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

  ‘Yes.’ I hang up the phone and sink into my chair, heavy with dread. Closing my eyes, I summon up the image of my twin but instead of seeing her as she is now, I see her as she was then, running furiously towards the man who had me in his grip. Pummelling him with both hands.

  Brave.

  The memory gives me courage.

  She never let me down. I can’t let her down now. It crosses my mind that I should ring Carly, but first I need to get my thoughts in order. It’s such a lot to process.

  Marie was at the Dog and Duck.

  He drinks at the Dog and Duck.

  The man who arranged our abduction. The only one who went to jail after Doc committed suicide and Moustache was shot in a botched armed robbery. Before Moustache died he told the doctor that he’d been paid to kidnap us by a man and, in between asking for forgiveness, he gave up the name of the man who had arranged it all.

  Him.

  Simon.

  Is it possible she is with him?

  The man whose horrible, selfish, unfathomable decision ruined all our lives.

  Willingly with him?

  She could be. After all, he – Simon – is her father.

  Mine too.

  Part Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Marie

  Then

  Marie couldn’t sleep. It was a muggy night and her Little Mermaid duvet felt suffocating but she worried that if she kicked it off then something might come along and nibble her feet. She pulled her covers up to her chin, taking comfort in the fact that Ariel, with hair as red as hers and Leah’s, would keep her safe from the toe-nibbler who she thought lived under her bed, swishing him away with her tail.

  Her twin had been asleep for ages. It was rare for one sister to be awake without the other and Marie was bored. She slipped out of bed, padded over to the chest of drawers and wound the projector again. The motor hummed, casting sea creatures across the deep-blue walls. Carly said it was designed for babies and that the twins should have outgrown it at eight but how could you be too old to feel as though you were part of the ocean? She could almost smell the salt, feel the warm sand between her toes. She did hope they’d be going on holiday this year, they had stayed at home all of last summer and she’d missed going on an aeroplane, then playing with kids they’d met on the beach…

  Tonight it was as though she was alone in the world except for the octopus drifting across her wall, the shoals of orange striped fish shimmering across her ceiling. It was disconcerting. Marie didn’t like being alone. ‘It’s the actress in you,’ her mum said. ‘Always wanting an audience.’ She didn’t mean it unkindly but still, Marie didn’t agree. It wasn’t that she craved attention but it was just… better when she was with Leah. Without her twin she felt incomplete. They were two halves of a whole. It was more fun with Carly too. Well, it used to be. Lately she’d been constantly glued to her phone, waiting for that stupid boy, Dean, to text. She had stopped spending so much time with Leah and Marie, instead lying on her bed, staring at the screen as though willing it to light up. She didn’t often dance with them any more and some of their routines didn’t work with just two people.

  Carly was their half-sister, but it had never made a difference before. She had never seemed any less. Now Marie wondered if she’d gone off her and Leah – often she rolled her eyes if they asked her to perform with them. ‘It’s adolescence,’ their dad said, ruffling Marie’s hair when she had cried after Carly had again snapped at her to go away. ‘It’ll happen to you and Leah soon enough.’ The thought that Leah might start to prefer the company of boys to her own sister seemed ridiculous, but still a piece of string wiggled around inside Marie’s belly until it tied itself in knots.

  Why couldn’t things remain exactly as they were? She wanted them to stay together forever. She’d even imagined the sisters sharing their own house one day. Instead of a boring dining room they’d have a room with a stage where they’d sing karaoke after a hard day at work.

  Marie thought back to the last time Carly had babysat her and Leah. Marie and Leah had leaped around the kitchen, pretending to smooch with the backs of their hands – ‘Carly and Dean sitting in a tree, K.I.S.S.I.N.G.’ Carly had burst into tears and pounded up to her room, and when the twins had shuffled in shamefaced to say sorry, she had flung her mobile phone across the room and shouted, ‘Get lost.’ Later Carly had come back downstairs and microwaved some popcorn before melting butter and coating the kernels. The girls had snuggled on the sofa and watched The Parent Trap – a comedy about identical twins being separated at birth that made them laugh but also made Marie sad the girls in the film weren’t being raised together.

