The Sister's Secret

by Penny Kline

  The rain had stopped but he was walking fast while looking all about him, almost as if he had anticipated being followed. Had he seen her? Plenty of people had red hair and she had been right at the back, out of sight. It was dark, and she was the last person in the world he would be expecting to see. Her car was parked on a meter, it had taken all her change and was still in danger of running out, but his could be anywhere, in a multi-storey or several blocks away where there was no need to pay. Or he might be within walking distance of where he lived, or he might jump onto a bus. With her eyes fixed on his receding figure, she climbed into her car, did a lightning U-turn, and began slowly moving up the hill, ignoring the hooting drivers behind her.

  Ahead of her, he crossed the road and started down a side street, where she was in time to see him unlock a bike, attached to a lamppost. Now what? She had gone past the turning and the traffic was far too thick to risk another U-turn. Perhaps he lived on the other side of the gorge, in Leigh Woods or even in a village a few miles out of the city. If it was a village, surely he would use his car, except he had always been a fitness fanatic. Before she left the basement, she should have studied her map more carefully. Now, she had lost her sense of direction.

  Because of the traffic lane she had selected, she was obliged to take an exit to the left. Did it lead to the Suspension Bridge? She crossed a mini-roundabout and carried straight on, following the car in front for want of anything better to do. Quite soon, it turned to the right and a few minutes later a large expanse of grass came into view. The edge of the Downs? Ahead of her, she thought she could see the back light of a bike, and beyond it, the bridge. The city was overflowing with cyclists, but fewer of them at this time of night.

  When she reached the bridge, she discovered there was a toll and she was forced to hold up other drivers as she searched for some money. Come on, come on, if it was him, he would have reached the other side by now. Dropping a coin in the box, she crossed over, glancing down at the eerily lit up water, then drove on, taking the next turning on the left, which she calculated would take her back to the centre. A waste of time, but not quite since she now knew for certain he was in the city and rode a bike, and those two small pieces of information were enough to convince her she was going to accomplish her mission.

  Chapter 13

  Erin had slept badly, but still woke early, and lying in bed meant her brain raced. Who was the man in the mortuary and why had no one come forward to identify him? Thousands of people went missing every year and now Ollie was one of them. Was it because he suspected the baby was not his? Perhaps he knew for certain and was afraid of being saddled with someone else’s child. But if Ollie was not the father, who was? Hoshi, the ex-student who had decorated Claudia’s loft? For all Erin knew, he was only one of half a dozen young men Claudia had collected.

  Speculations were useless with so little information to go on. She decided to have a bath. It was silly, if understandable, that so far she had not made use of Claudia’s bathroom. It needed updating but, compared with what she had in the loft, was luxurious. The bath was surrounded by sea blue tiles and, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror above the basin, she was shocked at how strained she looked. A deep, hot bath would do her good. No curtain, but the glass was opaque so all anyone could see would be the vague, wobbly outline of a naked body.

  Pulling open the cupboard on the wall, she was surprised to see how much medication it contained. The usual painkillers, plus tubes of antiseptic cream and sting relief, indigestion mixture, cough syrup, fast acting gel for mouth ulcers, a roll of white bandage and two thermometers. Erin’s thoughts rushed forward to when the baby was born. What would she need? Cream to prevent nappy rash, special shampoo designed not to sting your eyes, and she thought there was something called baby oil. She pictured herself swaddling the baby in a warm towel and carrying her to a changing mat where she could dress her in a fresh sleep suit.

  Please God, let her be all right.

  Lying back in the pleasantly scented water, she attempted to clear her head of its confusion. She would have her hair cut, that always made her feel better, and buy a warmer coat. What with? In London she had supplemented her income from the illustrations with a part-time job in a local gift shop. Perhaps she could find one in Bristol. No, not yet, not until . . . She thought about the roll of notes in Claudia’s desk and almost convinced herself she had a right to it, but when Ollie returned he would expect the money to be intact, and telling him she had needed it for bills would be a feeble excuse for what in fact would be theft. If Ollie returned,

  Claudia had not stinted herself on bathroom preparations. Transparent green soap, chamomile bath oil, three different brands of shampoo and two of conditioner. There was even a yellow duck with a red beak. Too soon for the baby so Claudia must have been given it as present. By Ollie?

