Salt Sisters

by Katherine Graham

  Sadness curled at the corners of her words and her grip relaxed a little.

  ‘It was a test, and he failed. Big time. So I had to find another way to solve the problem. Because, can’t you see? Amy was the problem. That spoilt little bitch.’

  She pushed me harder against the door.

  ‘Little Miss Fucking Perfect Life. You were the perfect wife, had the perfect house, the perfect kids, the perfect husband… You even had the perfect best friend.’

  Was she talking to me or to Amy? With her arm around my neck, it was hard to breathe. I desperately fought for tiny gulps of air.

  ‘And what?’ I gasped. ‘You wanted what she had, so you killed her for it? Or you wanted to get back at Mike?’

  Rachel hesitated for a second, as if remembering where she was. Who she was with. ‘Nah…’ Her bared teeth brushed against my earlobe. ‘I killed her because I knew I could,’ she hissed.

  ‘Amy’, I stuttered. ‘Amy knew about you two. She found out. That’s why she changed her will.’

  ‘She found out about Mike. Never had concrete proof, but knew he was up to something. She was starting to keep tabs on him, going through his bank statements and stuff. She confided in me, at first. I was her shoulder to cry on. And then one day, there was just something different about her. The way she looked at me… And I could see it had occurred to her that maybe, just maybe, it was me. So I decided it was time. It was just a case of waiting until the right moment.’

  ‘I came over that night – I knew Mike was at the pub, so I called in on Amy for a nice cosy chat and spiked her drink. I made my excuses – told her I wasn’t feeling well. She was off with me anyway. I saw myself out, then ducked beside her car and loosened the lug nuts on her front wheel - even took one all the way out. Turns out all those evenings I spent helping Phil at the garage weren’t a complete waste of time after all.

  ‘The car was parked right outside the house – can you believe it? She’d have seen me if she’d looked out the window.

  ‘I gave it just enough time for the meds to kick in before I rang her, saying there was an emergency over at Howton Farm and I wasn’t up to going. That would always get Amy out, even if she had drunk a glass of wine. Always on district duty, that one. The timing had to be perfect – she had to leave while she still felt OK to drive. The car was a ticking bomb by then. It was just a matter of time.’

  Rachel’s grip tightened on me. If she pinned me any harder, I would choke.

  ‘And guess what? I pulled it off! It all went to plan – until you showed up.’

  ‘And Phil? You framed your own husband?’

  ‘He was the two-for-one! It was easy enough to send messages from his Facebook to Amy, he didn’t even know I’d done it. You thought you were going mad after I deleted them. And I left the sedatives in his garage for the police to find – they were all ears when I tipped them off. Amy was dead and he was going down for it. He’s a dead weight anyway.’

  Rachel laughed, then laughed again, catching her own joke.

  ‘He’s actually a dead weight in every sense, these days. He’s out at Southend Rock, in front of the caravan park. I knocked him out and rolled him over the edge. The water’s deep over there, by the cliff. It’ll take them ages to find him and when they do, they’ll assume it was suicide.’

  My insides turned to ice. I had to get out of here – she had killed Amy and Phil, and I was next.

  ‘And you were too easy,’ Rachel laughed. ‘I couldn’t believe how quickly you believed Amy was cheating on Mike. You wanted to believe she wasn’t happy and you were so ready to think the worst of her. You really didn’t know your sister at all, did you?’

  My anger flared, reigniting my instinct to fight. But how? Everything in the self-defence class had been about kicking or hitting your attacker in the groin, but that wasn’t going to work here. I couldn’t move any part of my body except my left leg, and if I moved that, I’d lose my balance. But maybe that was just what I needed.

  I threw myself back against Rachel, leaning my weight onto her. She was startled by the sudden movement and momentarily lost her balance, stumbling a little. I swung my free leg up in front and kicked hard against the door, sending us both tumbling backwards.

  We landed together on the floor with me on top, the impact knocking the wind out of me. Rachel’s head hit the ground with a sickening thud and her arm flopped to the side. I jumped to my feet, my breath a ragged panting, ready to kick or punch.

