Sleep Sister: A page-turning novel of psychological suspense

by Laura Elliot

  At first, her concern had been to escape from Sara and her rage. The decision to go to O’Donovan’s farm only crystallised when she reached the dividing fork. A light shone in the front porch. Early risers, the family usually went to bed around ten o’clock – except for Catherine, who was on night duty.

  In the barn Beth pulled an empty sack loose from the bundle on the floor. Next door in the stable she heard the sick horse coughing. It seemed incredible that on this same day she had fed chickens and walked to the hill farm to call Frank O’Donovan when the vet arrived. She removed the towel and wrapped the baby loosely in the coarse sacking. She laid the bundle in the centre of the porch and knocked hard on the front door. When an upstairs light was switched on she slipped silently back down the lane.

  She heard the door opening, voices raised. Her chest ached where the baby had rested. She blended into the night, murmuring. Goodbye… goodbye… goodbye.

  Chapter 15

  Sara was slumped against the rock, her hands covered in clay, when Beth returned. She didn’t speak as Beth coaxed and supported her to her feet. They descended slowly, Beth half-carrying her, their feet slipping, thorns tearing their clothes, not noticing until they reached the back garden of Cherry Vale. The knowledge that her aunt’s car would soon be pulling into the driveway filled Beth with terror as she helped Sara into bed. She lifted her dress over her head, noticing with growing horror the seeping bloodstains. She sponged her, crooning words without meaning.

  ‘Why are you always following me around?’ Sara spoke for the first time since they’d left the headland. Her voice shook, gaining strength. She flung her head from side to side. ‘Leave me alone – do you hear me? Leave me alone.’

  Beth slumped on the edge of the bed. ‘Sara, I have to tell you—’

  ‘No!’ The young girl began to tremble. Her eyes slanted upwards until only the whites were visible. ‘I buried it… deep in the clay… dead in the clay.’ She fell back against the pillow, holding Beth’s arm in a vice-like grip.

  ‘Sara, that’s not true. Talk to me. We have to talk about this.’

  ‘Our secret.’ Her grip tightened. ‘Promise. Don’t tell. We’ll forget… don’t tell… don’t! It’s done. Swear to God you won’t tell… ever. Swear it to me.’

  ‘I swear.’ Beth began to sob, her body swaying in terror. She stayed by her sister’s side throughout the night. The hall door closed. She listened to May’s heavy tread on the stairs. The luminous hands on the alarm clock moved into the small hours. Sara never stirred. Her breathing was so shallow that Beth held her own breath until she made out the faint rise and fall of her sister’s chest.

  Towards morning Sara’s temperature began to rise. When she tossed the bedclothes from her shoulders the metallic smell of blood was so strong that Beth recoiled. She sponged her down again, horrified by the amount of blood she was losing. When May left for Mass, Beth washed the dress and put the sheets into the washing machine. The sound of footsteps crossing the landing alerted her. Towels lay on the floor of the bathroom, covered in bloodstains. Sara had returned to the bedroom and was on her knees, frantically rubbing the mattress with a facecloth.

  ‘Leave it, Sara,’ Beth pleaded. ‘I’ll turn the mattress. It’s going to be all right.’

  ‘No one must know.’ Frantically Sara kept rubbing, beating Beth’s hand away.

  ‘Stop it!’ Beth screamed. ‘You’re driving me crazy.’

  Desperately she lifted her sister off her knees and half-dragged her back into bed. Sara moaned softly but did not move. Her arms felt rigid; skin, bone, sinew and muscle rejecting any form of comfort. They heard footsteps on the stairs, the bathroom door opening, the startled exclamation. May, finding the bedroom door locked, rapped loudly.

  ‘Sara, open the door immediately. What’s going on? What happened to my towels?’

  ‘It’s all right, May,’ Beth shouted. ‘She’s trying to sleep. I’ll be out in a minute.’

  ‘Open the door immediately. Do you hear me?’ She knocked a second time, louder, prolonged. ‘This is my house, remember? I don’t allow locked doors.’

