The Sisters

by Claire Douglas

  ‘Are you okay?’ he says distractedly. He’s watching the smokers on the sun-loungers. ‘I hope they’re not going to burn their fags out on that wood. It’s teak. Those loungers were bloody expensive.’ I want to tell him I couldn’t give a toss about the sun-loungers. He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve his cigarettes, tapping one out of its packet and into the palm of his hand, and offers it to me. When I shake my head he places it between his lips and lights it. I’ve noticed how twitchy he is when he doesn’t have a fag in his hand. ‘Are you enjoying the party?’

  ‘Not particularly.’ I’m pleased when I see the hurt in his eyes. ‘What happened to the romantic weekend break you promised me?’

  He takes a deep drag of his cigarette before answering. ‘It was only an idea. But Beatrice said a party would be better.’

  I bite back my anger. ‘This was Beatrice’s idea?’

  He looks confused, as if worried he might say the wrong thing. ‘Well, yes. I wanted to take you away somewhere. But Beatrice said she’d already arranged a party, had already asked Nia. She’d spent a lot of money on the catering and the wine.’

  My whole body tenses. ‘And you didn’t think to tell her that I specifically told you that I didn’t want a fucking party?’ I snarl. I carefully enunciate each word to make my point.

  He’s taken aback. ‘I did … But she, quite rightly, pointed out that you love parties. That you’d be happy to see Nia. I thought …’ He looks at me helplessly and I know it’s not his fault. I’m well aware of how manipulative Beatrice can be. Although I wish that, for once, he would put me first instead of always worrying about offending his precious sister. I take a deep breath but I’m unable, or unwilling, to stop the harangue that emerges. ‘Why can’t you see what she’s doing?’ I cry. ‘She doesn’t give a shit about me, this was her way of preventing us spending the weekend together. Without her. She’s got you wrapped around her little finger, Ben. Why can’t you see that?’

  I turn to storm off but he grabs my upper arm, forcing me back roughly as if I’m a dog on a retractable lead, his fingers digging into my skin. His face is pinched, white and inches from mine. ‘She did this for you, Abi,’ he spits. ‘She organized all this for you, even finding out the number of your oldest friend so she could invite her too. And all you can do is bitch about her.’

  ‘Get. Off. Me,’ I hiss between clenched teeth. He releases his grip, shock registering on his face at his actions.

  ‘I’m sorry, Abi. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Fuck off, Ben.’ I push my way through the crowd, tears blurring my vision, faintly aware of Nia breaking away from Beatrice to follow me as I run from the room.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Beatrice has a clear view of them through the open doorway, Abi in her usual jeans and T-shirt, face pinched in agitation, Ben stooped so that his face is level with hers, his eyes narrowed in anger, the spittle flying from his mouth. Beatrice recognizes the expression on his face, the anger. She knows how Ben hates to lose control.

  Next to her she senses Nia stiffen. ‘Are they having a row?’ Nia shouts over the music, concern etched across her pretty face. ‘I thought this might happen. Abi was hoping for a romantic weekend alone with Ben, not a party.’ Beatrice shrugs in an effort to appear nonchalant when inside her heart is pounding with glee. She’s unable to drag her eyes away from the scene unfolding on the balcony.

  Ben is trying to stop Abi from leaving, but she pulls away from him and stumbles into the living room, her eyes wet, her face pale, pushing her way through the alcohol-fuelled crowd towards the door to the landing. ‘I’d better go after her,’ says Nia, handing her glass to Beatrice. She takes the glass wordlessly and watches as Nia darts after Abi.

  She waits. One beat, two beats. And then she goes to him.

  His face is set, impassive as she approaches. ‘Here,’ she hands him Nia’s untouched glass of champagne. ‘You look as though you could do with this.’ He takes it without a word, knocking back the contents in one gulp. You poor darling, she thinks. Being with Abi has brought it all back to you, hasn’t it? The past. What we’ve done. Because she can see that now. She can finally understand why he was attracted to Abi in the first place. A gust of wind blows her thin cotton dress around her thighs and she wishes she was wearing a cardigan.

