If You Knew My Sister

by Michelle Adams

  ‘Rini, please talk to me.’ He knocks lightly. I hear him slump against the door, and his body blocks the flash of light from underneath it. It is not hard to see how she lured him in with promises of getting closer to me.

  I am lying on the bathmat when I hear knocking on the front door. I must have fallen asleep, cried out to the point of exhaustion. I look at my watch and realise that I have been here for nearly two hours. I hear Antonio – still there, bless him – trailing down the stairs to answer the door. When I hear that it is DC Forrester and DC McGuire, I swallow my pride, remember what she told me at the station regarding Antonio’s exploits in Scotland. I take one quick look in the mirror, realise there is no amount of sprucing I can do to make me look like I haven’t been crying, and head downstairs.

  When I arrive in the sitting room, it appears that they are waiting for me.

  ‘Hello again, Dr Harringford.’ Forrester smiles at me, but I can’t make out whether it is genuine or not. She is getting better at this. Perhaps just getting better at reading me, learning how to act.

  ‘Hello,’ I whisper from a croaky throat, scratched by all my screaming. I see them glance around at the untouched drinks on the table, the ring box still on the couch where Antonio left it, the red wine stains splashed up the wall.

  ‘Celebration?’ she asks, eyeing up the box, and then my bare ring finger. She looks up at Antonio and I follow her gaze. His face is swollen and red. There is no doubt that we have both been crying. ‘Obviously not. Well, I’m sorry to interrupt. It’s just there are a few things we would like to talk to you about, Mr Molinaro.’

  ‘With me?’ he asks.

  ‘What about?’ I say at the same time, as if I don’t know. Neither of them looks at me.

  ‘Perhaps you would rather do this at the station, Mr Molinaro?’ DC McGuire asks.

  Antonio shakes his head. ‘No. Anything I have to say, I can say it here.’ He glances at me in a last-ditch attempt to look honest. As if he wants me to know that he has already admitted everything.

  ‘Very well,’ says McGuire.

  ‘Mr Molinaro,’ says Forrester, motioning for us all to sit. I do as she asks. ‘Can you account for your whereabouts over the last week?’

  ‘I was here for most of it.’ He snatches a glance at me, as if telling me to brace myself. ‘Before that I was in Horton. With Eleanor Harringford.’

  ‘So you admit to being with Miss Harringford?’ Forrester looks to McGuire, purses her lips in a surprised fashion.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And to being at her house? Mam Tor, Horton,’ she says as she flicks through her small pad. ‘Eleanor and Irini’s family home.’

  ‘You were at the house?’ I ask, breaking my silence.

  ‘Yes,’ he says to me, and then repeats, ‘Yes,’ for the police. ‘I was there.’

  DC Forrester flicks through a few pages and adjusts her position to get comfortable. Antonio’s cheeks are flushed, but the rest of his face is sickly white, the shine of a fever glossing over his skin. ‘In which case, you’ll not be surprised to learn that somebody fitting your description was seen there on two separate occasions. Once with Eleanor, and once alone. A white Jeep was also seen. The description matches a vehicle parked outside this property. I’ll assume it is yours unless you tell me otherwise.’ She closes her pad and slips it into a suit pocket. DC McGuire takes over.

  ‘The witness gave a good description of the man in question. Do you think it could have been you?’

  ‘I don’t know. It might have been,’ he says as he looks at me again.

  ‘Did you stay the night?’ DC McGuire asks.

  Antonio shuffles in his seat before eventually saying, ‘No, no. I didn’t,’ but we all know he is lying.

  ‘We have an inventory of the house from your family’s lawyer, Dr Harringford,’ Forrester says, looking to me. ‘It would seem your father was well organised when it came to his possessions. Knew where everything was. Had a safe full of jewellery, too. You know what, Mr Molinaro? That safe is empty now. Not a dot in it. Pearls, gold, diamonds. You know anything about that?’ Antonio shakes his head. ‘There was a diamond ring in there. Belonged to Dr Harringford’s mother,’ she says, looking at the red box. ‘Mind showing me what’s in there?’