  After washing herself with the soap, Erin relaxed for several minutes, then stepped out of the water and reached for a towel, only to jump back into the water when she saw a shadowy shape outside the window. She was on the first floor. No one could climb up that high. Unless it was window cleaner with a ladder. Would Claudia have employed a window cleaner? If she had, it was the first time he had put in an appearance. She must have imagined it. A bird had flown past. Yes, that was what it had been, a large bird, a seagull perhaps, distorted by the frosted glass.

  Back in the loft, she returned to her drawing of a long-haired guinea pig. The guinea pigs were described in detail, but the text provided no description of Mrs Moffatt, the owner of the pet shop, so Erin had created a small, round figure, the grandmother she lacked and would have valued a lot just now. What do you think, Mrs Moffatt? What would you do? Crazy, like a child inventing an imaginary friend, but loss did strange things to you. Not just the loss of Claudia. The future she had planned with Declan, and the child she had longed for.

  The long-haired guinea pig was preening itself and in the next cage, a group of rabbits looked on with supercilious expressions. Rabbits never have supercilious expressions, and it was not a cartoon, so it was taking some ingenuity to imply their expressions while maintaining their rabbitiness.

  The visit to the mortuary had taken it out of her, and drawing came as a relief. Sometimes she surprised herself how immersed she became in her work, but never for very long. Putting down her pen, she stood up to stretch her legs, torn between liking the compactness of the flat and wishing she had more space. Was the baby doing well? How much were they telling her? She trusted the nurse called Andrea, but she could have been told to put a hopeful angle on things. Erin’s thoughts alternated between the baby, Ollie, and the accident and whether someone had held a grudge against Claudia. Someone who was angry enough to want her dead?

  In the night, it had rained heavily, pattering against the dormer window. Now it was showery, fine one moment, overcast the next. Unable to concentrate, she decided to talk to Ava. She knew something – Erin was sure of it – and, if she could convince her how worried she was, she might feel compelled to help.

  Her phone rang. It was Jon.

  ‘Just checking to make sure you’re all right.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ He had phoned the previous evening and she had told him about the mortuary but played down how much it had shaken her.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘On my way out.’ Better not to tell him where she was going. ‘To buy food.’

  ‘I’ll be away for a couple of days at a conference in Manchester, but you can ring my mobile if you need me.’

  If she needed him? And then what would he do? ‘You mean, if Ollie comes back?’

  ‘You’ve no idea how much good Maeve’s lessons are doing. She spends most of her spare time drawing.’ There was a slight pause. ‘You’re sure you’re all right? I thought . . . Ollie’s friend, Hoshi, I think they may have fallen out.’

  Think they may have fallen out. What was he saying? ‘You think he has something to do with Ollie’s disappearance? Have you spoken to h
im?’

  ‘Don’t know where he lives but it’s possible Ben may know.’

  ‘Yes, well I hope the conference goes well.’

  ‘Make sure the house is locked up securely, especially at night.’

  ‘I always do.’

  ‘Access would be relatively easy from that graveyard at the back. Have you met your immediate neighbours?’

  ‘They’re in Brazil. I thought I told you. Anyway, I’ve got the cat for company, when she decides to pay me a visit.’

  He laughed. She did too. Not that she felt like laughing.

  The wind blew rain into her face. She should have brought an umbrella but, like an idiot, she had assumed it would be easy to find a parking space. In the event, she had been forced to tour the side streets, searching for a gap, then hurry back towards the café. As she walked, she rehearsed the words in her head, but not too much or they would sound stilted. Claudia could be rather outspoken. Might she have had enemies? Do you think she could have upset someone?

