Book Read Free

Mindsight

Page 27

by Chris Curran


  I stirred my coffee. ‘If Lorna had nothing to do with it, why kill herself?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ It was a whisper.

  I took Lorna’s letter from my pocket and smoothed it out on the table, then looked into her eyes. ‘I’ve read this over and over, because something never seemed right.’ She was watching me steadily. ‘I could never believe Lorna would do something like that, but this seemed to prove it.’

  Her eyes were very bright, as if with fever.

  ‘But it wasn’t a suicide note, was it? Lorna was a letter writer of the old school, a trained secretary,’ I said. ‘She would never have begun a letter like that. Just Clare – no Dear Clare, or anything. And the word, Clare, was followed by a full stop, not a comma. A comma at the start of a letter would have been automatic for someone like her.’

  ‘So what are you thinking?’

  ‘That Clare wasn’t the first word of the note, but the last word of a sentence from the page before; part of a longer letter.’

  ‘One she didn’t send you mean?’

  ‘Oh she sent it all right.’ It almost hurt to bring out those words.

  Her shining eyes widened. ‘But you never saw it?’

  ‘No.’

  I could see her brain ticking over. ‘So that must mean … ’

  ‘That someone saw how that section could be turned into a suicide note. And used it.’

  Her eyes moved from my face to the shadows behind me and she spoke slowly. ‘I don’t understand.’

  We looked at each other and my voice was there on a shuddering breath. ‘This letter wasn’t written to me. I assumed it was because she called Dad, your father. But it was written to you.’

  She made no attempt to speak, her hands flat against the table, as I read Lorna’s words. “I can’t keep this secret to myself any longer. Guilt is a corrosive emotion, I know that very well, and in the end the only solution is to face up to what you’ve done.”

  ‘She’s trying to tell you she understands how you must have been feeling all these years and she wants you to admit what you did, isn’t she, Alice? And I think she was saying she would have to tell me herself if you didn’t. That’s what she means by: “I hope you can accept that this is for the best.”’

  Her eyes were closed, the lashes flickering on her cheeks.

  My breath stalled; my throat on fire, but I knew I had to keep going. ‘Lorna told me she would think about the night of the accident, and she must have worked out the truth and written to tell you.’

  She was absolutely still.

  ‘You were all drinking together at the hotel that night,’ I said. ‘But when Sylvia arrived, without Toby and Steve, you came back to try and stop me driving. Lorna must have realised you’d taken your car out. Perhaps she even saw you come in again, very late, but didn’t make the connection at the time.’

  I held up my mug. The coffee was nearly cold. I hadn’t touched any of it. ‘Did you put something in her coffee, like you did with me at the reception?’

  She rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth, wiping away the tears. ‘What do you remember?’

  ‘Everything. I know it was your car I saw that night, and you standing there when I crawled out of the wreckage. That’s what I couldn’t bear to know all these years.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ It was a whisper.

  ‘But I also know I didn’t take the stuff from your bag or get it from anyone else. I didn’t take anything willingly. I was happy that night. Dad had said nothing about being my real father. He must have been intending to do it next day. I was happy and I loved Steve and my boys so much.’

  I was crying too. I had known somewhere deep inside that this moment would come, but now I wanted to run away. To pretend I didn’t know. But I thought of Tom. ‘But you weren’t happy, were you? And it was easy to slip the stuff into my coffee.’

  ‘Clare, I’m your sister.’ I could hardly hear the words.

  ‘And you’ve known that for a long time, haven’t you?’

  With a sudden movement that made me jump she stood and turned away, staring into the dark outside and shaking her head. ‘Yes, he told me a couple of days before the wedding. He was going to tell you the morning after the reception, but he wanted me to know first. He expected me to be thrilled.’

  I watched her standing there, her hair shining, her shoulders stiff. ‘So you planned to humiliate me: show him his precious daughter was still a junkie,’ I said. ‘I saw you on the DVD, sitting with me. I bet you kept me talking so I wouldn’t notice anything odd about my drink.’

