The Silent Sister

by Shalini Boland

  ‘You’d be the kind of boyfriend who respected my wishes.’ Yes, I would love to have Joe by my side as support. But this is Emma we’re talking about. I can’t have the issue of her and Joe clouding whatever’s going on here. I won’t feel comfortable with him there too. And I can’t trust him to stay silently waiting in the car while I speak to her. I know what he’s like – he won’t be able to help himself. He’ll come swaggering into the pub shooting his mouth off.

  ‘Sorry, Joe, but the answer’s no. I’ll be fine on my own.’

  ‘Lizzy—’ His teeth and fists are clenched, but I won’t be bullied into changing my mind.

  ‘I said, I’ll be fine.’

  But as I leave the house and lock myself inside my car, I feel anything but fine.

  Thirty

  The drive is tense. As well as the shock of the letter, and the fact that my sister is somehow connected to all this, I can’t get the argument with Joe out of my head. Was I too harsh on him? After all, he was only trying to be supportive. I resolve to make it up to him when I get home.

  Despite using Google Maps to set the destination on my phone, my concentration is so poor that I still end up taking several wrong turnings. The fastest route to the pub in Grittleton is along a twisting B-road with very little traffic. I’m making good time, but the emptiness of the road is giving me the serious jitters, especially as there’s one car behind me – too far back to see who’s driving. All I can tell is that it’s red. Every time I press the brakes, they slow down too. When I speed up, so do they.

  I check the petrol gauge – half-full, so no worries there. But Google Maps is seriously depleting my phone’s battery life. It’s on 31 per cent and going down rapidly. I can’t lose communication with Joe. Or the police, for that matter. Sod it. I switch off Maps and decide to use good old-fashioned road signs instead.

  Finally, I hit the turn-off to Grittleton, relieved to note that the car behind me keeps going straight on by. I pass some kind of walled manor house on my right and then overshoot the pub which sits on the left, its front garden a riot of floral arrangements and customers on picnic benches. There’s plenty of street parking, so I pull into the first space I see and unpeel my fingers from the steering wheel. All that bravado in front of Joe about being fine, well, it was a complete load of rubbish. I’m sweating, my left leg is still quivering and my throat feels like there’s a snake wrapped around it. That drive was a complete stress-fest. I throw a glance behind me, but there are no cars approaching. No people either. Apart from the laughter and chatter filtering down from the pub, the road is quiet and empty.

  Still feeling guilty about yelling at Joe earlier, I send him a text to let him know I’ve arrived safely, and then I check the time. It’s taken me less than twenty minutes to get here. Emma won’t be along for at least another half hour. I don’t fancy sitting in a strange pub by myself, so I decide to wait in the car.

  Turns out I don’t have to wait long. Fifteen minutes later, my phone buzzes. It’s Emma:

  I’m here

  I look out the back window but don’t see a car coming down the road.

  Where?

  * * *

  Inside at the bar

  I must have missed her arrival.

  See you in a sec

  Taking a breath, I get out of the car and stretch out the kinks in my neck. I don’t know how I feel about meeting up with Emma. Aside from the fact that I haven’t spoken to her in years, I still haven’t forgiven her for trying to steal Joe. But I have to put all that out of my head. This whole stalker situation is worse than her betrayal. This could be our lives at stake. But how do I know if I can believe her?

  I lock the car and walk back towards the stone inn, up a few steps and past the people sitting in the front garden. The front door has been propped open and I walk straight into a cosy bar area criss-crossed by busy staff carrying trays of food and drinks. I spot Emma straight away. She’s standing at the bar talking to a barman, her auburn hair glowing in a shaft of light from the open door. Instantly I think back to that day in Bristol when I saw that girl disappear into the crowd. A girl who looked remarkably like my sister. I stop where I am. This was a mistake. Joe was right. I shouldn’t have come. I should never have agreed to meet her. Maybe I should just turn around and leave. Text her some excuse.

  But it’s too late. She turns at my approach. We stare at one another for a moment. Her chin and forehead are a mass of scabs. She must have noticed that my face is as scratched up as hers.

  ‘Want a drink?’ she asks.

