The Sister's Secret

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The Sister's Secret Page 18

by Penny Kline


  ‘Erin’s exhausted, Ben, she’s only just returned from the hospital.’

  ‘Yes, sorry, I’ll tell you another time.’

  ‘No, now,’ Erin said.

  Jennie’s eyes were focussed on last Sunday’s newspaper, scattered over the carpet. ‘I don’t think it was Claudia’s idea.’

  ‘No I agree.’ Ben looked as though he had been given an escape route. ‘Kent’s. It must have been Kent’s. They were friends. You probably know that. Kent sees himself as something of an expert on English literature. Used to teach part-time at a tuition college. That play you saw. Most of his plays are adaptations, modern day versions.’

  Jennie sighed. ‘Get on with it then, Ben’

  ‘He and Claudia . . . I think it must have been just before you came here that they had to stop.’

  ‘Had to stop what?’

  ‘The two of them had this scam going. Post-grad students who had to write dissertations, some of them from overseas and not fluent in English, some who just couldn’t be bothered, or weren’t up to it.’

  ‘Claudia wrote their dissertations?’ Erin thought about the list of names in her desk, and the roll of twenty-pound notes. ‘Are you sure? She was never much good at that kind of thing.’

  ‘No. Kent wrote them. At least, I think the students wrote them and Kent improved them. I’m not too sure. Claudia acted as middleman. She helped at a centre for overseas students, befriending them and helping them settle in.’

  ‘Yes, Harold told me. She and Kent shared the spoils.’ At any other time, she would have been horrified, but what did it matter? Nothing mattered now, only Phoebe.

  ‘Sixty-forty,’ Ben was saying, ‘that’s what Claudia told me. Rather steep I thought, since Kent did most of the work.’

  ‘But Claudia had the contacts,’ Jennie said.

  ‘Sounds profitable. Why did they stop?’

  ‘Someone told Jon.’

  So all this time he had known what Claudia had done but never said a word.

  Jennie guessed what she was thinking. ‘I don’t expect he wanted to upset you. Criticising your sister, I mean.’

  ‘He should have reported them to the university. Why didn’t he?’

  Ben was looking relieved that the secret he had kept to himself was out at last. Jennie had known about it too but chosen to keep quiet. Erin should have been annoyed with them, but all she could think was if she told him about Jon and Diana, brother and sister, Claudia’s crime would fade into obscurity.

  ‘I think Jon issued an ultimatum,’ Ben said. ‘Stop the scam now, or else.’

  So the phone calls, Lara who had come to the door, the man with a hoodie who had been watching the house, none of them had anything to do with the accident. All they wanted was their dissertations, or their money back.

  Chapter 26

  Someone had written an obscenity in the dust on the passenger door. Stella rubbed off the illiterate letters, pausing a moment to listen to barking dogs in a nearby park. She liked dogs because they were friendlier than cats but she could never have one, she was away from home too much. Home. Thinking about her flat in Chiswick made her even more determined to leave the basement, with its depressing décor and smell of damp. But not yet, not until she had achieved the purpose of her self-imposed imprisonment. She thought about Erin who had delivered the microwave. And liked Babar the elephant. Always a good sign.

  The previous evening, one of the female students from upstairs had knocked on her door and asked if she had a bottle opener.

  ‘No idea. I expect so. They usually have one on the end of corkscrews. Come in, I’ll check what’s in the drawer. What are you studying?’

  ‘Politics.’

  ‘Is it interesting?’

  The girl shrugged. ‘It’s all right.’

  Stella gave a snort. ‘You don’t realise how lucky you are. What are you planning to do when you finish?’

  ‘We’re having a party at the weekend.’

  ‘Are you now? With any luck I’ll be gone by then. Actually, it’s the people next door that make all the noise. Drilling, hammering, filling up that skip that takes up two parking spaces, yelling at their kids.’

  ‘At least, it’s too cold for a barbecue.’

  ‘True.’ Stella managed a smile. ‘Have a good party.’