  When she turned her face looked almost ugly. ‘You still don’t see, do you? I didn’t plan anything. It was just an impulse. You were so beautiful, so happy, you had everything and you hadn’t worked for any of it. I just wanted to show Dad you hadn’t really changed. I had the amphetamines with me because I needed them myself. I was working and studying day and night. Trying to be a brilliant doctor: to make him proud. And it was never enough. Because I wasn’t you.’

  ‘And you hated me for that.’

  She laughed. ‘Oh no, I adored you. Always have. I would have given anything when I was young to know you were my real sister. But you left me. With them. It was me who had to put up with the arguments. With Mum telling me she was going to kill herself. I was scared every time I came home in case I found her dead. And all I wanted was someone to talk to, a big sister to share things with.’

  She was pacing, her hands clenching and unclenching. ‘And I was happy when you came back after she died and you promised to stay with us so we’d be a real family. But then there was Steve: the first man to come along. You didn’t give me one moment’s thought, did you? Didn’t care how I felt.’

  She came close, her eyes slivers of blue ice, every word clipped hard. ‘You’re so like Dad. He betrayed Mum and lied to everyone. Do you know he said I should never have kids because they might inherit Mum’s instability? And when I told him how much I hated working at the hospital, he said I’d better get used to supporting myself, because he was going to destroy the firm and there’d be no money left. You both thought you could get away with hurting people. I just wanted you to know what it feels like to be hurt.’

  ‘And you did hurt us,’ I said. ‘But what about the others? Steve? And Toby. Alice, what about Toby?’ My voice broke, thinking of my little boy, hating her for what she’d done.

  Her fist was in her mouth and she turned to press her face against the wall as a groan burst from her. Her shoulders shook in great spasms and when she spoke her voice was a strangled croak. ‘I didn’t want anyone to die. That’s why I came back to stop you driving. I loved Toby so much and I’ve hated myself all these years. But I’ve tried to make it easier for Tom and to help you too. There was no more I could do.’

  She looked back at me, her face so distorted it was like an old woman’s. ‘If only you’d left it alone, we could all have been happy again.’

  I forced myself to go on. ‘But you murdered Lorna.’

  She groaned and turned away again. ‘I begged her … Told her there was no point in raking it all up: it would spoil everything. But she wouldn’t listen.’ She leaned against the wall as if she couldn’t stand without support. ‘I didn’t want to do it, you have to believe me.’

  It was my turn to look away. I couldn’t bear to see her. Our breathing was loud in the silence. Keep going. ‘And when I started raking it up, you tried to frighten me. You had a key to the flat so it was easy enough for you to turn on the shower and the rest of it. I suppose you thought I might see something on the DVD too. Were you scared I’d remember, or did you just want to make me doubt my sanity so you could keep Tom?’

  She faced me again and the silence vibrated between us as I looked into her clear eyes. And, in spite of everything, I felt a wave of pity for her: my beautiful little sister who should have had everything, but was going to be left with nothing at all.

  I walked to the back door, but it was locked and when I got to the hall,
the front door was bolted. She must have done it when I was upstairs.

  I heard her come out of the kitchen and stop beside the little hall table at the bottom of the stairs. As if too weary to stand, she half sat on it, making Mum’s big copper vase sway. The flowers were orange dahlias today.

  Alice’s hand curled slowly around the heavy frame of Mum and Dad’s photograph. I swallowed, but forced myself, not to flinch. Forced myself to look away from her hand and into her eyes. ‘It’s no good, Alice.’

  She shook her head, then, very carefully, placed the frame back on the table. I breathed again and bent to pull back the bolts. Something hit me hard on the side of the head. It must have been the photo frame and I grabbed at the door to stop myself falling, but my feet slipped and I went down onto my knees. Through the haze of pain I felt Alice grab my arm. She was holding something small and shiny – a syringe. I thrust her back and the syringe fell at our feet. I reached for it, but she kicked it out of the way.

  I headed for the stairs to shut myself in one of the bedrooms. But, as I reached the landing, the fire alarm began to shrill and I remembered the petrol smell.

