‘You spiked my drink,’ I say as I try to stand. ‘You said you wouldn’t, but you did.’ I don’t manage it, slip back into my chair. She steadies me and I lean on the table for support.
‘Don’t be pissy with me. They’ll be here soon.’
‘Who’ll be here?’ I ask, trying to fight the drug in order to remain angry.
‘Greg and Matt.’
This revelation forces me back up and out of my seat, but my legs are less than stable. I wobble a bit before gripping the edge of the table, and reach to cup my hip protectively. Then I slump back down, defeated. ‘You bitch,’ I say, laughing. ‘You fucking drugged me.’ The thought is, in the moment of realisation, hilarious.
I see Greg walking towards me. As he approaches the table, Matt slips out from his shadow. He smiles at me, and I smile back, and my first thought is that he looks good. Before Matt sits down, he picks up the glass of burnt-down matches. He motions for Elle to give him the half-empty box; once she relinquishes it, he drops it into the glass, which he sets on another table.
‘Well, well, well. What are two beautiful ladies doing drinking on their own?’ says Greg. Elle cracks the biggest smile as he pulls up a chair. It makes me laugh too, and I don’t find him quite so repulsive tonight. Not quite. ‘We will have to rectify that,’ he says as he slides up next to her. I wonder where his fiancée is, and I almost ask him, but I am distracted by my foot in a wet patch of carpet. I try to remain sensible.
Matt sits down and leans in towards me. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Yes,’ I say as his hand brushes against mine. It feels amazing. I have never been touched that way before. I slide up close, press my body against his.
‘Hey, easy there,’ he says as I rub my face against his neck. His stubble is as sharp as needles, and I am purring like a cat. I reach up and stroke his face, and my skin shivers, tingles from head to toe. Somewhere inside of me the real Irini is screaming, What are you doing? but the fact that it is so much like a distant echo makes it easy to ignore.
‘Rini, are you OK?’ I hear Elle ask. She stretches across the table and I take her hand in mine.
‘You are my sister,’ I say. ‘We are family. How can I leave you?’ I lean in to her as I finally manage to stand up. I brush my fingers through her hair, find it smooth as silk. She reaches up and touches my face, and it sparks a memory, drunk or high I’m not sure, of us sitting together on a kerb. That night was the beginning of the end. Back then, to leave her was the only thing I could do. I try harder to listen, to concentrate. She is talking but I can’t differentiate the words.
‘You can’t leave me. Now close your eyes,’ she says. I feel the wind on my skin, brushing over me like the feathers of a bird. I open my eyes to find Elle blowing gently on my face, running her fingers up my arms like butterflies. I know in that moment that it will be the happiest memory I ever have of her.
‘Come on,’ I say, reaching for Matt’s hand. ‘Let’s go outside.’ I can’t stay here with her. I don’t want to give her the chance to spoil what she has just done.
I pull Matt along behind me until we leave the pub. I swirl around in circles, dancing in the wind with my arms outstretched. Passers-by stare at me as they wander the Victorian streets of this little town, their eyes bulging out on stalks at my stupidity, my freedom, but I don’t care. We skirt past the sand-coloured buildings and gaudily fronted bars offering cheap beer and Sky Sports. In the distance I can see the tower of the town hall, which looks more like a French chateau. We run like maniacs up the high street, Matt trying to catch me as I hide behind a statue of a horse. Before he reaches me, I jump out from behind it, scare a person who happens to be passing by. But then I feel Matt’s arms around me, hear his laughter. I lean in to brush against his stubble, but instead my lips catch his. I kiss him, his lips so wet, so hot, and it drives me crazy. He spins me around, pushes me against the monument, the weight of his body bearing down on me. Grounded.
‘You know what this horse represents?’ he asks me as he runs his hands through my hair. When I don’t answer, he tells me. ‘Victory over the English invaders. That’s what you are, you know that? You’ve invaded me, taken over.’