  Two more days. She would allow herself two more days. But if the days passed, without success, she knew she would have to stay longer.

  Why now? Why not last year or the year before? But it had become an obsession, a madness, something that was interfering with the rest of her life.

  The weather had turned colder and, leaving her car at the bottom of the hill, she wound her scarf round the lower part of her face, and looked about for a place to hide. Until today, a scarf would have been unnecessary so it was fortunate the temperature had dropped. A good omen, some would say, along with a whole lot of rubbish about coincidences and phases of the moon. Stella despised irrational people, although recently her own rationality had started to go down the pan. If the next car that passes is red . . . If it takes less than thirty paces to reach that tree . . . Too many days had been wasted, catching glimpses that only lasted a few seconds, hearing voices, moving closer then retreating for fear of being spotted.

  So far, so good. His car was squeezed in between a brand-new people carrier and a motor bike, spattered in mud. The people carrier had a sticker on the back window that made Stella curl her lip. “Little Princess on board”. God help us. Some people were gross. An elderly man, a few yards ahead of her, kept slowing down to let his dog cock its leg against a tree. Marking out its territory, and people were the same, flaunting their gentrified properties and manicured gardens. Money was good, but only for providing new opportunities, new challenges. Money gave you choices.

  A shiver ran though her body. She needed to find a better position, one where the front garden was clearly visible. Could she will them to come out? Could she, hell? A black transit van had been parked a short distance away and should provide enough cover. Looking up, she saw the sky had become dark, menacing. It might snow, or was it too cold? Feeling in her pocket, she found the remains of a bar of dark chocolate and broke off two squares, pushing them between her cold lips, and biting hard. Her nerves were on edge, and she focussed on an Asian woman with a double buggy, who was struggling up the opposite side of the road. One of the flats above the basement housed Asian students, but she had never spoken them. Like her, they preferred to keep themselves to themselves.

  Now what? She could have killed for a cigarette. Before she left the basement, she had studied a map of the whole area and been surprised how close to the coast she was. Once, years ago, she had stayed in a B&B with Auntie Linda, who was not actually her real aunt. The sea had been far out, where the sand started to change into mud, and she had ridden on a donkey called Daisy – that plodded along with its head down – and eaten fish and chips, and candy floss.

  With her brain fully occupied, estimating the distance from the city to the coast, she almost missed the child that had appeared in the front garden. In spite of the cold, she had no coat, and she was coming out onto the street, calling someone’s name. Someone that turned out to be a cat, sitting on a low wall. Now she was stroking it, talking to it, then she held out her hand, testing for non-existent drops of rain.

  She was small for her age. Not pretty, but with a pleasant intelligent face and hair that had been cut very short and was more or less the same colour as the cat.

  Stepping out from behind the van, Stella asked if the cat belonged to her.

  ‘My mum won’t let me have one.’

  ‘That’s a shame. What about a guinea pig?’

  ‘My friend’s got one. It’s called Sanders.’

  ‘Great name.’ Stella was keeping half an eye on the house, listening for sounds, voices, someone calling the child’s name. Taking her phone from her pocket, she asked if the cat was Siamese.

  ‘No, Burmese. They’re very friendly and
they like you stroking them. He’s called Rex. He never scratches.’

  ‘He’s beautiful.’

  ‘Some cats pretend to be friendly, then they bite your hand. Have you got one?’

  ‘A cat? No. I live in a flat and cats like a garden. What’s your name?’

  ‘Maeve. Is Rex in the photo you took?’

  Stella held it out for her to see.

  ‘Oh, it’s got me too. I’m having a phone for my birthday. Most of my friends have had one for ages but Mum said I had to wait till I was eleven.’

  ‘When will that be?’ As if the date was not imprinted on her mind.

  ‘Next month. Which house do you live in? I think I saw you before. There’ve been quite a lot of new people in the road.’ Maeve stopped stroking the cat, and pointed. ‘I live in that yellow one. Mum likes it, but Dad doesn’t. He says white would be better.’

