We Were Sisters: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller

by Wendy Clarke

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Where do you think?’

  I see her now, her blonde head luminous in the moonlight. She’s leaning against one of the trunks, her palm pressed against the bark. Caressing it.

  ‘What do you want from me, Freya?’

  Freya looks at me. She steps forward, her hands outstretched. ‘I don’t want anything from you.’

  ‘Then why have you been doing all this? Isabella showed me the newspaper article and I understand why you took her. But why leave the final clue. Why lead me here?’

  A sudden gust of wind shivers the leaves of the trees that ring the clearing and the rope swings slightly. My skin puckers with goosebumps and my pulse thrums at the base of my throat. Have I made a mistake? Was it me Freya wanted to hurt all along?

  Seeing where my eyes have rested, Freya gives a sad smile. ‘You still don’t trust me, do you? You’re frightened of me.’

  My eyes snap to hers. ‘Of course I’m frightened of you. You moved Noah’s pram, you left your locket inside his covers, you put newspapers through my door that I never ordered and you let yourself into my house. I thought I was going mad.’ I’m angry now. ‘You took my child, Freya. How do you expect me to feel now that I’m standing alone with you in this awful place?’

  Freya shakes her head. ‘You’ve got it wrong. You don’t need to be scared. I’m not going to hurt you.’

  ‘Then why bring me here?’

  ‘I wanted to warn you.’

  I’m confused. ‘Warn me about what?’

  ‘Not what… who. I’m talking about that woman – Karen. She’s evil. She duped me into thinking she loved me and she’ll do it again. Even now, she’ll do anything to have that one perfect child. She’ll worm her way back into your life and take yours. Not in the way I did, but she’ll have her ways. She’ll pick a child and turn them against you. Favouring one, making them feel special and loved, while all she’ll offer the other is indifference. When I read your husband’s letters, I knew she’d find where you lived. That she’d reach out to you. I wanted to save your daughters from the pain we both went through.’

  I’m trying to process all the information. Make sense of it. ‘But why go to so much trouble? If you were that concerned, why not just phone me or speak to me in the playground instead of leaving your locket there?’

  ‘Because you wouldn’t have believed me. I had to get your attention. I did it all to remind you of the past. To get you thinking about how bad it was. How much your mother manipulated us. How she duped us both.’ She frowns and folds her arms. ‘The only thing I don’t understand is why they kept you.’

  In the distance I hear my name being called. It’s Mitch. He’s on his way to find me. I look in the direction his voice is coming from, then back to Freya, distracted.

  ‘What do you mean, kept me? I was their daughter.’

  Freya sighs. ‘I didn’t know whether to tell you or not, but when your husband said in his letters that he wanted your kids to know their grandmother, I knew it was time you learnt the truth.’

  ‘The truth about what?’ I supress the urge to run. To find Mitch and get as far away from this place as I can, but an inner voice tells me that what Freya is going to say next is something I need to hear.

  ‘Important documents should always be kept in a locked filing cabinet, don’t you think? Especially ones from the fertility clinic. You see, Kelly, Karen and Andrew couldn’t have children of their own.’

  It’s said without malice, but with those words, my world comes crashing down as I realise everything I’ve known about my childhood has been a lie. I stand, immobile, the shock spreading through me.

  ‘It’s not true. You’re lying.’

  But I know she isn’t. It’s like a jigsaw piece has fallen into place. It explains so much. The way my mother looked at me. The way she acted. When they’d adopted me, my mother must have thought I was the one. I wonder how old I was when it became clear I wasn’t.

  Freya steps forward and holds out her hand. ‘I did it to protect you. Nothing more.’

  A memory stirs and I draw it towards me. I’m eight years old and am staring at a waif-like child who stands in the doorway of our living room – a new sister I conjured up with the blow of a birthday candle. She’s scared and lonely, her life changed beyond recognition by a tragedy I won’t know about, or understand, until many years later. She took my hand that day because she thought she’d found an ally.

  But I let her down.

  I look at Freya’s hand now, reaching out to me in the moonlight. Stepping towards her, I take that hand and hold it tight in mine.

  ‘Karen isn’t evil. She’s just sad and lonely.’ Despite what I’ve just said, I can’t bring myself to call her my mother. Not any more. I look at Freya’s face, carved white in the moonlight. ‘What will you do?’

  She shrugs and smiles. Her bravado back. ‘I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me.’

  I do, though. I always have. ‘Will I ever see you again?’

  She shakes her head. ‘I don’t think so. It’s better this way.’

  There’s the sound of twigs snapping underfoot. A rustle of branches. My name called again.

  Freya turns and walks away, just as Mitch reaches me.

  He pulls me to him. ‘Are you all right? The police are on their way.’