  ‘Lime and soda with ice and lemon please,’ I reply, my voice not sounding like my own. The implications of Emma’s injuries are clear. Did she get pushed in front of a car, too? Is she going through the same nightmare as me?

  As she gives our order to the barman, I take in the rest of Emma’s appearance. Tailored trousers and a fitted white shirt – her work clothes, minus the lab coat. But she still manages to look chic. I feel large, clumsy and over the top next to her.

  We take our drinks to a quiet table towards the back of the bar. No one is sitting inside this evening. It’s just us and the bar staff.

  ‘Did you bring the letter?’ Emma asks as we take our places opposite one another.

  I slide out the sandwich bag and lay it on the table. She produces a similar letter in a similar plastic bag and sets it beside mine. I gawp at the name, Lizzy Beresford.

  ‘So it really wasn’t you?’ I ask, unable to help myself.

  ‘What wasn’t me?’ Then, Emma’s mouth drops open. ‘You thought I sent the letters? Thanks a lot, Lizzy. We might not be close any more, but that doesn’t mean… I can’t believe you could even ask me that!’

  ‘I’m sorry. But, well, we haven’t exactly been the best of friends,’ I reply, unable to help myself. If I’m not careful, this meeting is going to degenerate into a shouting match where one or both of us end up storming out. I try to steady my breathing and slow my heart rate. ‘Okay, so let’s not talk about all that,’ I say.

  ‘You were the one who brought it up.’ She takes a sip of her drink. ‘Anyway, if your face is anything to go by, it looks like whoever’s responsible attacked you too.’

  ‘Fine. Let’s talk about the letters,’ I say.

  ‘That’s what we’re here for,’ she says.

  I decide to play along and act as though I believe she’s telling the truth. ‘Do you think they mixed up the letters? Or that they sent us the wrong ones on purpose?’

  ‘I can’t imagine they would make a mistake like that,’ Emma replies. ‘Pretty sure they wanted us to know they’re targeting both of us. Especially as it said the word sister.’

  I nod slowly, thinking that what she’s saying makes sense.

  ‘When did you receive your very first letter?’ Emma asks.

  I take a few gulps of my lime and soda and then tell her about how it all started.

  ‘What did the letter say?’ she asks.

  ‘You’re my only obsession.’

  ‘I got mine a couple of days after that,’ she says. ‘Nothing as creepy as yours, though. Just a letter left in our mailbox. It was addressed to me and said exactly the same thing: You’re my only obsession. Which is obviously not true, because it looks like they’re obsessed with both of us.’

  Something occurs to me. ‘Do you think other people might be getting the letters?’

  ‘Besides me and you?’ Emma asks. ‘I don’t know. No, I don’t think so. The sister thing makes me think it’s just us.’

  ‘Maybe it’s someone we went to school with,’ I say, stirring the crushed ice in my drink with my straw. ‘Someone from our past.’

  ‘Did they do that?’ she asks, pointing to my face.

  My skin crawls as I remember the two hands at my back. Bile stings the back of my throat and I push the glass of lime and soda away, slide my hands between my thighs to stop them shaking. ‘They pushed me off the pavement onto the road.’ I take a breath. ‘Luckily, the guy in the oncom
ing car had fast reactions and braked before… before hitting me.’

  ‘Shit. Lizzy, that’s terrible.’ Emma looks genuinely appalled.

  ‘What about you?’ I ask. ‘Looks like you’ve got yourself a scabby beard.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Sorry, I was just trying to…’ I tail off and give a shrug. ‘Anyway, what happened?’

  She stares at the table, making marks in the condensation with her forefinger. ‘I was out with some friends last Friday evening, people from work. I didn’t stay out late. Didn’t even drink any alcohol. But it was getting dark when I walked back to my car. I was only parked five minutes away from the bar. Stupid of me. I even turned down the offer of a couple of friends to accompany me. Don’t know why I did that – pride or something? Not wanting to put them out? The truth was, as I walked to my car I was terrified. I’d been getting the letters and I knew someone had been watching me. But I told myself I’d be okay. I walked quickly, had my keys out ready.