  ‘You were right when you warned me that she’s damaged,’ he says eventually. ‘I didn’t understand how much. I do now.’

  She pulls him to her in answer, wrapping her arms around him, wishing she could make the hurt go away. When he’s in pain, so is she. She rests her head on his chest, comforted by the steady beat of his heart which reverberates through his shirt. ‘She’s jealous of me,’ she says. ‘Because I’m your twin and she knows how special that is.’

  He pulls away from her, rubs his hand across his chin. ‘I know.’

  ‘All this stuff she’s saying, Ben. About the letters, and the bird and that photograph. She thinks I’m trying to ruin your relationship. But you know it’s rubbish, don’t you? She’s ill, Ben. I don’t think she’s taking her medication – it was in her drawer when she was on the Isle of Wight. She should have taken it with her. She stole my earring, you saw it for yourself. There’s something else too.’

  ‘What?’ he asks wearily.

  ‘I think she saw me, that day when she was on the beach. She mentioned it in the kitchen, I didn’t know what to say …’

  ‘Okay, Bea,’ he snaps, and then he notices her stung expression and his voice is softer as he adds, ‘Look, she told me she thinks you’re moving her antidepressants.’

  Beatrice takes a deep breath. ‘For goodness’ sake, Ben. You don’t believe her, do you?

  ‘Of course not,’ he says, too quickly.

  ‘I think she’s dangerous, Ben. She’s seriously screwed up. She bought a dress exactly the same as the sort I always wear, she’s got the same perfume. And the same trainers. I can’t help but think she’s trying to be me. To replace me …’

  Ben laughs. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Is it?’ She stares at him, deliberating whether to say it. ‘Surely you’ve noticed?’

  He crosses his arms. It’s a defensive gesture. His biceps are strong and tanned. He’s wearing another new shirt. Designer, no doubt. ‘Noticed what?’

  She opens her mouth to say it, but she can’t find the right words. It could all sound so terribly wrong.

  He sighs then puts a cigarette in his mouth and lights it. ‘Look, Bea,’ he says after a few puffs. ‘Abi needs our support and understanding, you know that. She’s had such a hard time. Losing your twin – can you imagine?’

  She stares at him for one long incredulous moment. ‘I can imagine exactly how that feels.’ His expression softens. ‘But it’s no excuse for her behaviour.’

  He’s silent for a moment, assessing her through a fug of smoke, and she knows he’s searching around in his mind for a solution. Solid, dependable Ben. A typical man, desperate to fix things, make good a bad situation. ‘Do you think we should ask her to move out?’ he says eventually.

  Beatrice’s heart quickens. She’s thought it on numerous occasions, of course. But she never imagined that Ben would agree. She chooses her words carefully. ‘It might be for the best. There has been a lot of tension in the house since she moved in.’

  He turns away from her to look out over the garden, flicking his cigarette butt over the balcony, then grips the iron railings as if he’s been hit with the sudden onset of vertigo. Beatrice rubs his back, the way she used to when they were younger. It’s still light, the grey clouds heavy, the grass glistens with raindrops, the air smells washed, refreshed. From inside the house someone has put on ‘Psycho Killer’ by the Talking Heads and people are yelling along with the words.

  ‘Beatrice?’

  She turns to see Nia standing in the doorway. She’s wearing a red-and-white polka-dot dress that clings to her curves and compliments her dark Celtic looks. Beatrice removes her hand from Ben’s
back as Nia joins them, wrapping her arms around herself at the sudden change in temperature. She has intelligent brown eyes and a no-nonsense demeanour that Beatrice admires. ‘Abi wants to be on her own,’ says Nia in her sing-song Welsh accent. ‘I knew this day was going to be hard for her.’

  ‘We shouldn’t have thrown her a party, it was thoughtless,’ says Beatrice. Ben protests as soon as the words are out of her mouth, assuring her that her intentions were good, that she didn’t know how Abi was going to react, although she notices that Nia doesn’t say anything, she stands there regarding the two of them as if she’s trying to work them out, as if something about them bothers her.

  ‘Should I call an end to the party, tell everyone to go home?’ asks Beatrice, wrinkling her nose and surveying the clusters of people laughing, drinking and dancing.