  Alice must have started a blaze in the kitchen.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I turned for the nearest bedroom, but as I reached for the door handle Alice was behind me. She grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking it so hard my head jerked back. I kicked out at her catching her shin, and when she let go of my hair, I lurched against the balustrade.

  I was still dizzy and I swayed over the rail looking down at the tiled floor in the hall below. Smoke was pouring around the kitchen door and running like a dark river over the ceiling. The alarm shrieked on, but I could still hear the rasp of my own breathing and Alice’s too, as she stood watching me. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek and she looked like our mother in one of her cold rages.

  Her hand was behind her back. Did she still have the syringe? She must have planned to leave me unconscious in the house; to make my death look like an accident. Then no one would ever know what she’d done.

  I swallowed down a mouthful of acid. ‘Don’t do this, Alice. Think about Tom.’

  She walked towards me. ‘I am thinking of him. He’ll be better off without you. You were never a proper sister to me and you’ve never been a proper mother.’

  ‘I know I was selfish and I’m sorry. But we need to get out. Then we can talk. We’ll find a way through this.’ As I spoke I was moving along the balustrade, trying to get to the top of the stairs.

  She saw what I was doing and snatched at my waist, but I kicked out at her and she stumbled to her knees, pulling me down with her. I kicked again and again, but she held tight and we were half sliding, half tumbling, downstairs.

  At the bottom we crashed into the hall table sending the vase of orange flowers toppling onto the tiled floor. I scrambled to my feet and pushed Alice away.

  The smoke was getting thicker and I was coughing hard, my chest tight. I had to get out. I skidded on the muddle of stems and water and slammed hard into the front door. Dark spots flashed in front of my eyes, but I managed to drag back the bolt. It still wouldn’t open: the deadlock must be on, and without the key I had no chance. I pressed my face to the wood for a moment, hot tears stinging my eyes.

  I could hear Alice behind me, scrabbling in the puddle of water and broken stems, and as I turned I saw her pick up the syringe. The alarm was still shrieking, I was choking for breath, my eyes streaming from the smoke, but I managed to shout at her, ‘This is no good. Just unlock the door and let’s go.’

  She stood with her back against the newel post of the staircase and as I watched I saw her raise the syringe and, as if in slow motion, plunge it into her own arm.

  By the time I got to her she was sitting on one of the bottom stairs. She looked up at me with a smile then closed her eyes and lay back. The alarm stopped shrieking and in the almost silence I could hear the roar of flames close by.

  I got behind her and dragged at her but, although her eyes were closed, her hand was gripped tight around one of the spindles of the staircase, and I couldn’t move her.

  I crawled upstairs, lurching into the nearest bedroom – Tom’s – and slamming the door behind me. It was clearer in here and I could breathe more easily, but that wouldn’t last long. I dragged the pillows from the bed to block the gap under the door. Then ran to the windows. They were old sashes and I slid back the metal locks and tried to push one up. But it stuck fast. I tried the second. It wouldn’t move.

  I pulled Tom’s little TV from its socket and hit the glass again and again. The pane cracked, but didn’t shatter. I dragged out a drawer from the bedside table. The wood broke with the first blow, but the long piece of metal from the side came free and I stabbed it into the crack and made a hole.

  As I punched at the splinters of glass, headlights appeared at the gate and a car swerved onto the driveway, kicking up gravel. It was Kieran. He leapt out, his headlights still blazing, and looked up at me, his face contorted. Then he disappeared.

  I kicked and jabbed the shattered glass as a ladder banged onto the window ledge and I climbed through on quivering legs. Kieran came halfway up and clutched me to him.

  ‘Clare, oh, Clare, thank God.’

  At the bottom, we clung together, and he said, ‘Nic told me where you’d gone. Where’s Tom?’

  A wail of sirens: the firemen jumping out before they came to a halt. I shouted over the clatter. ‘My sister’s in the downstairs hall. She’s hurt,’ then pressed into Kieran’s solid warmth. ‘It’s all right, Tom’s not here.’

  ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  I couldn’t answer.