  She was out cold. I carefully nudged her with my foot. Nothing.

  Where was the key? I tiptoed into the living room, panic thundering in my chest. Where could she have tossed it? I rummaged through her bag and jacket pockets with shaking hands. She must have hidden it somewhere.

  I glanced back over my shoulder – Rachel was still lying there on the kitchen floor, still out for the count. My heart hammered. I wiped my face with the back of my hand – sweat mixed with snot and tears. I prayed to Amy that I would get out of this in one piece.

  The phone. I would ring Adam for help, then barricade myself upstairs until the police arrived. Rachel had tossed my mobile to the ground when she’d snatched it off me. There it was, under the TV table. I picked it up, found Adam’s contact details, and pressed ‘call’.

  Come on, come on… I silently pleaded with it.

  Then there was a thud, and everything went dark.

  Rachel was sitting over me when I woke. I was on my back on the living room floor, my wrists and ankles bound tight with plastic cable ties, a dull ache in my head. I tried to speak, but she had put duct tape over my mouth.

  ‘Wakey, wakey…’ Her face twisted into a grimaced smile.

  I retched. How long had I been knocked out for? It was properly dark outside now.

  ‘You sent a text to Adam telling him that you want some space, and to pass the message on to everyone that you just want to be left alone.’ Rachel held the phone out to me to read. I looked away. ‘It worked, because he has just replied to let you know that you’re selfish and he’s had enough of you. So don’t expect anyone to be running to your rescue, just in case that’s what you were thinking.’ She was pleased with herself. ‘And later, after you’ve downed the rest of your vodka, and swallowed these’ – she shook a jar of pills – ‘you’ll send him another message to say goodbye.’

  I squirmed and the ties cut into my wrists. Rachel bent down to examine the angry red lines they had made, holding my wrists up for closer inspection.

  ‘Hmmm… I might have to slit your wrists too, just to cover this mess.’ She stood up and stretched, her neck giving a violent crack. She gazed out of the window, considering, her face twisted into a snarl. ‘I think that’s quite you, don’t you? Very Izzy. You would be thorough. And look – these are the same pills that I used for your sister. How poetic is that?’

  Rachel squatted down in front of me and hauled me over her shoulder in a fireman’s lift. I screamed and squirmed, and she punched me hard in the ribs.

  ‘I would keep still if I were you. A drunken fall down the stairs is still an option.’

  She carried me upstairs and dropped me into the bath. My wrist hit the edge of the avocado tub with a sickening crunch.

  ‘Don’t move.’ She pushed me back and turned on the tap.

  Cold water splashed into my face and I twisted out of the way, blinking my eyes open and spluttering snot and water. It took me a second to catch my breath and see clearly. Rachel wasn’t in the room – where had she gone?

  The water was filling the tub around me, making it even harder to move. I could probably get out of the bath, but where would I run to? My bedroom? I was torn between fighting back now and saving my energy. Terror paralysed me.

  The thunder of Rachel’s steps rumbled up the stairs and she reappeared at the door with her hands full. She carefully placed the bottles of vodka and the knife on the bathroom counter – the staging for my suicide – neatly arranging each item.

  I thought of the kids – t
hey would never know that I hadn’t abandoned them, and Mum – how would she cope, losing me so soon after Amy? And poor Adam, who would blame himself. It was my fault. I should have seen it. The answer had been in front of me all along. And now I hadn’t just failed Amy. I’d failed all of them.

  I was shivering – I didn’t know if it was from the biting cold of the water or terror. Rachel crouched at the side of the bath and removed the lid from the bottle of vodka. With a tenderness that took me by surprise, she slowly peeled off the tape from my mouth. I was aware that it stung, but numb to the pain of it.

  ‘Please Rachel, please don’t do this.’ I begged. ‘Let’s work something out…’

  ‘Shh… Just drink,’ she said in a soft voice.