  ‘Anyway, I was just outside the multistorey car park when someone came up behind me and shoved me really hard. Knocked me to the ground. And then they ran off. I didn’t even get a look at them. Just saw they were wearing black trainers and grey joggers. That’s it. I knew it was them immediately.’ Her voice wavers. ‘They didn’t take my purse or my phone. They wanted to scare me. Hurt me. It worked.’

  Emma’s hardness has evaporated, her eyes fill with tears and her face is properly white like the two sheets of paper on the table. If this was anybody else, I would stand up and walk around the table to give her a hug. But this is Emma, the sister I haven’t spoken to in years. And I can’t ignore what she did. I don’t know why we’ve never talked about it properly. Never had a blazing row where she apologised. Hardly even mentioned it.

  ‘Sorry that happened to you, Emma,’ I say. ‘You must have been terrified.’

  ‘There’s other stuff that’s happened,’ she says. ‘Other letters. They also wrote a message in lipstick on the windscreen of my car.’

  ‘What did it say?’

  She shakes her head. ‘I… can’t repeat it. It’s too vile.’

  ‘Did you tell the police?’ I ask, wondering what could be so awful that she can’t tell me.

  ‘Of course I told them. Did you?’

  I nod. ‘I wonder why they haven’t put two and two together? Surely our cases are so similar that they would have matched them up?’

  ‘Different policing departments?’ she suggests. ‘Bristol comes under Somerset. You’re in Wiltshire. Could be something like that.’

  ‘I thought they shared databases these days.’

  ‘We should call them,’ Emma says.

  I’m pulling my phone out of my bag when a familiar voice behind me makes me start.

  ‘Lizzy? What are you doing here?’

  Thirty-One

  Emma looks up at whoever is behind me, and I turn to see Pippa’s bemused face staring down at me.

  ‘Pippa?’ I cry. ‘What are you doing here?’ I realise I don’t sound very friendly, but it’s quite a coincidence to see her here at the same time as me. Especially after what’s just happened.

  ‘I was about to ask you the same thing,’ she replies. ‘And is this… is that you, Emma?’

  Emma frowns and then smiles as recognition dawns. ‘Pippa Hargreaves? From dance classes?’

  ‘How are you?’ Pippa comes around the table to give Emma a hug. ‘Haven’t seen you for yonks. Not since we were teenagers.’

  ‘Must be at least… fifteen years,’ Emma says.

  ‘I work with Lizzy now. Or rather for Lizzy.’ Pippa raises an eyebrow and squeezes my shoulder.

  ‘How come you’re here, Pippa?’ I ask again.

  ‘I’ve come for a drink with Sebbie. He’s brought me here to cheer me up after Toby dumped me. I’ve been a right old misery guts.’

  ‘Seb’s here?’ My palms begin to sweat.

  ‘At the bar.’

  I glance over, see his broad back as he waits to order. This is beyond strange. He was in Bristol at the same time I was pushed into the road, and now he’s here, in this out-of-the-way pub at the same time as me and Emma.

  ‘Don’t suppose you girlies fancy some company?’ Pippa asks, gesturing to the two free chairs at our table.

  ‘Any other time would’ve been lovely, Pip, but Emma and I are here to discuss some important family stuff.’

  Pippa raises her hands. ‘Say no more. We’ll keep out of your hair. Lovely to see you, Emma. We’ll have to catch up another time.’

  ‘Sure,’ Emma replies. ‘That would be great.’

  Pippa walks back to the bar, leaving me shaken.

  ‘We should leave,’ I hiss across the table to Emma.

  ‘Leave? Why? We’ve only just got here.’ She scratches her cheek. ‘Is it because Pippa’s here? Does she know what’s been going on?’

  ‘Some of it.’ I lean forward. ‘But it’s not her I’m worried about. I don’t trust her brother.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He “just happened” to be in Bristol at the same time I was pushed into the road, and now he “just happens” to show up here…’

  ‘Shit.’ Emma leans back in her chair, inhaling deeply. ‘But why would he do it? What’s the reason?’

  ‘I don’t know. A misplaced crush?’

  ‘What? On both of us? I doubt it. I’ve never even met the guy.’

