The Stolen Sisters: from the bestselling author of The Date and The Sister comes one of the most thrilling, terrifying and shocking psychological thrillers of 2020

by Louise Jensen

  Something.

  There was nothing. Carly stared up at the ceiling until her neck ached. Why wasn’t there a hatch, an air vent?

  Anything.

  ‘I need to wee, Carly,’ Leah said in a small voice.

  Carly jerked her head towards the corner, averting her eyes, unfairly cross with Leah. The stench in the room was already unbearable.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  Ten paces, turn. Six paces, turn. A lion in a cage.

  Waiting.

  Waiting.

  Waiting.

  Time ticked past painfully slowly. Intermittently, Carly had doled out sweets. They had hardly any food left, and only one can of Coke that they were sharing.

  ‘Small sips only,’ Carly had warned. Although hunger pangs cramped her stomach, she knew they could survive days without food. Not without any liquid, though. It was only the second time that day she had needed to wee and her urine stank – she was becoming dehydrated.

  Carly pulled up her pants and turned around to see the tell-tale bulge of a blackcurrant liquorice sweet in Marie’s cheek. ‘For God’s sake. I told you not to have any more.’

  ‘I’m starving,’ Marie said.

  ‘We’re all starving. Did you steal a sweet too, Leah?’ Carly spat out the word steal like it was the worst thing you could do and she thought perhaps stealing was. Not sweets though, but children.

  Leah shook her head. Carly believed her, she was always the one who followed rules. Horrified when she had caught Carly forging Mum’s signature on notes so she could get out of doing PE.

  Carly gave Leah a sweet, it was only fair. She hesitated before she took the last one for herself, untwisting the purple wrapper, placing the hard shell of blackcurrant that would soften into liquid on her tongue. ‘God, I’m so sick of these. I’d kill for a Big Mac.’

  ‘Ooh, Carly. You have to broaden your palate.’ Marie perfectly imitated her father. Carly clutched at the chance of a moment of lightness.

  ‘Remember when Dad ordered scallops for me in the Maldives and I thought it was some sort of berry on top but it was caviar?’ She pulled a face.

  ‘Fish eggs!’ Marie squealed. ‘You ate the actual eggs of an actual fish!’

  ‘You can’t talk. What about the frogs’ legs you had in Cannes?’

  ‘I liked them.’ Marie rubbed her tummy. ‘They tasted just like chicken. Don’t you wish you’d tried them, Carly?’

  Since her mum had married her stepdad, holidays in damp, rented caravans and chicken nuggets for tea had been replaced with trips to Monaco and roasted game. Carly was grateful her mum was happy and her new dad was so generous – she’d never even met her biological dad, but though her stepdad treated Carly exactly the same as his biological daughters, sometimes she missed the old days. She’d only been small but she remembers she and Mum eating dinner with their fingers in front of The Simpsons, just the two of them. Her mum had never said as much but Carly thought she missed those days too. Sometimes when her stepdad was out and the twins were in bed she would wink at Carly and dig out a bag of chicken nuggets and chips she had hidden at the bottom of the freezer. She would shake them onto a baking tray and while they were cooking Carly would retrieve the bottle of ketchup hidden at the back of the fridge and squirt it into bowls. They would snuggle up on the sofa, their hands dipping chips into the red sauce and Carly thought sometimes that was when she was happiest. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her sisters, because she did, but the ritual was something that was just hers and Mum’s. TV and junk food in their pyjamas. She preferred it more than dressing up and eating the miniature meals she had tried at Michelin-starred restaurants. The twins loved all the fancy food but then they’d been brought up on it. Even at their tender age the twins could sit without fidgeting through a five-course meal, always using the right cutlery.

  ‘Carly!’ Marie nudged her and Carly realized she hadn’t replied. ‘I said, do you wish you’d tried frogs’ legs? They tasted like chicken.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what tastes like chicken,’ Carly said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You! Carly pounced on her sister and raised Marie’s arm to her mouth, pretending to chew on it like Bruno would a squeaky toy. Leah squealed and dived on Carly, tugging at her until Carly turned her attention to Leah, tickling her until she screeched with laughter that bounced off the walls and returned to their ears loud and shrill.