  ‘There’s nothing in there,’ I say, chipping in. I picture the bistro he wants to own, the loan that might not yet have been approved. The diamond in his pocket.

  ‘I have a picture of the ring. Here.’ DC McGuire pulls a few photographs from his pocket, selecting the right one. There is a stamp on it that reads Witherrington & Co., but it is the image that stands out as he holds it up for us to see: the same tiny diamond that was on my finger only a couple of hours ago.

  ‘Elle gave me the jewellery,’ Antonio admits. ‘It’s in the car. She was angry, she said it was hers.’ He points to me. ‘That everything was hers, thanks to their father.’

  ‘Only Miss Eleanor Harringford isn’t around to back up that claim, is she, Mr Molinaro? What we have found are signs of a struggle in her bedroom. Broken glass on the floor, sheets crumpled from where more than one person rolled around in them.’ DC McGuire pauses, before adding, ‘We found traces of blood and semen.’

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ says Antonio to me, not paying any attention to the police.

  ‘You might be surprised at what I think, Antonio,’ I say. I’m not sure how much I believe. Truth that comes out at moments like this is always tempered, the dangerous edges smoothed off, details forgotten on purpose. I don’t doubt that a good forensics expert could trace him to that bedroom, but I do doubt that he has hurt Elle. Any struggle would have been consensual.

  ‘Mr Molinaro, we have cross-checked the blood with Miss Harringford’s health records. It was her blood on the sheets, and we believe you were the last person to see her before she disappeared.’ They step towards him, DC McGuire pulling a set of cuffs from his belt. He dangles them, showing Antonio that using them is an option. ‘On that basis, I am arresting you in connection with the disappearance of Miss Eleanor Harringford.’

  My ears fuzz over, and I watch as they attach the cuffs. Antonio is staring at me, mouthing something. I try to fight my way back, desperate to hear the last words he will ever say to me. Because this is it. Whether he did it or not, Elle has found her latest victim. But I don’t hear anything, and only a second later the police have manhandled him through the front door.

  33

  The night out in the club just before I went to university was the beginning of the end for me and Elle. Up until that point I’d wanted her near, craved her despite the instability she brought with her. But by the end of that night I knew that desire was drawing to a close.

  What I told Antonio about that night wasn’t exactly a lie. I woke up as she was being kicked out of the club. She was causing a scene, and shouting about the injustice of it all. The bit I left out was about the man who was with her.

  I followed behind as they stumbled along, her boob tube askew, her hot pants riding up higher than intended. He was there at her side, edging her forward, helping her stand. It wasn’t quite a cuddle, and he wasn’t laughing. There was an uncomfortable level of control, like he had hold of her. She kept apologising to him, saying she was sorry if she had ruined his plans. He was smiling and friendly, but I got the impression he was the kind of charmer who had loads of friends who all believed him to be a nice guy, but who behind closed doors would regularly beat his wife.

  ‘You’re going to need to wait here, all right?’ he said to me as Elle ate a kebab and chips. I was sitting opposite her in the cheap takeaway restaurant. He was standing next to us, somehow managing to block our way out. I nodded my head to agree to his terms. I was only eighteen and low on confidence. I wouldn’t have dared disagree. ‘Elle has some work to do.’

  She looked up at me, just an eyeball really, from where she was slumped on the table. It might have been imperceptible to him, but regardless he grabbed her arm and pulled her to
her feet. She was still high, that was for sure, but not enough to deaden how she really felt. I was gripped by this overwhelming knowledge that I should be stopping her, and yet I said and did nothing. She shovelled a handful of chips into her mouth, adjusted her boob tube and very softly stroked her hand across my cheek.

  ‘Won’t be long,’ she said, and for a moment I thought she was going to cry.

  I watched as they left. Just before they disappeared from view, I saw him slap her across the face. I jumped up from my seat, my intention to help, but he saw me. He pointed his finger and mouthed the words Wait there, and I did exactly as he said.