  When she left the house, a man had been standing a few doors up, lighting a cigarette. The one she had seen before? He’d had a hoodie, but that meant nothing. Perhaps he was the man who had phoned wanting to speak to Claudia, but why hang about in the rain when he could have knocked on her door? He was harmless, nothing to do with her.

  Without warning, the rain began to pour down and she ran towards a shop and sheltered under its overhang, peering through the misted-up window at the bowls of beads, blue and purple and yellow, and the boxes of larger turquoise and silver ones. The bent nosed pliers looked familiar and she remembered seeing a pair in Claudia’s den, and wondered if the shop was one of her haunts. None of the jewellery she made had been expensive and Erin had expressed surprise that she made enough money to live on, and Claudia had grinned. Pile ‘em high and sell ‘em cheap. Her words, and the accompanying laugh, had been unconvincing and she had not mentioned she was planning to give up her stall in the market.

  After she arrived at the house, Erin had been so absorbed with her own problems, she had failed to take much interest in the jewellery making. Now there were so many things she regretted. The two of them should have spent more time together, talked, made more effort to break down the barriers that had divided them since childhood. During her last visit to the hospital, she had wanted to tell her all this. Speak to her. She may be able to hear you. But in Claudia’s case this was not true. Her brain had ceased to function and all that remained was her beautiful face, now almost invisible behind the wires and tubes.

  Farther up the road, the clocks in the window of a jeweller all gave different times and glancing at her watch, Erin made a dash through the downpour, arriving at Ava’s Place just as Ava was opening up and had an expression on her face as though she wished she could have stayed in bed.

  ‘Erin.’ The way she spoke her name brought back memories of waiting outside the head teacher’s office after committing some minor transgression. ‘You’re wet. Cappuccino and a croissant? Come in. You’ll have to wait while I get things going.’

  ‘Just the cappuccino, thanks, or a filter coffee would do,’ Ava’s muslin top, worn over a purple T-shirt, had a rip under one arm. The first time they met Erin had seen her as a kind of Earth Mother, caring for all her customers with their little problems, feeding them with falafels, and fruit tarts covered in fromage fraise. Perhaps she was a night owl, and opening up at ten was something she found deeply unpleasant. Another possibility was that she disliked her. Why? Because she had been so attached to Claudia, she resented the presence of a sister she barely knew?

  ‘There’s something I wanted to ask you.’ Erin draped her dripping coat over a chair. ‘No rush.’ Since her trainers let in water, her socks were soaking wet, but as long as Ava was prepared to talk, it was something she would have to endure. Even if she ended up with a cold. No, colds were viruses, nothing to do with getting cold and wet. What was she thinking about? Anything to fill up the time, as she waited for Ava to come back. A man with a hacking cough had come through the door. He sat down, close to the counter, and Ava greeted him warmly. A regular, no doubt.

  After a short delay, the coffee machine roared into action and Erin leaned back, closing her eyes and thought about Ollie. Relief, that he was not the man who had hanged himself had been followed by anger that he had still not been in touch. What had Claudia seen in him? Perhaps the fact that he was immature and with an air of wanting to be looked after, was what had appealed to her. Where was he? Staying with an old girlfriend? Walking in the country, glad to be free of all responsibility for the baby? But her anger always faded, in case he was dead.

  Ava was adding a sprinkle of chocolate to two mugs. Then, weaving her way between tables, she joined Erin, sitting down with a thump and resting her chin on her hands. ‘Fire away.’

  ‘It’s about Claudia.’

  ‘Thought it might be.’ There was no sarcasm in her tone but Erin could guess what she was thinking. She had told her all she knew and saw no point in going over it all again.

  ‘Could she have had enemies?’

  Ava’s mouth tightened. The persona she adopted at work, the jolly, convivial host, had not yet switched on.

  ‘Ollie must have friends,’ Erin was uncomfortably aware that the rain had penetrated her sweater and she smelled of wet wool. ‘But I know so little about his life before he moved in with Claudia. Anything that might help to find him.’

