Salt Sisters

by Katherine Graham

  I fixed my gaze ahead towards the horizon. Saying nothing.

  ‘This is a difficult time for you, I understand—’

  ‘Don’t, OK?’ I cut him off. ‘It’s fine, you don’t need to explain yourself.’

  The words were bitter on my tongue.

  ‘No, but I do. I do owe you an explanation.’

  I turned ever so slightly towards him. Just enough to be able to see him from the corner of my eye.

  ‘I like you, Izzy – I really like you,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘In fact, I haven’t liked anyone – felt this way about anyone – in quite a long time. But you just lost your sister, you’re grieving – and I’m a partner at the legal firm that’s handling her estate. Not to mention how much I’ve become involved in the investigation. Do you understand?’

  I shook my head. I knew that if I tried to speak, words would fail me.

  ‘I wish we had met under different circumstances,’ Jake said, running a hand through his hair, ‘and that I could just ask you out for dinner, or to the cinema, or the pub.’

  ‘But we didn’t,’ I croaked. Tears pricked at my eyes.

  Jake brushed a fingertip against the side of my hand. His touch was barely perceptible and electrifying all at the same time. It had been so long since I’d felt this way about someone – it was like being a teenager again. Like those first flushes of adolescent pining, when Amy and I had whispered secrets to each other about the latest objects of our infatuation.

  Amy.

  Jake was right – we couldn’t get involved. Not now. I was falling for him, but he was out of reach. His finger was still touching mine. I looked back out to sea.

  Jake’s let-down had been gentle, but I was deflated – it felt like yet another thing that Amy’s death had taken from me. Still, he had left me with some hope – that perhaps one day, when all of this was over, our friendship could become something else. If this was ever over. My determination hardened to find out what had happened to Amy.

  I sat Mum and Auntie Sue down and told them to cast their minds back to the first few days after the accident, focusing on the box of Amy’s possessions. We needed to work out who might have had access to it.

  Those initial days after I’d got home had been a blur, and I struggled to put them in order now. The memory of that raw grief washed over me as I thought back, and I winced under the weight of it. Auntie Sue flinched too, hit by a similar force. Only Mum was still, sitting with her eyes closed and a serene expression on her face.

  ‘Self-hypnosis,’ said Auntie Sue, with a look that told me this wasn’t the first time she’d seen it. ‘It might take a while. I’ll put the kettle on.’

  Auntie Sue’s recollection of the days after the accident was slightly better than mine. She had helpfully kept a list of who had sent cards and who had phoned, knowing that she wouldn’t remember who to thank later. She’d also kept note of people who had taken flowers to the site of the accident. I had no intention of visiting the scene of the crash and had been deliberately avoiding that road out of the village. I pictured a tree on a sharp bend of a country lane, black skid marks pointing towards a makeshift shrine of wilted blooms in plastic wrappers, and shuddered.

  Almost all of the visitors after Amy’s death had been at her house. That had been the family base for most of that time, where we had huddled in shock and congregated in our misery. There had been a couple of days when Mum had taken to her bed, and Auntie Sue had stayed home to watch her. Sue couldn’t remember who had called at their house during those days, but she didn’t think Mike had been.

  ‘There,’ said Mum, brandishing a sheet of paper.

  She had scrawled a dozen names with notes beside them. I quickly scanned her list. Mum was not only claiming to remember who had been to her house, but when they had been there and how long they’d stayed for.

  ‘How can you even remember all of this? You were in bed.’

  ‘Just because I was in bed doesn’t mean I wasn’t present,’ she said with a shrug, ‘I was very much here, and focusing very hard on… not drifting away. I was practicing hyper-mindfulness.’

  Auntie Sue looked at Mum’s list and nodded.

  ‘This does seem about right,’ she said, taking a sip of tea.

  Mike had not been to the house, not according to Mum’s list at least. Rachel had been of course, several times – but I already knew that. I was only listed as visiting once. I swallowed, a lump rising in my throat.

  Diana Wheeler had visited. The only other name I recognised was Richard Pringle. According to Mum, he had been over three times.