  She wanted a cuddle.

  Marie considered waking her twin but if she told Leah her innermost fears she knew her twin would become anxious too and she already worried too much – but then she was the baby of the family; Marie was a whole twelve minutes older. Instead, Marie cracked open the bedroom door as quietly as she could, her socked feet swallowed by the thick-pile carpet as she crept downstairs.

  The lounge was in darkness but there was a sliver of light spilling out from under the kitchen door. Marie wrapped her fingers around the handle but before she could press it down she heard the sound of her mum crying.

  ‘There has to be another way?’

  ‘Feel free to think of one.’ Marie could tell her dad was trying not to shout but she could hear his crossness nevertheless. It was the stern tone he frequently used for Bruno after the dog had shaken his head, coating the walls with his slobber.

  ‘I can’t agree to it. It will be emotionally damaging and terrifying and… it’s wrong.’

  ‘It’ll be over so quickly. It’ll be an adventure… Don’t look at me like that. Okay, “adventure” is a bad choice of word, but is it really so terrible if you look at the bigger picture? We know there is no real threat. No one will be hurt. It’s for the greater good really. A short-term sacrifice for a long-term gain. Isn’t it worth it? To get our security back? For the years of happiness that will lie ahead. I promise you we will all quickly forget.’

  ‘Would it be so bad if we had to sell up? Downsize?’

  ‘Steph, I’ve been over this again and again.’ His words dripped with exasperation. Marie could almost picture him running his hand over his scalp, bristling the ginger hair he kept almost shaved as though he was ashamed of it, despite the fact he claimed he loved the colour on her and Leah. ‘We’ll be bankrupt. The business I’ve spent years building up will be gone. We’ll have nothing. We’ll be nothing. What will people think?’

  ‘Does it matter? If we’re together.’

  ‘Who says we’ll be together? It will put a huge strain on us living in some council house, relying on benefits—’

  ‘It’s not that bad—’

  ‘You can’t tell me you were happier when you and Carly were living hand-to-mouth? Don’t tell me you don’t love the holidays, the shopping. You bloody do enough of it. Carly won’t remember living like that. You’ll be sending her back to a life she’ll feel she doesn’t belong in. She’ll resent you.’

  ‘But the twins are young, they’ll—’

  ‘Who’s to say I’ll let Leah and Marie live in some hovel? They’ll stay with me. I’ve friends—’

  ‘So where are they now? These friends? Anyway, why couldn’t me and Carly come?’

  ‘It’s a big ask to expect someone to house five extra people, three is a push. And that’s without the bloody dog. He’d have to go to the shelter, of course.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re even considering us living apart.’

  ‘That’s the last thing I want. I love you all. I know you don’t want to go back to where you and Carly came from. I’m doing my utmost to prevent that.’

  ‘The thought of us separating shouldn’t even have crossed your mind. We’re a family.’

  There was a pause. Marie’s fingers slipped from the handle. Her palm was damp. She wiped it on her pyjama top. Panic made her
feel all funny and light-headed. She didn’t understand half of the conversation but she grasped her dad was saying he might take her and Leah away. What was he talking about? Carly and Mum living in a different house to him and Marie and Leah. Would that just be the start? Would Marie be sent somewhere else? She’d played orphan Annie on stage and it was fun, but didn’t want to end up in a care home eating cold mush with somebody like Miss Hannigan looking after her.

  ‘Tell me again,’ her mum said.

  ‘With the right media coverage, missing children can attract a lot of attention. More and more people are using the internet. You’re always on that Friends Reunited. There are sites where we can place digital appeals to ask for money.’