  ‘You taste like poo,’ Marie said to Carly, a wicked glint in her eye. She sprang to her feet and Carly played along, chasing her around the room, dividing her attention between the twins, swiping at both, but purposefully catching neither.

  ‘Stop!’ Carly held up her hand. Marie launched herself at Carly’s legs, still in the game.

  ‘Shhh.’ Carly was deadly serious. ‘Do you hear something?’

  An engine.

  A door slamming.

  Footsteps.

  Someone was coming.

  Oh God. Someone was coming.

  Was it help or was it them?

  Fruitlessly Carly looked around for somewhere to hide the girls. Why had they been talking about bloody food when they could have been building a barricade from the rubbish and mattress. Something to shield them from immediate view. In her mind she imagined Moustache stalking around one side of their hiding place while they crawled out from the other end, ran through the open door…

  ‘Carly, I’m scare—’

  ‘Shhh.’

  From outside a voice, barely decipherable.

  Fear pin-pricked Carly’s skin.

  The pound-pound-pound of boots on concrete.

  A muttered, ‘I’ll take care of it.’

  Them. It was them.

  Terror rose in Carly’s throat as she listened to them growing closer and closer.

  And then…

  The sound of three bolts sliding open.

  Chapter Twenty

  Leah

  Now

  Archie and I eat alone. George has another meeting. Am I being selfish by not doing the TV interview? The money would mean George wouldn’t have to be out all hours but the thought of exposing myself in front of viewers for cash seems sordid and dirty. Not much of a step up from one of the webcam channels Tash caught Barry watching at work, one hand stuffed down his trousers, when he thought the office was empty.

  ‘Do you have to go out tonight?’ I ask.

  George hesitates. I can see he is torn.

  ‘Sorry,’ I try to smile. ‘You go. I’m just worried about Marie and—’

  ‘Marie will be fine. It’s not as though she hasn’t disappeared before. She’s resourceful. Please don’t worry about her, Leah.’ He brushes his lips against mine. ‘Have you made an appointment with Francesca yet?’

  ‘No. But I will. I know I’m not… easy again. But it’s not an easy time.’

  ‘I know.’ He shrugged on his coat. ‘I’ll try not to be too late.’

  After I’ve bathed Archie and put him to bed I sit on the landing outside his bedroom, spine pressed against the cold wall, listening to him chattering to his soft toys. Telling them that it will be his birthday soon and he’ll be five.

  ‘I’ll be almost a grown-up but I’ll still cuddle you,’ he says.

  Loneliness engulfs me at the thought of my baby growing, slipping away. Archie will be starting school next September and this only seems a step away from him leaving home. I pad downstairs. The lounge is too quiet and so I settle myself in the kitchen with a coffee, the soft hum of the fridge company of sorts. I’m edgy. It’s natural I will be, but I know there’s more to my inner turmoil than anniversary anxiety.

  Marie.

  Again, I try her mobile. Again, I leave a message.

  Where is she? Something is wrong.

  I call Tash, wanting to talk everything through with someone impartial. Carly’s as emotional as I am at the moment.

  Tash doesn’t answer.

  I have to try and find Marie.

  Carrying my coffee, I m
ake my way into George’s office. His computer glows as I shift the mouse, Google already loaded. I open a new tab and search for theatres. For the next couple of hours I ring around, asking if they have a production running for the next six weeks. If they know of an actress who has broken her ankle. If they’ve heard of Marie.

  Drawing a blank, I try drama companies next and although I reach a few people who know Marie, who have worked with her in the past, none of them know where she is right now.

  Despite the police believing she’s gone on tour, I’m not convinced. There is somewhere I could go for answers. The thought leaves a dragging feeling in my stomach but tomorrow, however anxious it makes me, I have to try.

