My Perfect Sister

by Penny Batchelor

  ‘Trial?’

  ‘Yes, if the police catch whoever is doing it. Under the Malicious Communications Act of 1998 it’s an offence to send a threatening letter to another person. If the letters cause the recipient to fear violence the sender can be sentenced to up to five years in prison.’

  ‘I hope the police catch them. DI Glass says Robert Smith is a person of interest but there’s no proof. They’ve questioned him and he’s denied it.’

  ‘If there isn’t any forensic proof or eyewitnesses who saw him post the letter then he would deny it.’ Of course he will, if he thinks he can get away with it.

  It sounds like Ian takes a swig of a drink and then he goes on, ‘As a solicitor, I can advise you on the law, but as your friend, I’m worried about you. Are you sure you don’t want to tell anyone else about this? You deserve some support…’

  ‘I don’t want Mother to worry unnecessarily. If I tell anyone else they’ll probably overreact and it’ll get back to her anyway. I don’t want to give the bastard the satisfaction of doing more harm.’

  ‘I see where you’re coming from, but remember, Annie, you’re not on your own. Jen and I have got a spare room and a sofa bed in the study. If for any reason you don’t want to stay in your house bring your mother and stay with us. Please.’

  ‘I don’t want to put you out…’

  Ian interrupts me. ‘And I don’t want you to stay in your house if you don’t feel safe there. Promise me you’ll think about it.’

  ‘OK.’ I know I should think about it, but I don’t want to imagine a scenario where I think it’s unsafe for Mother and I to remain in the house. I’d certainly have to tell her what’s going on if I announced we’re moving to Ian and Jen’s for a while.

  When I end the call with a fake positive note that I’ll be fine, I see on the screen that the voicemail message is flashing. I press the button to listen to it.

  ‘Hello,’ says a woman’s voice coming from the earpiece. ‘It’s Fiona King, you left a message for me at work. I remember your sister well. When do you want to meet up?’

  25

  Fiona is friendly enough when I ring her back but she explains that she can’t talk for long because she’s at work. We make an arrangement to meet in a café after my night shift, which gives Fiona enough time to meet me before she starts work herself. Whilst I’m dying to ask her questions now, I respect her wishes and keep the call brief. At least she sounds like she’ll be a lot more forthcoming than Mike was.

  Finding a date when we are both free to meet up was difficult, therefore I have to wait over a week before I can see her. Until then, I feel that I’m in limbo, waiting to see if anything else comes through the letterbox.

  A few days later it’s Mother’s appointment with the oncologist to see how the chemotherapy is working. Mother is matter of fact about it as I drive her to the hospital, saying that she can’t change her test results, whatever they are, so there’s no point worrying about it. ‘What will be will be, Annie,’ she says, ‘what will be will be.’ She might be convincing herself but not me.

  As we’re slightly late for the appointment, having been stuck in roadworks on the way there, I borrow a wheelchair from reception to push Mother to the clinic quickly. There I check her in and take a seat amongst all the other people waiting to hear their fate. The feet of the plastic chair make a scraping sound on the floor as I drag it beside Mother’s wheelchair. In the background a television is on and there are magazines on a side table but Mother, like some of the other attendees, is lost in her own thoughts.

  To my surprise, we don’t have to wait very long. The nurse calls us in on the dot of our appointment. I smile at Mother and push her into the consulting room. ‘What will be will be,’ she says again.

  The consultant is Mr Sharpe, an amiable-looking red-faced man who is probably in his fifties. He shakes our hands politely then starts to go over Mother’s test results. Some terms I recognise from the chemo clinic but others go over my head. I’m about to interrupt when I remember it’s Mother’s appointment and not mine. Her face has drained of colour in anticipation and there’s a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead. My mind loses track and for a few seconds I find myself concentrating on the whirring of the fan above and the flickering of the florescent strip light on the ceiling.

  I’m jolted back to the here and now by Mother squeezing my hand. In panic I look to her shocked face, and then over to Mr Sharpe. He’s smiling whilst he’s talking.