‘I leave tonight,’ I say, only half listening. I hear a rumble of thunder shudder through the sky. ‘I told her I’m never coming back. But I love her. I love Elle. How could I leave her for ever?’ Or do I just need her, crave her, desire her in some sick way that means I can’t let her go, like an addiction? He brushes his hands across my cold cheeks and I let out a moan.
‘You can’t; she’s your sister,’ he whispers. He tightens his grip, pulls me in close. ‘It wouldn’t be fair on her.’
‘My family,’ I say, as I kiss him again. ‘I’m not myself. This isn’t—’ He interrupts me with another kiss, and any resistance that I still had begins to melt away.
We walk, stopping every few steps to kiss and caress each other, because I am addicted to his touch. I break free at times when something catches my eye. Once a coin on the floor, the next a bush flickering in the breeze. Somehow I always end up back in his arms, being whisked along, carried forward. At some point we end up in an alley, me against the wall with his hands fumbling under my clothes like an eager teenage boy. I don’t want it to stop, but somebody chases us away. Somewhere inside of me I feel that something is different, warmer, like a buzzing in my belly. In this moment I totally belong. With him. With me. There is no other place I should be. No Elle. No Antonio. I can feel my teeth chattering, but I might just be talking. I can’t be sure.
‘Putting people to sleep is weird, like you see them one minute and they are wide awake, and then the next.’ I smack my hands together in a giant clap and the shock wave shudders through my body. ‘Bang, they are under. So quick. So easy. Easiest thing in the world.’ I feel spots of water hitting my face, and I look up at the sky, watch as the buildings darken in giant streaks as the rain begins to pour.
‘Then they wake up and they’ve been somewhere else entirely.’ I roll around his body, complete a full loop like I too have been away and now I am back, facing him.
‘I wish somebody would put me to sleep for a change. Find that same kind of peace.’ I jump up on a wall, walk along the edge like a gymnast, spring off the end with my arms up in a theatrical ta-da! He takes me in his arms and I look up into his wide eyes. ‘But I would never want to wake up again.’
Before long, and with little memory of how I got there I find myself on a bed. The sheets are white. They look smooth, but the weave ripples against me as I spread and glide my hands over them. They brush against my legs too, and I look down and see that I am not wearing my jeans. My bare feet dangle over the edge. Then I see Matt. I should tell him this is a bad idea, that’s what I think. But he straddles me, kisses my neck, and it feels so damn good that I can’t tell him no. He slides my jumper up and over my head, and as I turn to pull my head out of it I see an alarm clock on the nightstand. Where are we? 8.41 p.m. flashes back at me and I remember that I am supposed to be getting on a plane. I should get up, but the voice telling me to stay is too loud to ignore. The sheets feel so good. His lips, his stubble, his hand and the way he pushes it against me and pulls at my breasts. In this moment I don’t even care if they are lopsided. I lie helplessly as he unfastens the last of my clothes, peeling away my layers until I am just me, exposed, unhidden and free. He rubs his hand across my stomach, trailing down to my scars. But he doesn’t linger over them like Antonio does.
‘I want you,’ he says as his wet lips slide over my thighs. The shadows rise and fall as his body moves in the soft light of the moonlit bedroom. Rain strikes the window.
‘I want me too,’ I say, and when he doesn’t question it, I know I am in the exact place that I should be, for the first time ever in my life. Here with a stranger, I have found peace. And in that moment I tell myself something greater than anything that has gone before: that I deserve to feel this good. That just like my father told me, I too am worthwhile.
19
The sound of running water wakes me. At first I think it is rain beating down outside, but the first thing I see as I open my eyes is Matt’s face. He is standing in a towel, his skin glistening and wet, with steam billowing out of the bathroom in soft, fluffy clusters behind him. That’s when I realise I’m in a hotel. I realise too that I am naked, the only thing covering me a creased white sheet.
I lie still, trying to remember how I got here. I remember flashes of the previous night, his smiles, Elle’s laughter, us kissing, but cannot place any of these events in a timeline that leads to this room and this moment. Matt smiles as he sits down on the edge of the bed and brushes his hand against my foot. I pull it away, snap it back to me like tight elastic.