  ‘You think that’s a good idea?’ Ava scooped a teaspoon of froth into her wide open mouth.

  ‘Don’t you? The baby.’

  ‘Are you all right, my love? Anyone with what you’ve got on your plate would be feeling fairly fraught.’

  So she looked as rough as she felt. ‘I didn’t sleep very well.’

  ‘Would you like me to give you something? Herbal, not addictive. Wish I could help but I’m afraid I’m as much in the dark as you are. If I hear anything obviously I’ll let you know at once. What makes you think a lovely person like your sister would have enemies? People loved her, she was such good fun. I do miss her. And you do, of course you do. Oh, what am I saying? I talk too much, can’t help it, it’s in my nature, either that or working here has turned me into a garrulous old woman.’

  Talked too much? Was Jennie right when she said she was spreading rumours?

  ‘You’re not old,’ Erin said, and Ava put her tongue in her cheek and gave her a quizzical smile.

  ‘Claudia and I were friends but she never confided in me. She wasn’t the confiding kind.’ She sipped her coffee, keeping her mug close to her face so her next words were barely audible. ‘I don’t know if he could be any help, but she was friendly with a man called Kent, an actor.’

  Kent? Another beautiful young man? ‘Do you know how I can contact him?’

  ‘He’s appearing in a new play, put on in a church hall.’ She picked up a flyer that had fallen on the floor. ‘Tonight’s the first night.’ She gave a throaty laugh. ‘The only night I expect. Modern day version of Hamlet. Not my kind of thing, and since Kent wrote it himself I imagine he must have paid to hire the hall and given himself the leading role. Claudia didn’t introduce him to you?’

  ‘Never mentioned his name.’

  Ava raised an eyebrow. ‘She liked actors, found them good company. Sometimes took part in play-readings. I used to tease her, she was a frustrated actress.’

  Claudia liked actors? Jennie’s partner, Ben? Unlikely, but not impossible. It would explain why Jennie was so edgy. Was that where Claudia had been when Erin assumed she was on her way to the indoor market?

  ‘Kent’s an expert on Shakespeare,’ Ava was saying, ‘used to do some teaching as well as acting. Concentrates on writing plays these days. Like a brolly?’ She stood up, rubbing her back. ‘There’s one on the stand by the door. Don’t know who left it but you’re very welcome.’

  So that was that, apart from the information about Kent. As she stepped onto the wet pavement, Erin was wondering why Claudia had never me
ntioned him. Because, like Hoshi, he was one of her cast-offs?

  Chapter 14

  The play was called Polonius. All Erin could remember about him was that he hid behind a curtain, or was it a screen? But she had a clear picture in her mind of the pre-Raphaelite painting of Polonius’s daughter, Ophelia, floating down the river, holding a yellow flower. Eyes open, lips parted, dress spread out on the dark water. What colour was her hair? Her eyes – she had made a study of the painting during her time at Art College – were a light grey-blue, like Jon’s.

  Perhaps she should ask Jennie to accompany her to the play, but she was unlikely to accept the invitation. Also, if she had a chance to speak to Kent, it would be better if she was on her own. What did he look like? She could have asked Ava, but by then it was clear the conversation was at an end. Good-looking, leading man material? Sure to be if Claudia had liked him.

  Ben was a character actor, not Claudia’s type. Or was each new conquest another notch on her bedpost? If she had slept with Ben, it would explain Jennie’s dislike of her. If she had disliked her? Erin hated to think of Claudia like that, but she knew how single-minded she could be, bulldozing her way through people’s objections in her determination to get what she wanted. She thought about her, lying on her hospital bed with no awareness of the baby inside her, and it felt surreal, almost ghoulish. Except how could an innocent baby be thought of that way?

  At twenty-five weeks, a baby was still very small. At twenty-eight weeks, it was fatter and its head was more in proportion with its body, and it was covered in grease that stopped the skin from becoming soggy because of the amniotic fluid. Did reading books about pregnancy help? Probably not.