  I force my head around. ‘Freya. Wait…’

  But it’s too late. She’s disappeared between the moonlit trees.

  60

  Kelly Now

  It’s a beautiful day, the sky a clear cobalt blue, the sea below the promenade foaming and hissing up the stones. It’s the first run I’ve had in a while and I’ve missed it.

  For the first time, in a long time, I feel as if life is getting better. I’m going to be starting at the girls’ school as a classroom assistant, in the new year. Just part-time, but it will give me something to focus on outside of my family. It was Mrs Allen who told me about the job as Miss King is leaving to move up north to be with her boyfriend.

  After discussing it with Mitch, I went to see my GP and I’ve already had two sessions with someone who specialises in OCD. She’s told me that a desire to count actions or objects isn’t unusual in people suffering with anxiety. It even has a name – arithmomania. Together, we’re working out a plan to help curb my desire to count, but since my meeting with Freya, things have become a lot better. Sometimes, I wonder if somewhere deep down in my subconscious, I knew that she was still alive. If it was what was triggering my anxiety in the first place.

  Ahead of me is the Palace Pier. Despite the number of people who are milling around the entrance, I see Mitch straightaway, standing with the buggy. A little way away, Sophie and Isabella have their feet on the bottom bar of the blue railings and are inching their way along in a game that’s making them giggle. When he sees me, Mitch waves and calls to the girls who jump down and run to me.

  ‘Look what I’ve got.’ Isabella thrusts a postcard into my hand. It has a picture of the pavilion on it – it’s where we’re going to take them after lunch. ‘Daddy says we can write on it and send it to Gran.’

  I take the postcard from her and look at it, thinking of the letters and photographs Mitch sent to Karen. Not realising the consequences. Freya wanted to warn me against involving my adoptive mother in my life again, but she didn’t know that I’d already pulled away from her. Had already made that choice.

  Mitch and I have talked about it. Decided that when things settle down, we will go and visit Karen – let her know how her behaviour, when I was a child, affected all of us. She should have told me the truth about so many things: my adoption and Freya’s past. Who knows? If she had, it might have helped her too.

  In a strange way, I feel sorry for Karen. She’s never known what it feels like to hold her own baby in her arms and, even though we aren’t her flesh and blood, we are the only family she has. But whatever happens in the future, there will have to be boundaries. I’ll make sure o
f that.

  ‘I think the postcard’s a lovely idea, Izzy,’ I say, handing it back to her.

  Mitch pulls me into a hug. It’s what he wants – for us all to be a family again. If we work at it, I think we’ll be all right. We’re talking more too. It’s something we’ve both taken away from this – the importance of communication. He’s opened up about some of the things that happened when he was at the children’s home and I’ve told him more about my childhood. He listens now. Knowing that it’s not always about fixing but about being there.

  Reaching up, I take my husband’s face in my hands and kiss him, his stubble scratching my skin. Then together, as a family, we make our way along the promenade towards town.

  ‘I forgot to ask,’ Mitch says as we walk. ‘Did you enjoy your run?’

  ‘I did.’

  It’s only now that the pavilion has come into sight, its creamy-white domes looking exotic against the winter sky, that I realise why. On my phone is a message Freya sent me this morning. Two small words that have changed everything.

  Forgive me.

  That simple message will help me find the strength to carry on. What Freya did was terrifying, but she acted out of desperation. She couldn’t help what happened when she was born and how it made her view the world.

  Of course, I forgive you, Freya.

  It’s not just forgiveness, though. Freya’s actions opened my eyes to what happened in my past and how the fallout caused toxic ripples that spread into my future. I should thank her for that. I just hope she receives help to come to terms with her own past.

  I have a feeling I won’t see Freya again, but if I do, I have her locket with me in my bag. I thought of asking Karen for a photograph of the two of us when we were children but have decided against it. Instead, I’ve left the locket empty. I like to think that one day Freya will have someone of her own to love and it will be their face she sees when she undoes the clasp.

  It’s getting dark now, the street lamps flickering on, and as we walk, I realise that for the first time in a long while, I’m not counting the number of steps between them. I look at my family and smile.

  No, the only thing I’m counting is my blessings.

  Want to read another gripping and emotional psychological thriller from Wendy Clarke? Get What She Saw, her unputdownable debut, about how far one mother will go to keep her daughter safe.

  What She Saw

  ‘The twists in this were U-N-B-E-L-I-E-V-A-B-L-E! I've read many thrillers in fact that's my main genre and this one blew them all out of the water… so suspenseful, action packed, dynamic that I stayed up till almost 3am to finish it.’ Goodreads reviewer, 5 stars

  * * *

  How far would you go to keep your daughter safe?

  * * *

  Everyone knows Leona would do anything for her daughter, Beth: she moved to Church Langdon to send Beth to the best school, built a business to support them and found the perfect little cottage to call home. They hike together, shop together, share their hopes and fears. It’s the relationship every mother dreams of.