  She came back about an hour later without him. She grabbed me by the arm and marched me out like a parent retrieving a wayward child. She didn’t speak for another hour, not even when I asked her if she was all right. She just kept snivelling, crying, hyperventilating. I didn’t know what to do so I suggested we go home, but she refused. She looked dishevelled, her hair knotted, her mascara smudged. As another hour passed, us sitting on the edge of the kerb, watching cars go by, I realised that her eye was starting to swell. Her lip too. When she flicked her hair back from her neck there was a bruise just below her ear, something that resembled a love bite.

  ‘Elle, please talk to me.’ I edged a little closer and dared rest a hand on her arm. She flinched, but she didn’t push me away. ‘Are you all right?’

  She wiped away a tear, took a swallow of watery Coke, spilling some of it down her front. ‘No, Rini.’ She turned to face me. Her pupils were black like a shark’s, so large I could barely see her irises. ‘I’m not all right.’

  Relieved to have an answer and to know that something at least was wrong, I pushed further. ‘Who was that man?’ I let my arm rest across her shoulders and she surprised me by nestling her head on to mine. ‘Where did he take you?’

  ‘He’s a good man,’ she sniffed. ‘He gives me stuff. Stuff I need.’ I was naive about a lot of things, but I had seen them together in the club. I knew what kind of stuff he was giving her.

  ‘I don’t think he is,’ I whispered. ‘He’s your dealer, isn’t he? You don’t need that stuff. It doesn’t help.’

  ‘I wish he was my dealer.’ She started crying again, picked up a handful of cold kebab and threw it into the road. ‘What would you know, little goody two-shoes? I don’t have anything else.’ I turned to her as she looked at me, her big doll-eyed pupils and pink hair, and watched a tear roll down her cheek. ‘I don’t even have you any more.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I tried to joke, but we both knew. I would be gone soon, a new life at university.

  ‘You’re leaving, remember. You’ll meet new people. How will I ever discover the truth if you’re not here with me?’ She nuzzled in, kissed me on my neck. It was just a peck here and there, nothing too weird, yet still it was enough for me to edge back. ‘You see,’ she said, disappointed. ‘Even that freaks you out.’

  The following day I was watching children’s BBC with a headache when somebody knocked on the door. I opened it to find the man from the night before standing there in a white suit, the jacket big at the waist, double pockets. His hair was a dirty blond, and it was slicked back to reveal an unfortunate male-pattern hair loss. It made him appear as if he had one giant widow’s peak. My first thought was that I wished Elle was awake.

  ‘Irini, babe. Can I come in?’ He was perhaps my first brush with adulthood outside of my immediate family, and I didn’t want to appear childish. So I stood back, let him pass. He waltzed up the windowless hallway as if he was in the market to buy the place, his hands tucked in his pockets, nodding as he glanced around. There wasn’t much to see, just a dusty old mirror and a picture of a countryside duck pond. He turned back, smiled, and walked through to the lounge. I quietly closed the front door, praying that Elle would wake up soon.

  ‘Can I make you a cup of tea?’ I offered from my position of safety in the doorway to the living room. He was already sitting in the armchair, flicking through the channels of the television and holding a cigarette between his fingers. He eventually settled on an episode of Sweet Valley High, and seemed disappointed that it was finishing. The coverage of the Ashes series was about to start.

  ‘I love that show, don’t you?’ he asked as he swung around to face me, pointing at the television with the remote. ‘Which one do you think is prettier, Jessica or Elizabeth?’

  I wasn’t much of a Sweet Valley High fan, and wasn’t even sure which twin was which. But I felt an urge to answer, as if it was necessary, though I also knew there was a distinct possibility that my answer could be wrong.

  ‘I guess Elizabeth,’ I said as I moved through the living room and into the kitchen. Halfway there, he joined me, blocking the doorway just enough so that I had to squeeze past. I caught a whiff of cigarettes on his breath. I was close enough to see the pimples on his nose. I dodged past, grabbed the kettle and filled it with water, set it on the side to boil.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ he said, leaning against the wall, dragging on his cigarette. ‘But that other one is a minx. I bet she’d fuck like a professional.’