  It’s late. My eyes are stinging. I close the webpage and then decide to shut the computer down altogether. It’s gone eleven and George won’t be working any more tonight. One by one I close the tabs, until I stumble across something that shakes me to my core.

  George.

  Why has he been searching for this?

  A lump rises in my throat. I reach out and touch the screen lightly with two fingers as though I am touching his face.

  As though I am asking why he has betrayed me.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  George

  Now

  George’s conscience pricks at him. He can’t sleep. Leah was already in bed when he crept through the door at eleven thirty, silent and ashamed. Next to him she breathes slowly and evenly. It’s not her usual sleep pattern; there are no whimpers, no tossing and turning, and he wonders if she’s faking it.

  He wonders if everyone is faking something.

  This morning, after he had dropped Leah at work following the burning shame of sitting in front of police officers who knew her history, he had gone home and googled. Read the results with a heavy heart. He was so engrossed in the things he had found out, he was running late for his next meeting so on a whim he decided to skip it and instead had called in to Francesca’s clinic. Had sat in her waiting area to catch her between appointments. She was surprised to see him.

  ‘Sorry, this will only take five minutes,’ he had said apologetically. ‘It’s important.’

  She had led him into her office. He didn’t take a seat.

  ‘I think I should action a Power of Attorney,’ he had blurted out.

  Francesca’s face had fallen into shock. ‘What’s brought this on?’

  ‘Leah’s relapsing. She says she’s going to make an appointment to see you but I don’t think she has?’ George asked.

  ‘I can’t disclose patient details, George. You know that.’

  ‘But would you support me? Be prepared to say Leah has diminished mental capacity?’

  ‘How can I possibly say that? I haven’t assessed her.’

  ‘But you know her really well. You know us both. You remember what happened the last time?’

  ‘Of course I do. Who could forget that but—’

  ‘She’s heading the same way again. I’m sorry to suddenly spring this on you. I’ve only just looked into it and I was passing and… well. Cards on the table. I’m scared. Leah was so close to being sectioned before and where would that have left me, financially? I’d have had to cut down on work to look after Archie and I wouldn’t have been able to access Leah’s royalties or her accounts. Not to mention the fact the house is in her name.’

  ‘But she wasn’t sectioned,’ Francesca had said. ‘We uncovered the reason behind her behaviour and…’

  ‘I know.’ George ran his hand over his chin. ‘But I’m beginning to wonder whether she would have been better off… Whether she might be better off…’

  ‘George, I don’t like where this conversation is going. I can’t condone you considering institutionalizing your wife. Besides, she’s no longer a patient of mine. What you’re asking is unethical and—’

  ‘Sorry… it’s just the anniversary.’ George felt hot. Too hot. He loosened his tie and undid his top button. ‘It’s Archie I’m thinking of, that’s all.’

  ‘My next patient is waiting.’ Francesca had said quietly. George had slunk back to his car.

  He’s never going to be able to sleep. George thumps his pillow. Leah mutters and rolls over.

  He wants to shake her awake. Unburden himself.

  ‘It’s so hard keeping secrets,’ Tash had tearfully said, earlier.

  He reaches for his mobile and texts her.

  It’s hard for me too x

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Leah

  Now

  I’m thinking of getting up and making Archie’s breakfast when he bursts into my bedroom and cannonballs himself onto our bed. George heads into the bathroom. The sound of him sliding the bolt across the door is akin to the sound of someone running their fingernails down a blackboard. I don’t know why he’s started locking it. There’s only the three of us in the house. I hear the spurt of water from the shower, the gurgle of the pipes. The quiet tones of his voice; I wonder who he is talking to this early but I don’t think about it for long because Archie says, ‘Mummy! Can I wear my fire engine socks today? I like the blue Power Ranger best. When are we going to have green jelly again?’

  ‘When am I going to get a good-morning kiss?’ I tickle him in the ribs and he shrieks as he kicks his pyjama-clad legs, his hair tousled with sleep and dreams.