  ‘What’s the deal with Richard Pringle?’ I asked them. It was a question I’d been mulling over for a while.

  Mum and Auntie Sue exchanged glances. Mum bit her lip. ‘His heart is in the right place…’ She hesitated. ‘And he was very fond of Amy.’

  Auntie Sue frowned. ‘He’s a good person. I know what people say about him, but Amy always had time for him. And she knew him well – better than most.’

  ‘What do people say about him?’ I asked, trying to keep the concern from my voice.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ Auntie Sue said, with a dismissing wave of her hand. ‘Nothing important. You know how people here like to gossip, no matter what truth there was to any of it…’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Mum and Auntie Sue looked at each other.

  ‘Go ahead,’ Mum said. ‘You might as well tell her now.’

  Auntie Sue took a deep breath, shook her head like she was thinking better of it, and then began to tell me before she changed her mind.

  ‘Richard’s not from Seahouses, so even though he’s lived here for years, clearly that still means he’s an outsider.’ She pursed her lips. ‘He’s also not married, which would make him an eligible bachelor in most places, but oh no, not here. Here, that’s a cause for suspicion. And he has the audacity to live alone in a large house. You get the picture - people are jealous. They don’t know his life history, he didn’t share it, so they’ve filled in the blanks themselves.’

  She sighed. ‘There have been various rumours about him over the years, but the one that has persisted is that he left his last school after becoming involved with a former pupil. Can you imagine?’ Auntie Sue said, exasperated. ‘Absolutely no truth to it whatsoever!’

  She shook her head and continued. ‘The man can’t do right for doing wrong. People decided that he’s a bit creepy, and any time something happens, the finger of blame gets pointed at him.’

  ‘Like what?’ I asked.

  Auntie Sue rolled her eyes. ‘Underwear stolen from a washing line. A mysterious dark figure spotted in the back lane one night. An anonymous love letter posted through someone’s letterbox. Richard Pringle gets the blame for everything. It’s a wonder he still lives here.’

  ‘He was very keen on our Amy, though,’ Mum said, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Anne! Don’t you start!’

  Mum pursed her lips into a sulk. ‘I’m just saying… That man has a strange energy. And he moped after Amy. Even she got exasperated with him at times.’

  The idea was needling at me, like a tiny stone in my shoe. I pictured Richard in my house, about to kiss me, then telling me that I looked just like my sister. I thought of the roses he had sent with an anonymous note, and the feeling that he was watching from the window whenever I went past his place. And he had been here, to this house, three times in the week after the accident.

  Then I remembered: Richard had mentioned Amy having money worries without me having said anything. And he’d seemed to know about Mike’s affair when apparently, nobody else did. My blood ran cold.

  I hadn’t questioned how he knew those things. But had he been reading it all in the messages I’d sent to my sister?

  DCI Bell answered on the third ring. ‘Isabelle. To what do I owe the pleasure?’

  I swallowed, a tennis ball of guilt in my throat, and told her about the missing phone. She was silent as I explained my susp
icion that Richard Pringle had possibly taken it from my mother’s house, coupled with his fondness for Amy and his behaviour towards me. I tried my best to stick to the facts and cringed when I told her about the almost-kiss. She thanked me and abruptly hung up, and I could almost hear her disdain in the buzz of the dead line. I poured a small vodka and took a sip to steady my nerves. Then I called Jake.

  Jake sat up with a start when he heard my voice – I heard the familiar creak of his big office chair – and I wished I was calling with better news.

  ‘Well if the phone has been switched back on, it should be straightforward to find – they can locate it by the signal. They should know right away if he has it.’

  ‘He’s got it, I’m convinced. So you think they will act quickly?’

  I pictured Phil, languishing in a cell somewhere. Falsely accused, thanks to me stumbling across those messages and assuming the worst about Amy without questioning it. And meanwhile I’d failed to see what was right in front of me. My head pounded.

  ‘I’ll give my contact a call this evening and see what I can find out. Try not to think about it in the meantime.’