  One of the firemen told us to stand back and we watched as they used some kind of battering ram on the front door. The hose unrolled and, as the water roared out, more sirens sounded from the lane and a police car and ambulance crowded through the gates, their lights flashing.

  From somewhere a silver sheet appeared and Kieran helped me wrap it around my shoulders. I leaned on the bonnet of his car. It was still warm. All I could see was the front door beginning to crack. Please, please God. Someone passed me a wad of lint to press against my face and it was only then that I realised I was shivering, my eyes and mouth throbbing.

  They carried Alice out on a stretcher, her face covered by an oxygen mask. As they lifted her into the ambulance her eyes fluttered open and I moved towards her. We shared one look before I turned away.

  ‘You need to come with us.’ The voice came from a vast distance: I must have dozed or maybe passed out. I was sitting sideways on the driver’s seat of Kieran’s car, my shaking legs stretched in front of me on the gravel driveway. A paramedic was tugging my arm and Kieran’s hand was on my other shoulder.

  ‘No, I’m all right.’

  ‘You can go in the ambulance with the other lady. She’ll be OK, but we need to get you both to hospital.’

  I shook my head. I couldn’t go with her, couldn’t bear to see her. ‘I’m fine, but she injected herself with something; you need to check it. Take her now and my friend will drive me. I need to … ’ I looked up at Kieran. Help me. Make them leave me alone. Although I hadn’t said the words he seemed to understand and led the man away.

  I sat watching Beldon House burn: the flames warming me and stopping my shivers. It was almost peaceful now, the sirens stilled, the banging and shouting silenced, only the soothing rush of water in the background: a fine mist of it cooling my sore face.

  I leaned back. Don’t think, don’t think, not yet, not yet.

  Something cannoned into my legs and then into my arms. Tom. He buried his face in my shoulder muttering all kinds of things I could only half hear.

  ‘Heard the sirens, made Mark’s dad bring me.’

  Mark’s dad was standing next to Kieran and gave me an awkward wave.

  Tom looked at the ambulance pulling away. ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘We’re OK.’

  I moved back and the flames lit up T
om’s face. They must have done the same for mine because he flinched and his hand came to his mouth. ‘You’re hurt.’ He looked towards the house, then back at me, his eyes wide.

  ‘Alice has gone to hospital, but they say she’ll be all right. I’m just bruised.’ My effort at a smile was so painful I felt a hot tear spill down my cheek.

  I forced myself to my feet and we walked over to Mark’s dad, arms around each other. ‘Kieran’s going to take me to have my face looked at,’ I said. ‘So you try to get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Tom was clinging to me like a much younger child and I kissed his forehead.

  Mark’s dad pulled him away. ‘Come on, let’s get you back to bed.’ He nodded at me. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll look after him.’

  When they reached the gate I saw my son turn and stare back at the house and I threw the silver blanket aside and ran to him.

  I held him tightly and said, ‘I’ll come for you as soon as I’m patched up. You can stay at the flat with me while we look for a new home. We’ll be together all the time from now on.’

  Today the pale November sun is no match for the brisk wind coming off the sea and I huddle into my coat. Here on the hills above the shore it’s quiet at this time of year and, despite the cold, I prefer it this way. I wave at Tom as he runs back and forth across the wide expanse of grass, trying to get his kite to take off. His friend, Mark, is with us, and he’s already managed to launch his kite. It dips and dives, a dark bird in the chill blue sky.

  I haven’t visited Alice, but her lawyer tells me she’s admitted everything and is pleading guilty. She says this is to make things easier for me and especially for Tom. I’ve had enough of anger and bitterness so I’ll try to believe her.

  It became obvious right away that the fire had been set deliberately, and at first, I expected her to try and blame me. But she probably realised that Jacob Downes could identify her from the crash site. And that Emily and Matt knew she was using amphetamines at the time of the wedding. Once I’d raised suspicions about Lorna’s death, they discovered she actually died from a massive dose of insulin. Lorna’s neighbour saw Alice arrive at her house around the time she must have been killed.

 

‹ Prev