  The woman was coming through the front door. She spotted Maeve and shouted to her. ‘What on earth are you doing? You’ll freeze. How many times have I told you—’

  ‘That’s my mum. I have to go.’

  ‘Bye, Maeve.’ Stella held up the phone for her to have a last look, and started walking, half running, calling over her shoulder. ‘Have a good birthday.’

  ‘Maeve!’ The woman’s voice was high-pitched with anger. ‘Come back here at once. I’m tired of telling you . . .’

  ‘I was talking to Rex.’ Her voice faded as Stella slammed her car door, started the engine, and moved off, glancing in the driving mirror but seeing nothing. Her eyes were too blurred with tears.

  Chapter 27

  Since Phoebe’s arrival, Erin had not spoken to Jon, and would be happy if she never saw him again. Except for Maeve, of course – it would unfair to make her suffer – but he could drop her off on the doorstep. Any problems Maeve might have, must be the result of being the child of an incestuous relationship. No wonder she thought they talked about her behind her back. What did it say on her birth certificate? Sooner or later they would have to tell her the truth.

  Jon’s repeated phone calls were getting on her nerves. As soon as she heard his voice, she rang off, and texts begging her to let him explain were deleted. One of the reasons she was out now was in case he came round again and she had to endure five minutes of him ringing the bell and banging on the door. What was there to explain? How he and Diana had been separated as children and only met up again as adults? Somewhere she remembered reading that this produced strong physical attraction. Maybe it did, but to have a child together was unforgiveable.

  It was late afternoon and she was standing outside the police station, where steps led up to uninviting glass doors. The building was a mixture of stained concrete and grey brickwork, more like a high security prison than a place where the general public could seek advice or provide important information. What could she tell them? She was not there to talk about Claudia and Kent’s scam since she was fairly certain it had nothing to do with Ollie. Neither did it explain why a length of scaffolding had destroyed Claudia’s brain. Paying money for a dissertation that was never received was hardly grounds for murder.

  Two officers were coming through the main door, one male, one female, the female one considerably younger than Erin’s companion at the mortuary. She wanted to ask if they had a colleague called DS Smith. Her presence on that day had created a bond. Not that DS Smith would have found it traumatic, or did you never become totally immune to tragedy?

  At the time of Claudia’s accident, the police had made investigations, but by now they seemed to have lost interest. Ollie had committed no offence, unless deserting your unborn baby was a crime. Did a part of him want to be found? As a child, Erin had been tricked by Claudia into going to the end of the garden after dark and, when Claudia made owl noises and chased her, she had been so afraid she had stood still and begged to be caught, just to get it over with. Her little sister, but she had always had the upper hand.

  ‘Erin?’

  She spun round, as though she had committed a crime, and came face to face with Hoshi.

  ‘Are you going to tell the police?’ His dark eyes were full of fear.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Ben said you know about the dissertations. When Ollie found out, he went mad.’

  ‘How did he find out? Who told him?’

  He stared into the distance. ‘People knew about it.’

  ‘Ava, was it?’

  He shrugged, and she thought – it was you, you told him. To punish Claudia for dumping you?

  ‘The baby.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Is it all right?’

  ‘Oh, Ben told you that too.’

  ‘What’s going to happen to it?’

  ‘Her. She’s a girl. Listen, if Ollie’s still in Bristol he needs to know.’

  ‘He hasn’t done anything. He wasn’t like that. I mean, he isn’t . . .’

  A shiver of fear made her reach out to him to steady herself. ‘You think he’s dead. Please, Hoshi . . . If you know anything.’ But he was walking away and it would be useless to run after him.

  The nurse on duty told her the baby was doing as well as expected. As well as expected? Seeing the panic in Erin eyes, she back-tracked a little, but it was no good. Phoebe was not yet out of danger. Her birth, and Andrea’s optimism, had given a false impression.

  Pulling up a chair, she sat by the incubator, watching her tiny chest rise and fall, alarmed when it stopped for a couple of seconds, relieved when it moved again.

  ‘Premature babies can hear when you talk to them.’ The nurse was sorting clothes in a cupboard. ‘They get used to the tone and rhythm of a particular voice.’