  ‘You have,’ I correct her. ‘He used to be there every week, waiting with his mum while we were at the dance studio.’

  ‘He was just a kid back then.’

  ‘Yeah, but he’s not a kid any more,’ I say through clenched teeth. ‘I can’t stay here, not while he’s here too.’

  ‘You really want to leave?’ Emma asks. ‘We haven’t even talked properly.’

  My mind is racing. I’m glad I convinced Joe to stay at home, because if he was here, he would have confronted Seb by now and I know how that conversation would have ended up. ‘I’m not staying.’

  ‘Fine,’ Emma says. ‘Let’s go. We need to report today’s letters to the police anyway.’

  ‘Why don’t you follow me to Malmesbury?’ I suggest. ‘We can go to the police station together. Tell them about the letters… and about Seb.’

  Emma downs the rest of her drink and nods. ‘Okay.’ She gets to her feet.

  ‘Hang on,’ I say, motioning her to sit back down. ‘I don’t want Seb or Pippa to see us leaving.’ I angle my chair round so I can see the siblings out of the corner of my eye. They’re still waiting at the bar, their backs to us. ‘Okay, quickly, while they’re getting their drinks, let’s go.’

  Swiftly and silently, Emma and I gather our things and walk out of the pub. Once outside, we pick up our pace and almost race across the front patio and down onto the pavement.

  ‘Where are you parked?’ I gasp, jamming my hands into my armpits, hugging myself tight.

  ‘Car park,’ she whispers, glancing behind us. She looks as scared as I feel. Either she’s as nervous about Seb as I am, or she’s a bloody good actor.

  ‘I’m parked on the road. I’ll turn round and you can follow me back. My car’s a red Polo.’

  ‘I’m in a grey Prius.’

  Of course she is. Even her car is perfect. But that doesn’t matter any more. Not now I’ve got my sister back after all these years. I never thought it would ever happen and it’s only now I’m realising just how much I’ve missed her. It looks like I’m going to have to keep us both from harm. I jog back to my car, casting constant glances behind me. I fumble with my car keys, eventually falling into the driver’s seat and slamming the door, my heart racing, skin prickling. I bang down the lock and take a breath. I’d better get going, in case Emma’s already in her car waiting for me. I pull out into the road and immediately stall the engine. With shaking fingers, I restart the car. If I don’t want to have a road accident, I’d better calm down. I take a breath and tell myself it’s just a coincidence that Seb and Pippa are her
e. I tell myself that everything is going to be okay. I’m going to drive calmly to the police station, and once I’m there, I’ll tell them all my suspicions. Hopefully they’ll be able to help me work out just what the hell is going on.

  * * *

  My sister and I park up outside the front of Malmesbury Police Station, a long, low, Cotswold stone building on the outskirts of town. The drive back from the pub went by in a blur of adrenalin. Could Sebastian Hargreaves really be our stalker? But then why would he have brought Pippa with him to the pub? And why let Emma and I see him there in plain view? I can’t seem to think straight any more.

  The station smells faintly of mould and antiseptic, and the air inside is cool, drying the faint layer of perspiration on my body. I shiver, rubbing at my goose-bumped arms, wishing I’d brought a cardigan. The lobby is empty – must be a slow crime day in Malmesbury.

  We walk up to the front counter together and I ask for Sergeant Llewellyn. The officer behind the desk tells me Llewellyn is due to start her shift in about ten minutes, so Emma and I take a seat, turning down his offer to speak to another officer. The seconds drag as we wait. The lobby is too quiet and exposed to have a conversation, so Emma and I sit in silence. She’s texting, and I’m alternating between staring at the wall clock and watching the front door.

  Fifteen minutes later, Llewellyn emerges, not through the front door, but down a corridor at the far end of the lobby.

  ‘Lizzy,’ she says, coming closer. ‘I heard you were here. How are you? Has something else happened? Hope you haven’t been waiting too long.’ She runs a hand through her short hair.

  ‘Hi.’ I get to my feet along with Emma, who slides her phone into her bag. ‘This is my sister, Emma. Emma, this is Sergeant Jenny Llewellyn, who’s been dealing with my case.’