  My legs feel leaden as I cross to the door, Archie’s arms wrapped around my neck as I carry him like a baby monkey. I’d tossed and turned much of last night as beside me George had done the same. I’ve almost made my mind up that I won’t go into work today but when I reach the bottom of the stairs there’s another envelope on the mat. I set Archie down. He zooms into the kitchen, his arms stretched sideways as he makes the noise of a plane.

  I scoop the letter from the mat. Before I even open it, I know what it’s going to say.

  Three days.

  I peep out from behind the lounge curtain into the street but it’s empty. Dull. The morning sky grey and bulging with cloud. Suddenly home alone is the last place I want to be. I want Archie to be safe at nursery behind the locked gate and the door with the access code. I want to be in my office among people, outside of this cul de sac, outside of my own head.

  My phone rings – Carly’s photo flashes up. It was taken during a picnic at the park with Archie. She’s smiling as she watches him kick a ball. Her skin is tanned – it’s the only time the faint scar on her cheek from the cut she sustained in the van is visible.

  ‘I’ve got another letter,’ she says as soon as I pick up.

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘What should we do?’

  ‘I don’t see what we can do. If we go back to the police they’ll say it’s some crackpot or journalist again.’

  ‘Are you going to work?’

  ‘Yes. Are you okay to collect Archie?’

  ‘Yes. Leah…’ Her shallow breaths drift down the line. The catch of tears in her voice. ‘We have to stay strong. It will all be over soon.’ She’s a million miles away from the image on my phone of the laughing girl. Almost as though fate cruelly let me glimpse into the life she could have had.

  ‘Three days,’ I say grimly before I hang up.

  Tash is already at her desk. As soon as I settle into my seat she crosses the room. ‘The photocopier is buggered. I’ve rung the repair company and somebody will come out today.’

  ‘Okay.’ I stifle a yawn.

  ‘And Janet has called in sick so there aren’t any morning papers.’ Lionel, my boss, still provides a selection of newspapers for his staff. He hasn’t quite grasped yet that we can all read the news online.

  ‘Did you get another letter?’ She perches on the edge of my desk. I make a mental note to disinfect it again when she stands up.

  ‘How do you know about the letters?’ I hadn’t spoken to her much yesterday. I hadn’t spoken to anyone much.

  ‘George told me yesterday.’

  ‘What else did George tell you?’ I can’t help snapping, recalling the conve
rsation I had overheard. My suspicion he might want to section me.

  ‘Leah! George asked me to keep an eye on you, that’s all.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I quickly gather myself. ‘I would have told you about the letter but George thinks a journalist must have sent it to stir things up, but if he’s talked to you he must believe that—’

  ‘He didn’t give the impression you’re in any danger.’ She second-guesses what I’m thinking. ‘More that he’s worried about you. We both are. We know how… fraught you become this time of year and twenty years is quite a big deal.’

  ‘It’ll be over soon,’ I say.

  ‘Three days.’

  I flash her a look. ‘Why did you say that?’

  ‘Because there are only three days until the anniversary, aren’t there?’

  ‘God, sorry. Yes. I got another letter that said three days. It’s rattled me but I’m okay.’ I force a brief, tight smile. ‘They’ll keep on coming until the anniversary, I suppose.’ I keep my voice low, not wanting anyone else to hear. ‘You haven’t told anyone else about the letter?’

  ‘Of course not. The only gossip here is Barry and Janet and the amount of time they spend in the stationery cupboard. You must be going… I’ve noticed…’ Tash raises her hands and wiggles her fingers.

  ‘It’s eczema.’ I place my gloved hands on my lap, out of sight under my desk.

  ‘You don’t need to bullshit me, Leah,’ she says.

  ‘I know.’ This time my smile comes naturally. ‘Let’s have a night out next week when all this is over.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can afford it.’ Tash fiddles with a button. After a beat she asks, ‘Have you decided what you’re going to do about Lionel’s offer? It’s just that if you don’t want the extra hours I could really use them.’

  ‘I thought you liked having Fridays off?’

  ‘I did. I do. I could just use the extra cash right now.’