  Beth tried to ease herself from Sara’s grip but her sister held her, entreating her to stay silent.

  ‘We can’t hide it any longer.’ Beth prised her hands free and stood up, protecting Sara from her aunt’s shocked gaze.

  May still had her hat and jacket on. ‘Sweet heart of Jesus!’ She gasped, looking at the bed. ‘What’s going on here? Speak up will you? What’s wrong with you, Sara?’

  ‘She’s sick… she’s haemorrhaging… we have to call the doctor.’

  Sara shook her head from side to side, whimpering. She stared dully at May. Her eyes glittered, the flush of fever on her cheeks.

  ‘How long has this been going on?’ May demanded.

  ‘Since last night…’ Beth bowed her head.

  ‘Last night?’ May pressed her hand against her chest, then pointed towards the door, shouting at Beth. ‘You get out and wait downstairs. I’ll deal with you later.’

  An hour passed before she came downstairs. ‘Who else knows about this?’ she demanded.

  Shakily, Beth got to her feet. ‘No one.’

  ‘Marjory? She must surely know?’

  Beth shook her head. ‘No one but us. Is Sara going to die?’ she sobbed.

  ‘It’s a heavy bleed and an infection. She’ll recover. I remember enough from my nursing days.’ Hard-faced she stared at Beth. ‘The whole town’s talking about an abandoned baby left outside O’Donovan’s. Jesus Christ! How could she have allowed this to happen in my house? And you – didn’t you think about me? That I had a right to know?’

  ‘I didn’t know myself until last night.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. You were always a liar, Beth Tyrell. If it was you I wouldn’t be surprised. But Sara—’ Perspiration shone on her forehead. She dabbed her skin with a tissue, touching her lips, smudging lipstick, hardly aware of what she was doing. ‘I don’t want to know the whys and wherefores of what your sister’s been getting up to but it’s obvious she was doing more than taking photographs in her spare time.’

  ‘What about the baby?’

  ‘As dead as makes no difference.’

  ‘Dead!’

  ‘With a fractured skull it probably is by now. And just as well too. What luck would it have coming into the world the way it did?’

  ‘Why are you blaming Sara?’

  ‘Because it always takes two to tango and Sara has landed us in a fine mess. Any shame on your family reflects on mine. That baby is probably in the morgue by now and Albert’s name could be dragged into this sorry mess. Dear Jesus! You Tyrells have bad blood in you and that’s a fact. Between yourself and your father you’ve caused enough tongues to wag in Anaskeagh and now this—’

  ‘He’s to blame… Albert… ask him…’ She was unaware that she had sobbed his name aloud until she saw the shock in her aunt’s eyes.

  May sat down suddenly. Her face sank, grew old. ‘You disgusting little slut! How dare you use my husband’s name in that vile way? Has your sister been making those accusations?’

  Beth shook her head. ‘She doesn’t have to. I know.’

  ‘You know nothing.’ May’s bosom heaved.

  Beth stepped backward from her fury. ‘I know everything.’ She was unable to control her tears. ‘That’s why I ran away. He’s to blame… he is… he is…’

  ‘Get out of my house,’ May’s voice rasped with fury.

  ‘I won’t leave Sara.’

  ‘I’ll take care of your sister because, and only because, she’s my niece. If you dare utter one word – one word – that could damage my husband’s good name I’ll drag you through every court in the land for slander. Do you hear me, Beth Tyrell?’

  ‘I’m not leaving her with you… and him.’

  ‘Get out! Get out! Get out!’ Unable to restrain herself any longer, May ran from the room, her breath wheezing. She flung Beth’s clothes into her rucksack then walked pa
st her as if she didn’t exist. Downstairs, she flung the hall door open with such force that it slammed back against the wall. A crack appeared in the frosted glass; a hairline fracture running through fragile bone.

  ‘I have to see Sara before I go,’ Beth gasped. ‘Please let me say goodbye.’

  ‘Get out… Get out.’ May continued to chant the words. Saliva had dried on the corners of her lips. She flung the rucksack into the garden. Then Beth felt herself gripped by the shoulders and shoved forward. ‘Get out of my sight and don’t ever darken my door again.’