  * * *

  But Leona never talks about why they moved to the Lake District.

  * * *

  She’s never told Beth anything about her father.

  * * *

  She says Beth should never speak to strangers. She says Beth doesn’t need friends.

  * * *

  She’s only trying to protect her daughter.

  * * *

  When Leona answers the phone one morning, her heart stops as she hears a voice from her past.

  * * *

  She’s given her daughter everything, but now she must tell her the truth. And once it’s out, can she keep her little girl safe?

  * * *

  What She Saw is a gripping psychological thriller with an incredible twist that will make your jaw drop. If you love The Girl on the Train, Gone Girl or Behind Closed Doors you’ll be consumed by this.

  Hear more from Wendy

  Want to keep up to date with Wendy’s latest releases?

  * * *

  Sign up here!

  * * *

  We promise to never share your email with anyone else, and we’ll only contact you when there’s a new book out.

  Books by Wendy Clarke

  What She Saw

  We Were Sisters

  Available in audio

  What She Saw (Available in the UK and the US)

  A Letter from Wendy

  Firstly, I would like to say a huge thank you to everyone who has read We Were Sisters. If writing one novel is exciting, then writing a second is even more so. A writer needs readers and I hope you loved reading We Were Sisters as much as I loved writing it.

  If you did enjoy it and want to keep up to date with all my latest releases, just sign up at the following link. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.

  Sign up here!

  Setting has always played an important role in my writing. In this novel, the action takes place in Brighton, where I used to live, and also in a fictitious village in West Sussex based on the one I live in now. As a dog owner, I walk a lot. One of my favourite walks takes me through a combe where, in the summer months, the grass either side of the path can be nearly waist high. In the distance are the South Downs, a band of woodland stretching out along the ridge, and if you investigate further, you will find a disused rifle range covered in graffiti. The whole area is wonderfully evocative. No wonder I chose to use it.

  For those of you who recognise the location but think things aren’t as they should be… you’d be right! In reality, the area is beautiful: the woodland well-managed, the combe full of orchids in summer and the rifle range cleaned up and undergoing conservation to retain its history. I’ve changed things, moved them around, embellished them to create a sinister place – more in keeping with a thriller. Some would say I’ve used up my quota of artistic licence!

  I hope you loved We Were Sisters and if you did, I would be very grateful if you could write a review. I’d love to hear what you think, and it makes such a difference helping new readers to discover one of my books for the first time.

  I love hearing from my readers – you can get in touch on my Facebook page, through Twitter, Goodreads, Instagram or my website.

  Thanks,

  Wendy x

  www.wendyclarke.uk

  Acknowledgements

  I am so lucky to have a supportive and talented network of people around me and what luck when my editor, Jennifer Hunt, decided that she loved my writing enough to offer me a contract! Not only that, but her help, guidance and editorial skill has helped to make this second novel the best it can be so thank you, Jennifer – being a published author has made me happy beyond my wildest dreams. Thanks also to Kim Nash and Noelle Holten for their tireless work getting the novel in front of readers and the rest of the Bookouture team for their support. I know when I’ve landed on my feet!

  As always, I need to give special thanks to my fabulous writing buddy, Tracy Fells, who’s shared this journey with me – the highs and lows, the times when I’ve wanted to scream and the times I’ve wanted to shout with joy. Many mugs of coffee have been drunk, many teacakes eaten… none of them in vain. Thanks also to fellow Bookouture author, Liz Eeles, who must be sick of my constant questions, and my other lovely RNA writing chums. Where would I be without our monthly catch-up and writerly chat?

  Not all the people I know are writers of course and I’d like to thank ‘The Friday Girls’, Carol, Barbara, Jill, Linda and Helen for their friendship. Every week, for more years than I care to remember, we’ve walked the route my heroine, Kelly, runs when she’s a teenager. I bet you never knew our weekly forays would make it into a novel!

  Thanks also to local ecologist, Petra Billings, who gave up her time to talk me through the flora and fauna of the downland. Even though only a small amount of the information was used, I’ve learnt so much and now no one can say I had cow parsley growing in
the wrong place!

  My family are the people who make it all worthwhile – my children, my stepchildren and their partners, and my mum. My husband is probably thinking I’ve forgotten him, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s the one who acts as a sounding board when I’m thrashing out my plots, who isn’t scared to tell me when I’ve written rubbish and, just as importantly, when I haven’t. Thank you, Ian!

  Published by Bookouture in 2019

  * * *

  An imprint of StoryFire Ltd.

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  * * *

  www.bookouture.com

  * * *

  Copyright © Wendy Clarke, 2019

  * * *

  Wendy Clarke has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.