  ‘All in all,’ he’s saying, ‘I’m pleased with your results. The chemotherapy is doing its job and has shrunk your tumour by the amount I wanted.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asks Mother, still clinging onto my hand.

  ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he replies in a jocular tone. ‘It’s good news. Your cancer is behaving itself and we can stop the chemo for now. We’ll still be keeping an eye on you at regular check-ups. It’s important that you understand that the cancer hasn’t gone, but we’ve got it under control and if the tumour does start growing again we can consider further surgery and/or chemotherapy. In your case it’s the best result we could have hoped for.’

  ‘So she’s not going to die?’ I ask, forgetting my resolution not to butt in. I’ve let the elephant loose in the room.

  ‘Not now, no. Hopefully she has many more happy years ahead of her. I can’t give you a guarantee, of course, no one can, but I can see no medical reason at the moment why you shouldn’t be around for a long time yet, Mrs Towcester.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you, doctor,’ replies Mother with tears in her eyes. She adds her other hand to the one already squeezing mine and I clutch back.

  ‘We’re so grateful for everything you’ve done, Mr Sharpe,’ I add. ‘No more hospital visits for a while then?’

  ‘My secretary will send you a check-up appointment in the post. Until then, enjoy yourselves. You have something to celebrate tonight.’

  As I push Mother back to the car, I ask her what she’d like to do later on to mark the occasion. ‘How about cake? Pizza? Why don’t we see if Aunty Lena wants to come over to hear the good news?’

  Mother takes a deep breath in and exhales slowly, relishing the fresh air. ‘I can breathe easily now,’ she says. ‘I can’t believe I don’t have to have chemotherapy again. I was prepared for the worst.’

  ‘I know.’

  The fading sunlight glows orange on the horizon to welcome us back into the world.

  ‘Chocolate cake, do you want some wine too, Annie? Pizza, yes, that’s a good idea. There’s the last part of the drama Elaine and I have been watching on the television tonight too. Will you ring her up please and invite her round to join us? Don’t tell her the news on the phone, I’d like to tell her myself face to face.’

  ‘Doesn’t she know you were seeing the consultant today?’

  ‘No, I kept it quiet in case Mr Sharpe had bad news. I didn’t want her ringing me up and asking me, it would make me feel more nervous.’

  ‘Fair enough. I’ll phone her when we get in.’

  Reg’s house is quiet when I park outside it – yet again someone’s van is parked in front of our house – and the only paper that has been put through the front door is an Indian takeaway menu.

  For an evening, I relax and enjoy the pleasure on Mother’s face when she tells Aunty Lena the good news and bask in the relief that permeates the room. Gemma, aged sixteen, smiles along with us from the confines of her photo frame.

  After much pizza has been consumed, most of a bottle of wine drunk between Aunty Lena and I (Mother sticks to lemonade) and the credits have rolled on the television drama, it’s time for the party to end. Mother raises a toast to Mel’s memory and we all think about what might have been. ‘So, Annie, now your mum’s recovering, what are you going to do?’ asks Aunty Lena when she’s putting on her coat to leave.

  It’s a question that startles me, particularly when I realise I know the answer without having to take stock.

  ‘I think I’m
going to stick around for a while.’

  Thursday 4th May 1989. 1.30 p.m.

  The doorbell rang again. This time it couldn’t be the postman because they stopped lunchtime rounds years ago. Diana waited for it to stop but when it didn’t she slowly walked out of the kitchen to the front door, still hoping whoever it was would go away.

  Through the frosted glass she could see it was Reg. ‘Diana, I can see you’re in there, open the door please, love,’ he implored. ‘I need to talk to you.’

  Reluctantly she opened the door. It was a long time since he’d last called and a very long time since that time she’d let him in in the quiet of the mid-afternoon, Frank not expected back home from work for hours.

  ‘I’m busy, I haven’t got long,’ she said, knowing full well that the whole street knew she was never busy. She never did anything.