  Nia glances at her watch. ‘It’s still early. Maybe Abi will join the party later, I think she’s disappointed.’ She turns to address Ben. ‘When I spoke to Abi earlier today she was adamant she was going away with you, Ben.’

  Ben lights up another cigarette. He smokes too much, it worries Beatrice. His eyes are bloodshot and she’s sure that while Abi remains living here, the tension, the worry of it, is going to make him ill. Not for the first time, she regrets asking Abi to move in.

  ‘I think we got our wires crossed,’ says Ben, his eyes flicking towards Beatrice.

  You can say that again, she thinks, surveying her brother.

  Ben flicks his cigarette butt over the edge of the balcony and steps away from the railings, handing Beatrice his empty glass. ‘I’m going to speak to Abi, I need to tell her I’m sorry.’ Beatrice opens her mouth to protest, to ask him if he’s still going to suggest that Abi moves out, but realizes anything she says will be futile, so she swallows her words, watching him weave his way through the throng of people, smiling and nodding politely to those who call out a greeting, until he disappears from her sight.

  ‘It must be hard for you,’ Nia says suddenly, by her elbow. The sky has darkened so that Nia’s face is in shadow and difficult to read. They are the only ones left on the balcony. The heavy beat of a dance tune wafts towards them.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Ben being your twin. Trying not to be over-protective.’

  ‘I love him,’ she says. ‘I don’t want him to get hurt.’

  ‘And you don’t think Abi is right for him?’

  Beatrice thinks about her next words carefully, not wanting to offend Nia. ‘Abi moved in here as my friend. I never wanted her to become Ben’s girlfriend, and not because I dislike Abi, it’s, well, she’s been through so much. And since she’s moved in and taken up with Ben …’ she sighs. ‘There has been nothing but trouble.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Look,’ she says, turning to face Nia. ‘There’s been a lot of weird shit happening.’ And she launches into all of it, finishing up with the dress and the trainers.

  Nia groans. ‘Not again.’

  Beatrice shivers. ‘This has happened before?’

  ‘Well, not exactly, but …’ She hesitates.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Beatrice, as soon as I saw you I thought you resembled her,’ she says in a rush.

  Beatrice frowns. ‘Lucy?’

  Nia shakes her head. ‘Not only Lucy, but Alicia.’

  She has a sudden sense of foreboding as she asks, ‘Who’s Alicia?’

  Nia fidgets, wrapping her arms even further around her body as if to hide herself. Beatrice can tell Nia is clamming up, knows she probably regrets what she’s already said. ‘I can’t talk about that, you will have to ask Abi. It’s not fair for me to say anything.’

  Beatrice swells with indignation. ‘I know that she tried to kill herself. I know more than you think, Nia. This is my house. I need to know who I’m living with, for fuck’s sake. Is Abi dangerous?’

  Nia swivels around. ‘Of course she’s not. She’s better now, she seems better, especially now she’s on the antidepressants.’ But her voice wobbles and she sounds unsure.

  ‘But she’s not always taking her bloody antidepressants. Don’t you understand?’ Beatrice snaps. She’s as taut as an over-stretched elastic band. She has a hunch that whatever happened with Alicia didn’t end well. She remembers the intensity in Abi’s eyes, the neediness that emanated from her when they first met, and she knows, deep down, that she fed off Abi’s vulnerability, that she liked that Abi was so desperate to be her friend. It made her feel wanted, special. ‘Please, I need to know.’ There’s a silence and Beatrice holds her breath, aware that any sudden movement might change the course of things, that Nia might decide against confiding in her.

  Nia is silent for a while and Beatrice is convinced the moment has been lost, until Nia says in a voice slightly louder than a whisper, ‘I’m only telling you this because I care about Abi and I’m worried.’

  And Beatrice listens, her heart in her throat, as Nia tells her how Abi became obsessed with their new neighbour in the weeks after Lucy died, how she befriended her, convinced that they were soul mates, how she began to stalk her. ‘She would turn up at places where she knew Alicia was going to be. She got jealous when Alicia went out with other friends. I think Alicia thought Abi was too intense, too needy. I understood, of course, I’ve known Abi for years. But Alicia didn’t have that history with her, couldn’t make allowances for her grief. In the end, after a few months of this, Alicia told Abi that she wanted her to stay away and Abi, well … she reacted badly.’