  Rain whipped her face as she struggled towards Aislin’s Roof. Last night when she returned from O’Donovan’s farm she had been unaware of anything except the need to get Sara back to Cherry Vale. Now she saw that the hole had been filled in, the loose clay already flattened into mud. She picked up a twig and loosened the mound, finding what she had expected to find. Quickly she scrabbled the clay back over the placenta. She allowed the tears to flow down her cheeks. They rolled into the corners of her lips, hot, salty.

  The rain continued to fall as she turned her back on the headland. It seeped into gorges and ancient fissures where streams murmured and roared, splashing white over rocks or free-falling into space, seeking hidden ravines to shape their journey through the centre of Anaskeagh. The earth was being cleansed, baptised.

  Part 2

  Chapter 16

  Twenty-six years later

  Birds sang from trees whose leaves had yet to fall and the swallows, preparing to migrate, congregated on the electrical cables stretching along Estuary View Heights. This was an ordinary day turned extraordinary but Beth McKeever was unaware of anything other than a quickening of her heartbeat ― a reflex so familiar she hardly noticed it ― when her mobile phone rang and she realised the caller was Peter Wallace. He was in Germany on a business trip with her husband and, unable to think of any reason why he would call her in the middle of the afternoon, she wondered if something had happened to Stewart.

  ‘He’s fine, can’t wait to go home,’ Peter reassured her. ‘I’m ringing about Sara. Has she been in touch with you today?’

  ‘No,’ Beth replied. ‘I haven’t seen her since the day she came home from Africa. Why?’

  ‘I’m anxious to contact her. I’ve left messages on her phone but she hasn’t rung back.’

  ‘You know Sara.’ Beth shrugged, unsurprised. ‘She probably headed off to photograph something or other that caught her fancy and has forgotten that time exists. She’ll be in touch when she comes back down to earth again.’

  ‘We’d an argument before I left. Nothing too serious… she went off the deep end over something…’ He hesitated, as if reluctant to discuss his marital problems with her. ‘We haven’t spoken since Friday. I spent the weekend in the Oldport Grand before leaving for Germany. Did Lindsey tell you?’

  ‘No, she never mentioned anything about the weekend. What did Sara do to annoy you this time?’

  ‘Oh, it’s not worth discussing.’ He sounded offhand but she knew by the slight inflection in his voice that he was lying and it annoyed her that she was still so attuned to his emotions.

  ‘Would you mind driving over to Havenstone to check if she’s there?’ he asked. ‘She’s deliberately avoiding me, but I need to speak to her. Tell her to call me.’

  Instant action and no questions asked. Just like his late mother, Beth thought. She told him she was busy. Dinner to make, children to collect from school, homework to correct and she was leaving early to take Connie out for the night. It was her mother-in-law’s birthday and Beth had booked two tickets for the Abbey Theatre. Busy, busy, boring him. She heard it in his sharp intake of breath. Not that she blamed him. She was boring herself and this awareness sharpened her tone.

  ‘I haven’t time to sort out your domestic squabbles, Peter. Buy Sara some flowers when you come home or book a restaurant.’

  ‘I appreciate how busy you are.’ He ignored her irritation. ‘But it won’t take long if you leave now. You know where to find the spare key. Please, Beth. There’s no one else I can ask.’

  ‘I’ll call in on my way home from the school run and give you a ring. How’s the trip going?’

  ‘Good, so far. We’re looking at a pretty impressive piece of machinery. We’ll probably invest. Thanks, Beth. Talk to you later.’

  She hurried from the house to her car and joined the queue of parents trying to find a parking spot close to the school. Paul and Gail were being escorted across the road by the lollipop lady when she arrived. As always, the traffic was frenetic for about twenty minutes when the school gates opened but it showed no sign of easing as it snaked through the village. A trench was being dug along Main Strand Street and a stop–go system was in place. It was easier for Beth to detour and take the shortcut along the estuary shore. She would call at Havenstone on her way to the theatre.