  I didn’t know what to say. I could hear the intro music starting in the background so I suggested, ‘The cricket is about to start,’ hoping that he was the kind of man who watched it. Uncle Marcus was, and that was all I had to go on.

  ‘So it is,’ he said, turning around to take a look. ‘But Thorpe was out before we even got started, and the Aussies have won the first three tests. What’s the point?’ He watched as the players came out while I rustled up two cups of tea.

  ‘Sugar?’ I asked. He was still leaning on the door frame. I had no other way out. I tried to remember that Elle had told me he was a good man. But it seemed so hard to believe.

  He chuckled to himself and dropped his cigarette on the floor. I smelt a whiff of burning carpet before he ground it out with his foot. ‘I don’t remember saying I wanted a cup of tea.’

  ‘Sorry, I just assumed…’ I stirred a large spoonful of sugar into my own cup, as loudly as I could in the distant hope that Elle would wake up. But she hadn’t surfaced before midday any day this week, and after last night’s efforts I doubted I’d see her until the evening. As he walked towards me I kept asking myself, if he wasn’t her dealer, then what was he? He looked like a dealer, at least how I imagined a dealer to be. ‘I just thought when you didn’t say no…’ I said, but I let the sentence drift into nothing. He stopped just short of where I was standing. I gripped my tea as tightly as I could.

  ‘Well, let this be a little life lesson. If somebody doesn’t say they want something, it doesn’t necessarily mean they don’t want it. Do you get me?’

  I could feel my heart racing. He was tall, and standing right next to me, he towered over me by a good foot. ‘I’m not sure I do.’

  ‘Well let me make it clear. Did I tell you that I wanted a cup of tea?’ He stepped forward, one foot either side of mine. I could feel his body up against me, and my hip was throbbing. I shook my head. ‘And did you tell that boy from the club you wanted him to fuck you a couple of weeks ago? No? Exactly,’ he said as he picked up the second cup and sipped. ‘I take one sugar.’

  I struggled to turn, still confused, but managed to grab the sugar bowl and drop a spoonful into his tea. How did he know what had happened?

  The talking on the television had stopped, and all I could hear was the deep clunk as bat struck ball. He hadn’t taken his eyes off me once. He put his cup back down behind me, then took mine and set it on the side next to his.

  ‘Shall we go into the living room?’ I asked. ‘Watch some telly?’

  ‘Is that what you want?’ I nodded, although I wasn’t sure what I wanted, other than to get away from him. But he shook his head. ‘Don’t you remember? People don’t always say what they want.’

  With that he brought one foot between my feet and kicked my legs apart. I knew what was coming, and that it wouldn’t be like the first time. I didn’t want my second time
to be with this man. My mind raced to the knives, the forks, a frying pan. What could I hit him with to make my escape? I reached for the nearest drawer and managed to pull it open. But he struck his fist against the back of my hand, slamming the drawer closed. I yelped in pain.

  ‘I don’t want this,’ I said, trying to push him away. But he was too strong. ‘Elle will be awake soon.’ I didn’t know if bargaining with my sister was acceptable, but it was all I had.

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not,’ he said with a smile on his face. ‘Maybe I’m not interested in Elle. You’d fetch a nice price yourself now that you’ve been broken in, you know that?’ He grabbed my cheeks and forced my lips up into an abstract smile. ‘See, you like it. You want it.’

  He tugged at my pyjama top, something with a Forever Friends bear on it. One breast escaped, but I managed to grab the material and pull it back down. He slapped me hard across the face and I screamed.

  ‘Who are you screaming for? There’s nobody here to help you,’ he spat in my ear. I could feel the wetness of his lips. He pushed himself against me and there it was, the bulge between his legs, digging against my hip.

  ‘Elle,’ I screamed, but he just laughed.

  ‘You think she’ll wake up after what she took last night?’ He pushed me backwards and yanked at my shorts. But what he didn’t know was that I wasn’t screaming for Elle. I was screaming because she was already there.