  ‘What did Abi do?’ The blood pounds in Beatrice’s ears. ‘Nia, you need to tell me.’

  Nia groans through her fingers, muttering that she’s betraying Abi’s trust. Anger surges through Beatrice. She wants to scream at this girl, and at herself, for putting both her and Ben at risk by inviting a stranger into their home. She doesn’t care about loyalty or trust, at this moment she needs to know the truth. She makes an effort to sound calm when she speaks, belying her fear, ‘What did Abi do when Alicia terminated their friendship, Nia?’

  And, in a small voice that’s almost lost in the thump of the music coming from the drawing room, Nia says, ‘She attacked her.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I lie on my bed with my eyes closed. I can hear the sounds of the party – the rhythmic thump of dance music, the clink of glasses, the low hum of various conversations – being played out beneath me, occasionally broken by a sudden burst of laughter, a door slamming, feet on stairs. I can’t face any of it.

  As the light begins to fade, Ben pushes the door open with an anguished expression on his face and he hurries to my bedside. He kneels beside me as if in prayer, assuring me that he’s sorry, that he loves me, that he wishes he could be the boyfriend I want him to be. Wordlessly I move up to allow him to squeeze next to me on the narrow single bed and we lie this way for a while, in silence. When he takes my hand, I let him.

  ‘You know,’ he says eventually, into the darkness. ‘I don’t understand what’s happened between you and Bea. You used to be so fond of each other.’

  ‘I can’t understand it either,’ I admit, thinking of all that’s happened.

  ‘She thinks you’re paranoid and jealous.’

  ‘I probably am.’ I’m close to tears. ‘But I think she’s possessive and controlling. Look, the dead bird can be explained away. Maybe. But the photograph? It was menacing, surely you get that?’

  He nods, but doesn’t interrupt me.

  ‘I was so happy about the thought of going away, spending time just the two of us. To get away from this house. Away from Beatrice’s bloody rules. Does that make me possessive?’

  He reaches over and hugs me in answer.

  ‘And the flowers, who would do something so cruel? Some of my letters have gone missing too. It’s all weird stuff, Ben. Surely it can’t be in my head? You saw the flowers.’

  He clears his throat and fidgets, clearly uncomfortable about what he’s going to say next. ‘I found a number for
the flower shop, an independent little place near Pulteney Bridge. I rang them and they remember a woman placing the order, she came into the shop.’

  My heart pounds and I wait.

  ‘Abi,’ his voice is full of concern. ‘They described you.’

  My blood runs cold and I think of Lucy, remembering the note that came with the flowers. Love Lucy. How could it be possible when she’s dead?

  And then I think of Beatrice. The florist described me but they could also be talking about her. Tall, slim, blonde …

  Before I have the chance to answer, Beatrice bursts into the room saying she needs to talk to me urgently. Nia is close behind her. Ben looks from me to his sister, as if terrified about what Beatrice is about to reveal. She clicks on the main light, illuminating how pale, how anxious, both she and Nia look. Ben and I sit up simultaneously. ‘What’s going on?’ he says.

  Nia perches at the foot of the bed, looking wretched. ‘I’m so sorry, Abi. We’re all worried about you, I had to tell her.’

  I don’t know what she’s talking about. ‘Tell her what?’

  She looks at me imploringly with her huge brown eyes. Eyes that have always reminded me of a basset hound. ‘About Alicia.’

  The room swims and, with a sickening thud of clarity, I’m aware that I can’t trust my oldest friend. That I’m forever going to be tied with the mental illness tag, that I’m never going to be believed because Abi’s a sandwich short of a picnic, she’s been in a mental facility, didn’t you know? How can you believe anything she says? She’s paranoid, delusional. It’s as if I’m in a nightmare, where I’m trying to explain myself, trying to tell everyone that I’m perfectly sane, that it was a stupid mistake, a one-off, I’m not dangerous, I’m not a nutter, but no sound comes out of my mouth.