  ‘A quick cuppa?’ he asked. Diana sighed – as long as it was quick – and let him go through to the kitchen where she scraped off a bit of the print off the kettle whilst it was boiling. The pain in her fingertips forced her to stay in reality.

  She filled the teapot and put it and two mugs down on the table.

  ‘What do you want, Reg?’

  He smiled up at her, the corners of his thin moustache pointing upwards with the movement. ‘You’re so beautiful, you know,’ he stated and reached out to push a stray lock of hair behind her left ear.

  ‘Stop that.’ Diana pushed his hand away.

  ‘You liked it once.’

  ‘Once. Just once. A long time ago, Reg. All in the past. We agreed not to talk about it again.’

  Reg inched his hand as near to Diana’s as he dared. ‘But wasn’t it a wonderful once? It was years ago, I know, but I can’t stop thinking about you, Diana. About us, what we could be. You know I can’t. I tried to make it work again with Karen, I really did, but I’ve decided. I made my mind up today. I’m going to leave her.’

  Diana held her hot drink with both hands in front of her like a weapon. ‘And why are you telling me?’

  ‘I’ll get a flat. We could give it a try you and me, see what we’re like together. You could even come and live with me if you want. I’ll get a two-bedroom place so there’s room for your girls to stay. We could be happy.’

  ‘I am happy. With my husband.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Diana, stop kidding yourself. You’re not happy. You haven’t been for years. All Frank does is drug you up. What kind of life is that? He doesn’t love you. I do. I’d take care of you, make you laugh, treat you like a Queen, give you the life you deserve.’

  ‘I don’t deserve anything.’

  ‘Of course you do!’

  Diana put the mug down. Reg inched his finger so close to hers that they nearly touched.

  ‘I’m so tired, Reg. I can’t cope with this again. I need a tablet and a lie down. Stop upsetting me. Please.’ She began to shake. He spotted her weakness and took her hand.

  ‘Frank doesn’t give you what you need, doesn’t see you for the beautiful woman you are. He grinds you down, Diana. What you need is love, not those pills the doctor keeps giving you. When we are together we can both be happy.’

  ‘No. You’re kidding yourself. What happened between us was a one-off, Reg.’ Diana’s head was thumping. She was finding it hard to breathe and tried to take deeper, longer breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth. That’s what the doctor had said to do. In and slowly out.

  ‘I’m telling Karen tonight, then I can come over and see you. Think about it, Diana. Please. A fresh start for both of us.’

  For a tiny moment she saw a chink of hope open up in her dark sky. She imagined a flat far away from Greville Road with peace, quiet, no noise or interruptions. No postman knocking at the door or other women judging her.

  What she didn’t picture was Reg there too.

  ‘No, Reg, no.’ The breathing exercises gave her a little bit of confidence. ‘I made a mistake before but I’m not going to make another one. I hope things work out for you but it won’t be with me. I’ve told you that before. Please go now.’

  His crestfallen eyes looked like a puppy dog’s after being denied its supper.

  She led him to the front door where he said, ‘I’ll still come round tonight. If you change your mind I’ll let you know where I’ll be.’

  ‘I won’t change my mind. Goodbye, Reg.’ Diana shut the door behind him and bolted it. The pain in her head increased. She went back up to her bedroom. Another couple of pills shouldn’t do any harm and would keep her calm until tonight when the children get back. She swallowed a couple with water and lay down. Oblivion would come for a few precious hours.

  If only there had never been a once in the first place.

  26

  I’d arranged to meet Fiona in a café near the hospital a little while after my night shift, giving me a chance to have breakfast in the canteen and get changed. Although I’m not quite as weary as I was after my first couple of shifts, I’m still exhausted, hot and slightly woozy when I dash in a couple of minutes late. I recognise Fiona immediately from the website photo – she’s sitting expectantly at a table facing the door waiting for me.

  I put my hand out to shake hers. ‘Hi, Fiona? Thanks so much for coming.’

  Fiona smiles back and I can tell by her demeanour that she’s going to be a lot more forthcoming than Mike was.