  She gently tipped my head back and put the bottle to my lips. I clamped my mouth closed shut, the vodka running down my chin. She slapped me again and pinched my nose until I gave in, gasping for air, and shoved the bottle roughly into my mouth.

  Vodka had never tasted so bad. It burned like icy fire, every drop scorching my throat, pooling in my stomach like poison. How much would she force me to drink? How much could I hold down?

  The pain in my wrist was pulsating and the water was still rising – it was now at my chest and the weight was crushing me, pinning me down. I was powerless, and at that moment, I gave up. This was how I was going to die.

  Tears rolled down my cheeks. Exhaustion took over and I closed my eyes, tuning out everything except the sound of the water. The water, the water. Listen to the water. Focus on your breathing. Take yourself away from here.

  I imagined I was on the beach with Amy, lying on our backs. Sand beneath us. No need to talk to each other – we always knew what the other was thinking anyway. She wasn’t disappointed in me, and I hadn’t let her down. Amy turned her head towards me and smiled, and I knew that she wasn’t far away from me now.

  A smash and a scream ripped me back to the moment. Not a scream so much as a war-cry, a guttural howl…

  The smash had been the bathroom door slamming open against the wall. Rachel whipped around, but barely had time to register Auntie Sue, howling, her face contorted with rage – or the stone foo dog she was holding high in two hands – before Auntie Sue slammed the ornament down hard against Rachel’s head.

  I saw a glimmer of confusion on Rachel’s face as she fell backwards from her crouch, and Auntie Sue’s shock as she looked down at her own hands, violently trembling, still tightly clutching the foo dog. She took in the set-up on the dresser and looked at me, her eyes wide, the colour drained from her. Her expression was of sheer terror.

  Rachel gave a low growl like a wild animal, shaking off the blow. She gripped the edge of the bath to steady herself as she slowly got back to her feet.

  ‘Auntie Sue!’ I screamed. ‘Do something!’

  Just then, Mum crashed through the door behind her, barging past Auntie Sue. She charged shoulder-first into Rachel, throwing her entire weight against her and sending the pair of them hurtling backwards towards the window.

  There was a splintering as the ancient wooden frame cracked and the glass panes shattered into infinite shards. They seemed to teeter there for a moment, fighting against the pull of gravity and the long drop down, before Auntie Sue grabbed the back of Mum’s kaftan, clutching a fistful of fabric and yanking her sister away from the precipice.

  Rachel’s arms flailed wildly and desperately, grasping for something to save her from the fall, but there was nothing except the night. She toppled backwards, plummeting soundlessly through the darkness, down towards the harbour far below.

  Silence.

  The curtains billowed in the breeze and the bathroom was filled with cold, briny air. Auntie Sue shuffled to the window and peered down.

  ‘Isabelle!’ Mum rushed to me, looping her arms around me and slowly raised me out of the bath, my body wracked by uncontrollable shivers. She turned the tap off and wrapped a towel around me, rubbing my back, then took the knife from the dressing table. With steady hands, she cut the plastic ties from my wrists. Cooing a soft lullaby, she started to peel off my wet clothes.

  Adam appeared at the door.

  ‘Izzy! Oh, dear god. We came as soon as we realised! I just got off the phone, the police are on their way. I’m so sorry, I should have…’

  ‘Don’t, honestly – I’m OK. Is Rachel…?’

  Auntie Sue shook her head.

  ‘How did you know I was in trouble?’ I said through chattering teeth.

  ‘The message you sent – well, the message that was sent from your phone. I could tell right away it wasn’t you,’ said Adam. ‘You would never not be there for the kids. Also, it was signed it off with “xxx”. That’s how Rachel signs off.’

  ‘You weren’t yourself at all, I just knew something wasn’t right. I should have realised sooner.’ Auntie Sue was fighting back tears. ‘It was weird, the way Rachel had followed you out. Mike broke down when I asked him if there was anything he wasn’t telling us. I’ll never forgive him for this.’