  I hung up, thinking about the fact that I’d told the police about Mike’s affair. Had I laid out my sister’s dirty laundry for everyone to gawk over, for nothing? I topped up my vodka, hoping to get some clarity.

  Mike had been having an affair, that much was certain. But the messages to Amy – someone had set me up to frame Phil. And Richard had Amy’s phone the whole time. I just hoped that Rachel and Phil would forgive me one day.

  I was late for dinner at Amy’s. Mike was helping Lucas to cook again, and something had gone wrong – the smell of acrid smoke was all that remained of a failed experiment. He was scrubbing at the burned pan and gave me a sheepish tilt of his chin as a greeting. I glared back at him, just daring him to say something. Even the sight of him was more than I could bear.

  I helped Lucas to dish out and served Mike last, roughly spooning a dollop of fish pie onto his plate. Auntie Sue raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  My head was swimming, and I found it hard to concentrate for more than a moment before another ugly thought appeared. Betsy was trying to tell me some long and convoluted story, with the enthusiasm and level of unnecessary detail that only an eight-year-old can muster, and I struggled to follow. The buzz from my vodka was wearing off and I had to steal away to the bathroom midway through the meal to refresh myself.

  I cleared up after dinner, dismissing the others’ offers to help. I plunged my hands into the basin of too-hot water, watching them disappear beneath the layer of suds until the pain was too much and pulling them out again, angry and raw.

  Mike came back into the kitchen and stood at a safe distance across the galley. ‘I said I’m sorry, Izzy…’

  I didn’t turn around. ‘It’s not me you should be apologising to. Besides, sorry isn’t going to change anything.’

  He sighed. ‘No, it’s not. All I can say is how much I regret it, and I’ll regret it every day for the rest of my life… But please. We were doing well here. We were OK at this, me and you.’

  I thought again of Amy’s will, and her letter to me. She’d wanted me and Mike to work together, to be parent and guardian, even after she’d known that he had been unfaithful.

  Or had she wanted that? Maybe the reason she had asked me to come back was because she didn’t trust Mike anymore. I put my hands back into the hot water.

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ called Hannah.

  The front door swung open with a gasp, and a draft of cool evening air blew down the hall and into the kitchen. Mike and I turned at the same time.

  DCI Bell and PC Knowles were standing on the doorstep.

  Hannah turned and looked down the hallway towards the kitchen, to me and Mike, her eyes pleading for one of the grown-ups to come and deal with this.

  Mike walked down the hallway, rolling down his shirt sleeves back towards his wrists like a schoolboy who had been disciplined for sloppy uniform. He put a hand on Hannah’s shoulder, still doing up the button on his shirt cuff. I edged up the hall behind him, my eyes fixed on the officers’ boots. Auntie Sue appeared at the living room door, her mouth dropping to a surprised ‘oh’. The birdsong of Betsy’s laughter rang out from inside.

  DCI Bell had her hat under her arm.

  ‘Mr Sanders, Miss Morton – could we speak in private for just a moment?’

  ‘Come on, Hannah.’ I put my hands on her shoulders, steering her gently away from the door.

  Auntie Sue beckoned her over and pulled her into the living room. Betsy had gone quiet. The only sound was the blaring of the television. I followed Mike outside and pulled the door closed behind us. My heart was hammering.

  ‘We’ve released Phil Turner without charge.’ DCI Bell said, her voice hushed. ‘The evidence against him was not as it initially appeared. I’m now of the opinion that it could have been fabricated.’ Her eyes locked with mine.

  ‘Even the medication in his garage?’ I said.

  ‘He insists he’s never seen it before. In light of other recent developments, we believe it could have been planted there.’

  I shivered and wrapped my arms tightly around myself.

  She carried on. ‘And we’ve taken Richard Pringle in for questioning. Mr Pringle has come in voluntarily to discuss Amy’s accident and will be interviewed under caution. He had Amy’s phone in his possession, and he has admitted to accessing her messages.’

  The thick night air started to close in on me and my throat seized up.