  ‘But surely that money can’t come directly to us? It must be allocated to—’

  ‘That’s where Stuart would come in. I’d move him over from the business to focus on creating a campaign, both online and through newspapers. Getting people to invest their cash is what he excels at.’

  Mum muttered something Marie couldn’t hear.

  ‘He’s not accountable for the current market. Even if clients aren’t dipping their hands into their pockets for products, they will pay for a story that pulls at the heartstrings.’

  ‘And he’d know it’s all fake?’

  ‘God, no. The fewer people who know the truth, the less room there is for error. Besides, we want him to feel frightened for our family unit. Fear is a great motivator. He’s very fond of us, you know, and despite the dip in profits these past couple of years, he is very good at what he does. Potentially, if we hit it hard, I’d expect to raise an easy seven figures worldwide.’

  ‘And that would be ours? No questions asked?’

  ‘It’s feasible it would go on our living expenses while the search is on and that could cover a multitude of sins. If we stretched the time we could form a charity and—’

  ‘Absolutely not. A couple of days, you said.’

  ‘A week, tops.’

  ‘That’s too long—’

  ‘There’ll be no risk. No danger. I promise. Afterwards there’ll be a big reunion piece and we can sell photos of the first time we’re all together again, and for future anniversaries, milestones. Literally everything in the press is staged. There’ll also be interviews. Chat shows. How do you fancy sitting on the sofa on that breakfast TV show you love?’

  ‘It’s all a lie. I don’t know if I can—’

  ‘You can. For me.’

  ‘But what about the logistics? How would it happen? When?’

  ‘You leave that to me. The less you know, the better. When you stand in front of the camera and plead directly to the abductor, I want the shock on your face to be genuine. The more the public root for you, the more they’ll feel inclined to donate.’

  ‘What if it backfires?’

  ‘It won’t. It’s foolproof. I’m surprised no other families have done this. I’m sure in years to come they will. I’ve planned it so meticulously nothing can go wrong. We’ll be back on our feet financially. I know it’s a disruption for the girls but a few days is better than ripping their lives apart long-term. They won’t have to change to state schools or live on a rough estate where they’d probably end up on drugs. I know it seems extreme but I’ve given it so much thought. We can go to Florida afterwards, make it up to them. Even have family therapy if you feel it’s needed, but I genuinely believe they’ll be fine. They’re young. In time they’ll forget it ever happened. It will be just one small event in their long and happy lives.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘I know. Trust me.’

  ‘I do,’ said her mum but Marie wasn’t sure who she trusted any more. She sank to the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks. Although she didn’t know what her dad had planned, she knew it was bad, very bad indeed – and she was the only one who knew.

  The only one who could stop him.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Marie

  One week ago

  Marie drifted around her flat after her sisters had left. Although they hadn’t been here for long, their absence was noticeable everywhere; from the dip in the sofa where Carly had sat, to Leah’s untouched tea on the table, and the pangs in Marie’s heart. They hadn’t agreed to the TV interview but it hadn’t gone as badly as it could have done. Despite their initial outrage – the awkwardness that always seemed to settle around them whenever they met – there was something else. Hope. This year, Marie hadn’t tried to justify the unjustifiable – absolving herself of the blame that pressed on her shoulders like a concrete cape – by steering the annual conversation in its usual direction – the it wasn’t as bad as we thought, was it? and it’s made us into the people we are today – as though the abduction had been a good thing.

  It hadn’t.

  And that knowing. That godawful knowing – crawling across her skin – that she could have stopped it. That she should have stopped it. The constant itch of guilt that she couldn’t scratch, that alcohol couldn’t numb. That couldn’t be sated by the stream of men that woke up in her bed. She didn’t trust any of them and she wondered if she had ever been really loved by the many hands that had touched her. She didn’t believe she had.

  But her sisters had loved her once. They still did. She knew this from the way they would drop everything to sit in a freezing theatre while she overacted for a barely-there audience, Leah’s hands slapping together like an over-enthusiastic seal, the way they had done when Marie had put on plays when they were small.