  Mum said nothing. She hummed her lullaby as she rubbed my back, rocking me gently, and I melted into her, surrendering myself to her care. The distant wail of a siren grew louder, and soon the bathroom walls were lit up by flashing blue light.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Quick! She’s coming on now!’

  We were crowded into the living room at Amy’s – I still thought of it as Amy’s – and gathered around the television.

  ‘Quiet, everyone!’ I shushed the excited chatter as the presenter introduced the next guest.

  ‘Many of us have experienced the pain of losing a loved one, but few have managed to turn that into a positive thing. One person who has done that very successfully is Hannah Sanders from Northumberland, who created a platform for teenagers to access mental health support after she lost her mum in a road accident. And we’re very pleased to have Hannah with us today.’

  We collectively gasped as the camera panned out, revealing Hannah sitting on the iconic red sofa. Her long blond hair had been blow-dried and she was wearing the outfit we had chosen together – her leather jacket over a printed tea-dress and Amy’s old shell necklace.

  ‘Hannah, tell us – where did the idea for MySelfHan come from?’

  ‘Well, after my mum died, it was very hard to talk about my feelings…’ I mouthed the words with her as she said them. ‘…And I found that it was easier to communicate with my friends through social media. I supposed it’s because young people like me, we’ve grown up with everything being online, and we’re sometimes more comfortable with that.’

  She smiled. That’s good, Han – remember to smile.

  ‘It began with posting how I was feeling, and the strategies I was using to cope. At first it was just my friends, and it sort of just grew from there. Then I realised that what I was going through could help other teenagers who were facing a tough time, so I started to share more widely.’

  The screen cut to show images from Hannah’s Instagram, then of Hannah speaking at an event.

  ‘It’s a fantastic story, Hannah,’ the presenter smiled, ‘and once again we see how powerful social media can be. And yours in particular – I understand you’ve been nominated for an award?’

  Hannah squirmed in her seat and blushed. She still wasn’t used to being the centre of attention. ‘I have, yes – I’ve been nominated for a Gleam Award. And while it’s lovely to be recognised, there are lots of really amazing people up for prizes, and I’m just happy to be part of it.’

  The presenter beamed at her. Hannah seemed to have this effect on everyone these days – people found it impossible not to like her. Amy would have burst with pride.

  ‘Hannah Sanders – thank you very much for joining us.’

  We cheered and applauded as the show cut to the next segment. I let out a sigh of relief – it had gone so well.

  It was all part of the plan that Adam had put together for her – his vision was that Hannah would be an early pioneer
of a new generation of influencers with more depth. She had content pillars, editorial calendars, and a weekly call with Adam to go over the engagement analytics. For Hannah, it was all about helping people who needed it. A fitting tribute to her mum.

  I worried that it was too much pressure, but she had assured me she would stop if ever it got to the point that it was no longer fun – and promised us that schoolwork would always come first. I would be glad when she got home tonight. At least in Seahouses, she could melt back into her normal life and be a regular teenager – not an online celebrity with sixty thousand followers. Mike and I had even created a new rule – phone-free time – to make sure she was getting enough time away from the screen.

  Mike and I had eventually made up, although it had been hard work to get to that point. I didn’t want to hold what had happened against him – I could have, but I chose not to. It sounded like something Mum would say – to make a conscious decision to not be angry – but I didn’t want to live with the negative energy. Anger and resentment were bitter seeds – I couldn’t let them take hold. If I did, they would grow fast and spread like weeds, poisoning the soil.

  Mike had been devastated to learn about Rachel – we all were – and blamed himself for what had happened to Amy. Everyone had misjudged her, it seemed – she’d even had Amy fooled. Mike’s remorse and the guilt he felt that I’d almost become Rachel’s third victim was enough for me to forgive him, in the end.

  It had taken months of therapy to get Mike back on his feet. We paid off his business debts when I received my final bonus from the bank, and his work had taken a backseat for now, leaving him to concentrate on enjoying time with the children. This time it had been his turn to accompany Hannah to London. I hoped they were enjoying some father-daughter bonding time.