  In a whisper, then more loudly, Erin started to tell her about her mother then changed her mind and began describing Maeve’s art classes in the loft, and Miss Havisham who was named after the character in Great Expectations. The nurse was listening, but what did it matter? She must be used to spending time with desperately anxious people. It was a special place, cut off from the rest of the world, a place where tiny babies struggled to survive. Some did, some failed to pull through. Everyone did their best, but they were unable to work miracles.

  ‘You’re lovely,’ she whispered, and Phoebe’s lips parted a fraction and Erin could see the tip of her tongue.

  Another nurse appeared, who lived up to the stereotype of fat and jolly. ‘Dear little soul, isn’t she?’

  Erin nodded. All the nurses in the unit were wonderful and, in her eyes, could do no wrong. ‘Does she need anything? I could buy her some clothes if you can buy them that small.’

  ‘No need, love, not yet. Some days we keep them without clothes, apart from a nappy, so we can spot any changes of skin colour or condition. Next time you come, I expect she’ll be wearing one of these.’ The other nurse held up two sleeping suits, so small they would have fitted a doll. ‘And you should be able to hold her,’ she added.

  ‘I’d like that.’ But she looked so fragile, and Erin was not sure she could trust herself not to cry, and if her nose ran she would have to scrub up all over again. ‘I worry about her all the time but you probably have babies who are even more premature.’

  ‘You concentrate on your little one,’ the fat nurse said, treating her as though she was Phoebe’s mother. Perhaps she thought she was. But probably not. More than likely they all knew what had happened and talked about it during their coffee breaks. Poor little mite, mother’s dead and father’s done a bunk.

  ‘Touching them and talking to them helps their weight gain,’ The other nurse had closed the cupboard and was on her way out of the cubicle. ‘Makes them feel loved, that’s what I say. The doctors might have different explanations.’

  * * *

  First thing the following morning, Jennie put in an appearance. ‘Are you going to the hospital?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘I’m so sorry about Claudia.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Erin had no wish to talk about it. Neither was she going to tell her about Jon and Diana, and poor Maeve.
‘Come in, I’m not going until later. Coffee? No, you don’t drink it, do you? Tea?’

  Jennie looked unwilling to climb the stairs so Erin suggested they sit in Claudia’s kitchen.

  ‘Is that the one you use?’

  ‘No, but it doesn’t matter. It’s silly really, the way I stay in the loft, but it would feel wrong if—’

  ‘I understand.’ Jennie was wearing grey jogging bottoms and a baggy sweatshirt, but she looked better, not so pale.

  ‘I usually feed Miss Havisham in here. The cat from down the road. She comes through the cat flap. Scruffy creature but Maeve’s fond of it. She chose the name.’

  Jennie gave a token smile. She had no interest in the cat. ‘Are you busy?’

  ‘No more than usual. My editor’s been on at me about the illustrations, but I need a break.’ Perhaps Jennie was going to tell her what was wrong. If so, she owed it to Ben to listen. Besides, she and Jennie were friends, although lately it had occurred to Erin she might have said something to offend her. Something about the basement flat? As far as she could remember, Jennie had asked what she thought and she had been particularly tactful, saying nothing about the peeling paint and rickety iron steps, or the mysterious Stella, who worked in PR and liked Babar books.

  It was cold in Claudia’s kitchen but Jennie seemed not to have noticed. She was searching for something in her pocket. Had her conscience got the better of her and she was going to admit she had known all along where Ollie was hiding out? She held a piece of paper behind her back and a string of possibilities floated through Erin’s head. She thought Ben was having an affair. She was having an affair. Ben had no acting work and the student house needed a new roof?

  ‘I wanted to tell you before.’ Her voice shook. So did her hands.

  ‘I wish you had,’ Erin said.

  ‘You don’t know what I’m going to say.’

  ‘Something else Claudia did? Something illegal?’

  Jennie held out the slip of paper, except it wasn’t paper, it was a photograph.

 

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