  ‘Again, Marie, again.’

  The way they scolded her when she returned after disappearing on a tour she hadn’t told them about, promising them she’d let them know next time. Not telling them that there hadn’t been a tour, instead a round of dirty bars and faceless men and a pounding headache that she dulled with vodka whenever her hangover crept back in. Whenever her thoughts crept back in.

  Sometimes it got too much, their love – and yet she craved it, but not as much as she craved forgiveness. She tried to be a good sister but she was the shadow twin. The darkness to Leah’s light. As much as she needed to be around her sisters, the burden of truth always sent her scuttling away from them again. She wanted them to miss her but equally she wanted them to forget her.

  It was all such a mess.

  Marie picked up the plate of biscuits before setting them back down again. She was twitchy, unable to settle. Her veins felt empty as her craving built until the thought of a hit was all-consuming, but her stash was as empty as her purse. God, why had she slipped into drugs? It was so much easier, so much more socially acceptable when it was just the alcohol. But she’d gained a reputation as a drunk and once the acting offers dried up she had thought that if she stayed sober but dabbled in substances occasionally just to take the edge off, it would be easier.

  She was such a fool.

  She’d make herself a cup of tea although she knew her spasming stomach would likely throw it back up.

  While the kettle boiled she checked her phone – two missed calls from George. Her body went hot at the thought that Leah could have picked up his call. What had she become? Secrets. Lies. She was an awful, terrible person. Her skin itched. She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet.

  What was she going to do?

  If she wanted to repair her fractured relationship with Leah and Carly she couldn’t push them into doing the interview. Understandably, they were shocked that Marie would even suggest going on a live TV show to rip off the scab they were always picking at, knowing how raw it would be underneath. And Marie couldn’t explain it to them, no matter how much she wanted to.

  Carly was partly right – initially, Marie had been attracted to the large sum of money on offer. God knows she needed it. She owed her dealer a small fortune. Two weeks ago he’d pushed her up against the wall in the alley next to the Dog and Duck, the slime coating her back, skin grazing her elbows as he pinned her wrists against the rough bricks. Rain plastered her hair to her scalp as he pr
essed his mouth against her ear. She could smell his breath, coffee and smoke. Panic cut off her air supply. Just being back in an alley again could do that to her, even disregarding what he wanted to do to her.

  ‘Fourteen days. You ’ave fourteen days to pay or I’m gonna break yer legs. Yer face.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  He shoved his hand roughly between her legs. ‘Lucky yer got sommat you can sell then, ain’t it?’

  To her eternal shame, Marie hadn’t fought back. She’d let him shove his fingers inside her knickers before she dropped to her knees, squeezing her eyes shut as she heard him unzip his jeans.

  Afterwards he’d tossed a foil wrap on the floor and she’d scrambled for it like a stray dog tossed a scrap of meat.

  ‘Don’t fink this means I’ve knocked any off your debt, yer skank. I were just trying yer out.’ Her pinched her cheeks between his thumb and index finger. ‘Yer ain’t all that.’ He pushed her roughly and left Marie face down in a filthy puddle, the feel of his fingers still inside her, the sour taste of him in her mouth.

  She dragged herself up and stuffed the wrap inside her bra before stumbling home. Back in the flat she didn’t strip off her sodden clothes, she didn’t cram her tainted knickers in the bin, she didn’t even shower. It wouldn’t have made any difference, she’d not felt clean for years. Instead she waited for the hit and wished that alcohol was still enough to numb her.

  The following day – despite her good intentions to stay home, ride out the withdrawal symptoms – Marie found herself applying eyeliner with a shaking hand, slicking red gloss on the lips she was prepared to wrap around a stranger for a crumpled note. She stared at herself in the mirror. A stranger stared back. Marie hadn’t known who she was since she was eight years old. She was a keeper of secrets. She could do this. She always was an actress.