  We make some small talk about weather, the traffic and whether an espresso is better than a mocha before I get down to the nitty gritty. I tell her that I’m trying to find out more about my sister and that I traced her from the group photograph, then pull out a colour photocopy of it from my bag.

  She grins in recognition. ‘I remember this! It was taken after school one day. We’d all gone home, got changed, had dinner, then met up again in the woods. We used to do that quite often. In those days there was no internet or Netflix – nothing to do at home.’

  ‘So four of you, I mean you, Gemma, Toby and Mike, hung out a lot together?’

  ‘Yes, we had other friends but the main group was the four of us. Gemma was lovely, a great friend. I still miss her. We were close.’

  ‘Can I ask if she was in a relationship with Toby or Mike?’

  ‘We were just teenagers, all mates together. Gemma and Mike were sort of seeing each other but it was on and off, they were mainly friends who kissed now and then and played at being boyfriend and girlfriend. He took it more seriously than her, I think, but she enjoyed the flirting, as you do when you’re that age.’

  I smile in recognition, remembering the extent I went to at sixteen to get the boys’ attention.

  ‘And Toby? What about him?’

  ‘Well…’ Fiona, who has been so chatty up to now, suddenly clams up. ‘You know he went to prison?’ she asks me.

  ‘Yes I do. That made me want to know if he could have been involved in Gemma going missing. What was his relationship with Gemma? Did he fancy her? Do you know if he was ever violent to her in any way?’

  Fiona goes quiet for a moment. I can tell she’s hesitant to tell me something. Instead of prompting her I wait for her to answer me. She rips open a sugar packet and pours it into her empty cup, watching the crystals collect at the bottom.

  ‘There was an incident. I promised Gemma at the time I wouldn’t say anything.’

  I sense with excitement that she’s about to tell me something more important than teenage gossip. Thankfully, her proclaimed reticence to tell me doesn’t last very long.

  ‘I suppose it doesn’t matter if I say anything now. Gemma’s not here for me to betray her confidence. There was a party one night at the house of a girl in our class. Her parents were out and some older kids brought beer and vodka. Gemma wasn’t used to booze and got quite drunk. Very drunk really. Mike told her to not have any more and she argued with him, saying he couldn’t tell her what to do. He left in a huff. Then Toby made a play for her and they disappeared into a bedroom. I was jealous, God knows that man makes my skin crawl now that I kno
w what he did to his wife, but back then I quite liked him and wanted to know why he’d gone off with Gemma and not me. After a few minutes I banged on the door, then Gemma came out half-undressed and said she was going to leave. Toby ran after us to the front door but he didn’t follow us after that. She was sick in the bushes on the way home; like I said, she wasn’t used to drinking. She said that Toby had wanted to have sex and they got halfway there but then she changed her mind. He was trying to persuade her to carry on when I banged on the door.’

  ‘Was she OK? What happened next?’

  ‘She had a huge hangover at school the next day but otherwise she was fine, relieved that she hadn’t actually had sex with Toby. It made her realise that she was more interested in Mike than she thought. Gemma didn’t tell him what had happened. A week later, though, the day that she went missing, someone told Mike about Gemma and Toby being locked in a room and said that she’d slept with him. At lunchtime outside on the picnic benches Mike called her a slag and tried to hit Toby but Toby was too quick for him. Mike stormed off into the woods and Gemma followed him. I never found out what they said, we had different lessons in the afternoon. I usually walked home with Gemma after school but she left before me and I went with Toby instead. He was cut up about what happened.’

  ‘So you’re his alibi?’

  ‘Yes, the police contacted me recently to confirm I was with him for an hour after school before he went home. His mum said that Toby didn’t leave the house until the next morning.’

  ‘You say Mike tried to hit Toby, was Toby violent back?’

  ‘No, he blocked him, held on to Mike’s wrist when he tried to punch him until he calmed down. I never saw Toby be violent. We lost touch a few years after school and I was shocked when I heard he’d gone to prison for attempted murder. I’d never have thought it. It makes me think that anyone is capable of anything.’

  At this I shudder, thinking of the two threatening letters. It could be anyone who sent them.