  At four o’clock Robert, her eldest son, rang the doorbell in successive blasts in case his mother had developed chronic deafness since he left for school that morning. He treated Beth to an obligatory grunt when she enquired about his day. A routine question, a routine response. Since his fourteenth birthday, Robert’s grunt was capable of expressing either joy or anguish and, after a year of communicating with him in this fashion, Beth interpreted this one to mean he was not in danger of imminent expulsion. He was followed soon afterwards by Lindsey, who headed straight for the kitchen, piling a plate high with crackers and peanut butter.

  ‘I don’t want any dinner,’ she announced. ‘I’m going to Melanie’s house to work on my French project. Her mother is making coq au vin.’

  ‘Forget about coq au vin,’ Beth warned. ‘You promised to babysit. I told you I was taking Granny Mac to the theatre for her birthday.’

  ‘Babysit?’ Lindsey sounded outraged. ‘They’re seven and ten – some babies! Anyway, I never promised. You just assumed I’d do it without even asking if I’d other plans. You never remember anything I tell you.’

  Beth sighed. ‘Despite your best efforts, Lindsey, I haven’t started suffering from senile dementia yet. You made a promise. I expect you to keep it.’

  ‘All I’m trying to do is get honours French in my Leaving. Is that a crime? Ring Melanie’s mother if you don’t believe me. There’s six of us meeting there. Why can’t Robert look after the babies?’

  Robert’s grunt expressed agreement and a phone call to Joanna Murray assured Beth that six young people were descending on her house in thirty minutes. She was up to her elbows in garlic, chicken and wine. She sounded surprised and politely amused by Beth’s obvious anxiety.

  ‘Okay. You can go,’ Beth told her daughter when the call ended. ‘I’ll collect you from Melanie’s on my way back from the theatre.’

  ‘But we’ve arranged to walk home together,’ Lindsey wailed. ‘Why do I always have to be different to everyone else?’

  ‘All right! All right! But I want you in here by ten thirty. Is that understood?’

  ‘Heil Hitler.’ Lindsey goose-stepped towards her bedroom, her right arm outstretched, her left bent in a salute. She returned shortly afterwards in leggings and a skirt that was, by Beth’s estimation, shorter than a tutu. The front door slammed and peace of a certain kind settled over the house. Since she’d turned sixteen, Lindsey had developed a staying power that constantly challenged her mother. Such rows exhausted Beth but Lindsey seemed to gather energy from them, forcing her into roles she had no desire to play: prying, suspicious, nagging.

  ‘Oh yuck!’ moaned Paul, inspecting the dish of cannelloni Beth had removed from the oven. ‘Dog’s vomit for dinner again.’

  The beginnings of a headache tightened across her forehead. Sixteen years since she’d last walked out of her front door without a thought or care. Was this motherhood? she often wondered. This obsessive anxiety that clung like a dank paw to her shoulder. Get a life, Mother. Get a life, Lindsey’s familiar refrain mocked her. Sara had a life. A career as a photographer. A fine old house Beth had once covet
ed. A husband she had once cherished. Bad old days, Beth, she warned herself, checking her watch. Five minutes fast as usual. She ruffled Gail’s hair when her youngest child entered the kitchen, her spelling book in hand, with an expression that demanded instant attention.

  The house had been just as chaotic the last time her sister had called. Sara had taken a taxi from the airport, arriving unannounced just as Beth had been preparing the evening meal. She’d been exhausted and pale after her flight but anxious to tell Beth about her experience in Malawi. She’d sat at the kitchen table while Beth chopped vegetables and attended to constant demands from Gail. The little girl had been in a fretful mood, refusing to sit on her aunt’s knee and tugging repeatedly at Beth’s hand whenever the sisters tried to talk.

  Sara, unable to endure the interruptions, had pressed her palms against her cheeks and asked, ‘Why is it never possible to have a sane conversation in this madhouse?’ She’d tried to smile but it had been a fleeting grimace that only emphasised her annoyance. ‘Ask Lindsey to look after the younger ones and come back to Havenstone with me,’ she’d added. ‘We need to talk, Beth.’