‘Sorry,’ he says, appearing hurt. He holds up his hands in surrender, and I feel an instant hit of regret. Partly for him, but mainly for Antonio.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ I say as I let my foot slip back towards him across the sheets, which disappointingly just feel like sheets in the light of a new day. Regular old sheets that don’t ripple underneath my skin like I thought they did. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong.’
He lets out an audible sigh of relief. ‘I thought for a second there…’ He doesn’t finish his sentence. ‘You were pretty drunk, I think, but I asked you plenty of times if you were sure. You just kept telling me that it felt so good. Not to stop.’ He smiles at the memory, but then finds it inappropriate and straightens himself up. He looks down at his body, his chest covered in hairs, surprised, like he only just realised he was naked.
‘I wasn’t drunk,’ I say. ‘I’ve been drunk plenty of times to know how that feels. I was high. Somebody slipped me a roofie.’
‘I didn’t—’
I don’t let him finish. ‘Don’t worry. I know it wasn’t you.’ My head is throbbing, my mouth dry and sandy. I reach for a glass of water at the side of the bed, all the while keeping a firm hand over the sheet that covers me. It matters now, the scars and the lopsidedness of my body. I guzzle down the water and then slam the glass back down on the bedside table. ‘It was Elle.’
‘Your sister? Why would she do that?’ He looks genuinely scared. I can see him thinking about all the times he thought she was a bit nuts, when he warned his buddy to stay away from the crazy girl without any real or substantiated concerns. Even when she attacked the girlfriend of one of her victims.
‘You think this is the first time she’s done something like this?’ I say, covering my mouth with a fist, remembering Margot Wolfe. ‘Elle’s a fucking nut job. Always has been, and I just keep getting sucked in by her. God, I’m so stupid.’
‘Even if that’s true,’ he says, doubtful of my accusation, ‘you’re her sister. I would have expected some kind of familial immunity.’
I shake my head, realising that I did too. I believed her. Trusted her. ‘We are nothing to each other,’ I spit, finally understanding the sad truth of it. ‘We have never been sisters, not as such. Yesterday I told her that I wanted nothing more to do with her, and she did the same. And we both meant it. I was planning to leave and—’ I suddenly remember. ‘Oh my God, my flight. I missed my flight home.’ All I can do is shake my head, cover my eyes with shame. ‘She’s a bitch. She did this on purpose so I would have to stay. Where are we?’
‘Hawick,’ he says, more than a little scared. ‘I’ll take you to the airport if you like. You can be there in less than an hour.’ He rushes for his clothes, but I motion for him not to bother. ‘Home then?’ I glance up, my face reminding him of the stupidity of the word, then slouch backwards under the weight of my mistake. ‘I’m really sorry about this. I never thought … I just … I never anticipated—’
‘It’s not your fault,’ I say as I adjust the sheet to keep myself covered. He looks about the room and picks up my bra and jumper, offers them to me. I take them, feeling guilty for his embarrassment. ‘But when I find her, I’m going to kill her.’
‘Well,’ he chuckles, then stops himself as I slip my arms into my bra. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this, but she’s just next door.’
I bolt up like a jack-in-the-box, hanging on to the sheet. I point at the rest of my clothes and motion for him to pass them to me. He crouches and picks up the scattered remains of my dignity. ‘What is she doing here?’ I ask, spinning my fingers to indicate that he should turn around. He does so without question, and I dress.
‘Greg brought her here. I don’t think he wanted to go home.’
‘Probably because of his fiancée, wouldn’t you think?’ It’s a chance to throw that one at him, test it for truth. From his silence I assume I am right. Turns out that not everything Elle tells me is a lie.
I pull on my fancy Reeboks and barge past, pulling open the door. I point left and right, looking for an answer from Matt. He indicates a door and I hammer my fist against it but get no reply.
‘Where are they?’ I demand.
‘Probably at breakfast,’ he says.
