawing room when I first wore this dress, how he urged me not to let his sister turn me into her clone. How Maria had stopped me in the street, thinking that I was Beatrice. And it hits me: Ben was attracted to me because I look like his sister.

I stare at myself in the gilt-framed mirror above the radiator.

‘Oh my God,’ I say to my reflection, and I’m filled with revulsion.
He fancied me, he wanted me, because I resemble her, the one woman he couldn’t have.
I recall the sex: it was mind-blowing. Was it because he was thinking of her when he was with me? The room spins and I hold on to the pink radiator, wondering if I’m going to faint.

Another bang, louder this time, and my heart jumps into my throat. Someone’s upstairs. I freeze and for a second I contemplate grabbing my bag and running out into the wet night. But Ben is not here, and it might be Cass or Pam, or even Beatrice. I’ve been living here for four months. What am I afraid of?

I hear Paul’s voice, low and urgent. A warning.
When he’s backed into a corner, he can be dangerous.

Ben is
not
here, I remind myself. He told me he was away with work. I tell myself not to be so pathetic and, once I’ve locked and bolted the front door and thrown the keys into the china bowl, I grab my holdall and head up the stairs to my bedroom.

I’m nearly at the top step when I see him. He’s standing on the landing, outside the drawing room, casting a long dark shadow over me. I freeze and drop my bag in shock. I can hear it bumping down the stairs, spilling its contents all over the stone steps and floor. ‘Beatrice?’ he says. His voice is almost unrecognisable. He sounds confused and even in the half-light I can see his face is deathly pale.

‘It’s me, Abi,’ I say and he frowns, appraising me in Beatrice’s dress. I make an effort to keep my voice light. ‘I thought you were away. With work.’
It’s only Ben,
I think.
He’s still the man who said he loved me, who shared my bed. Surely he wouldn’t hurt me?

He stares at me, shaking his head, as if trying to dislodge an unpleasant thought or image from his mind.

‘Abi,’ he says, with a dismissive sniff. ‘Of course.’ He seems distracted, slightly confused.

‘Do you want me to leave?’ I say, hopefully, grabbing the banister, a glass petal from the fairy lights digging into the palm of my hand. I don’t even notice the pain.

To my dismay he shakes his head and rubs his hand through his sandy hair. ‘No, don’t leave. I’m sorry, I lied to you. I wanted you to come home and I knew you wouldn’t if you thought I was here.’

He’s right about that.

I turn to look behind me. At the door I’ve locked and bolted, at my bag, which has landed at the bottom of the stairs, at my mobile phone which has fallen out of the pocket, and for a split second I consider making a run for it. I tell myself I’m being ridiculous. Paul has unnerved me, that’s all. I’m sure Ben isn’t as bad as he’s made out. Maybe Paul’s jealous of Ben, felt in his shadow, I know how that can feel, after all. But then I think of all the horrible things Ben has done to me since I moved in. How he manipulated me, scared me, played with my already-fragile mind, and I know his actions are that of a twisted man. A fresh wave of revulsion washes over me.

But I have to play the game. ‘Maybe we should talk?’ I say, knowing there is nothing he could say that would excuse what he’s done, all the lies he’s told.

For a second he looks hopeful, switching to disbelieving. ‘You want to?’

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Why don’t I meet you in the kitchen? I need to get a cardigan from my room, I’m freezing.’

He stands aside to let me pass him on the landing, his face relaxing with relief. ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ he says, flashing me his usual lopsided, charming smile.

Whereas once it would have made my stomach flutter with lust, now it turns me cold. Somehow I have to make him believe that everything is normal, until I figure out what I’m going to do.

‘I’ll be five minutes,’ I say, trying to smile back, although it comes out more as a grimace.

My skin crawls as he brushes his lips against my cheek and I watch as he descends the stairs, as he bends over to pick up the detritus that has fallen out of my bag. He places my mobile phone on the table next to the keys and I’m shocked that he can act as though nothing has happened, as if he wasn’t the one responsible for the flowers, the photograph, the nasty Facebook stuff. He’s a very talented actor, I think as I watch him. It’s as if he has no conscience, feels no guilt.

When he’s out of sight, I dart past the drawing room and up the next flight of stairs to the bedrooms.
I’ll grab the rest of my stuff and get out of here,
I think, trying to contain my rising panic. It will be fine as long as I keep calm. As long as Ben thinks everything is normal between us. I click on the landing light. I’m less jittery now that I’m no longer in the dark.

The door to Ben’s bedroom is ajar, giving me a view of his balcony. I can see that he’s left his French windows wide open, the white curtains flapping in the wind like two ghosts, letting in the rain, which has caused a dark stain on the carpet.

I’m about to turn away and head for my room, when I freeze. There’s a foot. A bare foot and leg, just visible from behind the French doors, illuminated by the full moon. I know it’s Beatrice’s by the tattoo of a daisy that weaves its way around her ankle, and with a sickening thud in the pit of my stomach I’m suddenly aware that the dark stain on the carpet isn’t rain, it’s blood. A chill runs through me.