  Mike shuffled from foot to foot. ‘When will you arrest him?’

  PC Knowles was quick to answer. ‘There’s no evidence at this stage that would prompt an arrest. We’re just talking to him. What would be helpful from the family is any idea why he might have had Amy’s phone. Something you might have seen or heard, or something Amy said. Anything you can tell us, no matter how insignificant it might seem.’

  A chill breeze swirled along the street, picking up leaves and tossing them in the air before carelessly letting them fall back to the ground.

  My mind was racing. ‘Could Richard have planted the medication at the garage? If he was trying to frame Phil?’

  ‘That’s for us to look in to.’ DCI Bell’s mouth was pressed into a pinch. ‘And we’d like you to come in tomorrow as well, Mr Sanders – nothing official, just a few details to go back over.’

  I looked down at my feet.

  Mike cleared his throat. ‘I see. Do I need a lawyer?’ He chuckled nervously.

  ‘Nothing like that,’ said DCI Bell. ‘It’s just formalities, really. Please pop in for a chat when you can. I’m free at eleven.’

  It was a command, though, rather than a suggestion. I wondered if Mike had heard it, too. I kept my eyes fixed firmly on DCI Bell’s boots as she turned and made her way down the path back to the car, with PC Knowles following her.

  A silhouette appeared at a window across the street. How long would it take for the whole village to find out about Richard?

  We retreated to the warm hallway, shutting the door against the evening. I leaned back against the wall. The living room was quiet, and I pictured the kids, Mum and Auntie Sue anxiously waiting behind the door to hear the news.

  ‘I knew that creepy bastard was up to something,’ Mike hissed.

  You have no idea, I thought, as I pictured him in Puffin Cottage.

  ‘Wonder why they need to speak to me again. You don’t know anything about that, do you?’ His eyebrows were raised in a question.

  I shrugged, trying to keep my face neutral. ‘Probably just a formality, like she said.’

  There was no point delaying the inevitable. Mike went into the living room, took a deep breath and told the kids that Phil had been released, and the police had taken Richard Pringle in to answer some questions about their Mum’s death. His gentleness belied the rage I knew was brewing inside him.

  Mum began to
cry and Hannah was the first to comfort her – showing a kindness that made me feel Amy was right there in the room with us.

  Mike took the lead, coaxing the children to talk about what had happened and trying to get a discussion going. But we had so little to share, and we had agreed not to tell them that Richard had Amy’s phone.

  Only Lucas had questions, and they were purely logistical. Was Mr Pringle sleeping in a cell? Were there bars on the door? Was it locked?

  Mike mentioned in passing that he would being going in tomorrow to help the police, and nobody responded, but Hannah glanced at me. She would have questions later that she didn’t want to ask in front of the little ones.

  The news about Richard hit Auntie Sue the hardest. I found her a little later in the kitchen, standing alone at the sink and staring out the window into the dark of the garden. She kept her back to me.

  ‘Just because he’s an outsider doesn’t mean he’s evil. He’s just different – it doesn’t make him bad.’

  ‘He had Amy’s phone! He stole it from us!’

  ‘I know, I know,’ she said, holding up a hand to stop me. ‘But… maybe there’s some explanation. It doesn’t mean he murdered her. I just hope the man’s life hasn’t been ruined for nothing.’

  She dried her hands and went wordlessly to join the others. I stepped up to the window to see what she had been staring at, but all I could see was my reflection.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out to find a message from Adam:

  Why aren’t you answering? Call me back.

  There was also one from Jake:

  Heard the news. How are you all holding up? It’s late already, they’ll keep Richard overnight at a minimum. I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.

  I chewed on a fingernail. So that was it. Phil was out and on his way home, and Richard was in custody.

  I had built Phil up in my mind to be such a monster that it had been difficult to even consider he might be innocent after all, even after I’d realised his messages to Amy had probably been faked. At first, I had even been trying to imagine scenarios where Mike and Phil might both be guilty, although that made no sense. How wrong I’d been about it all. In my grief and desperation, I’d seen things that weren’t there.