I huff and puff, my displeasure almost at the level of last night’s pleasure. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say it was Ecstasy that she gave me. Heightened sensations. Open and chatty. Everything I am not. I snatch a glance in a hallway mirror and see that my pupils are still the size of saucers.
‘Wait a minute.’ Matt reaches out and takes my hands in his, still wearing nothing but a towel. I feel none of that electricity running across my skin from the night before. But there is something. Perhaps a memory of something good suppressed by the guilt of the morning after. For this reason alone I don’t push him away. ‘I know you weren’t quite yourself last night, but I had a great time with you. You’re single, and unlike Greg, I’m single too. And a decent guy, if you don’t hold it against me that I took advantage of you.’
‘You didn’t take advantage of me. I was more than willing.’ I think I should tell him about Antonio, but the prospect of the truth doesn’t fill me with excitement. I realise that to him I must look like quite a catch. Single, averagely pretty, good job, great fun. Uninhibited in bed with a little bit of chemical assistance. I think back to the night before, flashes of memories of all the different ways we had sex. We were like a couple of teenagers at it for the first time with our hands on a Kama Sutra. I couldn’t get enough of him if I remember correctly. I can still feel the after-effects of it now, the throbbing between my legs, the ache of my hip. I feel my cheeks flush at the embarrassment and pull myself away.
‘So let’s do this again. Next time without the drugs and the crazy sister.’
I smile as my eyes scan his body, the towel that is only a few more steps from falling. I don’t want him to feel bad, but the pitying look on my face has told him all he needs to know.
‘Or not,’ he concedes, defeated.
‘It wouldn’t be a good idea.’
I wait in the corridor while he dresses. We find Elle in the dining room, Greg sitting opposite her. I walk towards their table, Matt just behind me. He is whispering frantic warnings as we pass the travelling reps and foreign holidaymakers pouring tea and slicing bacon. The warm aroma of bread lingers in the air. Smells good. Homely. By the time I arrive at her side and sit in the chair, she still hasn’t noticed me.
‘Elle,’ I snap, but she doesn’t respond. Instead she continues buttering a dry triangle of toast. I watch her as she spreads it thinly, the layer perfect and even like that from an advert on the television. ‘Elle,’ I say, louder this time. ‘What the fuck did you do to me last night?’ Still she says nothing. I lash out, smack her hand. Force is all she understands. I feel an immediate sense of regret and foreboding as her triangle of toast flies from her hand, lands in Greg’s coffee cup. He lunges backwards, but still the coffee splashes over his plate and shirt.
‘What the—’ he begins, but I cut his words short.
‘I said, what did you do to me last night?’ I hear the sounds of the restaurant quieten as a couple of the nearest tables stop what they are doing and turn their attention to us. I brace myself
because I must be firm. Hard to do when she is still acting as if I am not here. Matt takes up position next to Greg, warning him not to interfere. Elle picks up her napkin and wipes her fingers. She offers it to Greg, who snatches it, eyes daggering into me as he mops up the spillage. ‘You drugged me, Elle. You made me miss my flight.’
She looks up at me with her nose and chin in the air and asks, ‘I’m sorry, who are you?’
Her arrogance sends me into a spin, and I reach out, quick as a fox, latching on to her wrist. I tighten my grip around her skinny little arm and get a good hold of her. She doesn’t resist, even though I am certain she could out-strength me. But that’s the thing with psychopaths. Sociopaths. Whatever you want to call her. They don’t fear or react to outside stimuli because they see no threat. Instead she uses her other hand to knock over a glass of juice that is waiting in the empty table setting. It pours into my lap, and I see a smirk creep on to Greg’s face. Matt is calm; grabs a napkin and tries to mop it up. I grip her tighter as juice pours down my legs, seeping into the jeans she bought for me.
‘If you remember correctly, as of today I no longer have a sister,’ she says. ‘We have nothing left to say to each other. That’s what you told me yesterday, when you broke my heart. So what, I slipped you an E. Big deal.’ She pulls her arm away and I don’t resist. She reaches for another triangle of toast and begins buttering it in the same prescriptive style.
If You Knew My Sister Page 14