The Silent Sister_An gripping psychological thriller with a nail-biting twist

by Shalini Boland

  ‘Hi.’ I get to my feet along with Emma, who slides her phone into her bag. ‘This is my sister, Emma. Emma, this is Sergeant Jenny Llewellyn, who’s been dealing with my case.’

  ‘Hello.’ Emma and Llewellyn nod at one another.

  ‘Did you want to come and have a chat?’ Llewellyn asks us. ‘I’m afraid we haven’t any further news at this end.’

  ‘We’ve got news,’ I say. ‘More letters. And another development.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ Llewellyn raises an eyebrow.

  ‘I found out today that Emma’s been receiving the letters too.’

  The sergeant transfers her gaze to Emma, who nods. ‘I’ve been reporting the letters to my local station in Bristol,’ she says.

  ‘You’ve both been receiving threatening letters?’ Llewellyn asks. ‘From the same person, as far as you’re aware?’

  ‘Yes,’ Emma replies. ‘And, like Lizzy, I was also pushed over.’ She points to her scratched-up face.

  Llewellyn shakes her head in sympathy. ‘I see. Okay, let’s go and talk in one of the interview rooms and I can take statements from each of you. Then I’ll speak to Bristol and we can compare notes. Hopefully sharing our info will move us closer to catching whoever’s behind all this.’

  Knowing that Emma has been reporting all this activity to the police at the same time as me makes me realise the extent to which the stalker has planned all this. But I still can’t for the life of me figure out why. It’s strange to think that something as awful as this, could be the thing to reconcile me and my sister.

  Emma and I follow Llewellyn down the corridor, our shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor. She stops at one of the doors and uses a key to open it. Inside, the room is small and basic, characterless, the air warm and stale. She gestures for us to take a seat. There are two plastic coffee cups on the table in front of us. One with a lipstick ring; the other still full, but the coffee is cold, the milk congealing. Llewellyn mutters something under her breath, picks up the cups and takes them away. ‘Back in a sec.’ She returns a minute later minus the cups. ‘Mind if I record this?’ she asks. ‘Save me scribbling in my pad.’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine,’ I reply. Emma nods. Somehow, being here at the station makes everything seem more real. More serious. I rub at my arms as though to warm them up, even though I’m not cold any more. Emma glances at me, but I still can’t quite think of her as my ally in all this.

  Llewellyn sits opposite us and presses a switch on what I presume must be the recording equipment. She states the date and time and we all say our names for the record. Emma and I spend the next few minutes telling Llewellyn about today’s letters that were addressed wrongly. We show them to her in their sealed polythene bags. Llewellyn then asks Emma for a rundown of the letters she’s been receiving. My sister tells her about the letters, as well as the lipstick-scrawled message on her car windscreen and the incident where she was pushed to the ground.

  ‘We’ll get the full statements from Bristol,’ Llewellyn says. ‘But it’s helpful to have this information now. Do either of you want to add anything further?’

  I go on to tell her my suspicions about Sebastian Hargreaves, explaining that I recently discovered he was in Bristol at the time of the assault, and that he arrived at the Grittleton pub moments after Emma and I arrived.

  Llewellyn nods. ‘We’ll interview him,’ she says. ‘Is that it for now? Anything else to add?’

  I shake my head, suddenly exhausted.

  ‘Nothing else,’ Emma says.

  ‘Do you have any mutual enemies?’ Llewellyn asks. ‘Family feuds? A disgruntled cousin? Anything like that?’

  But neither Emma nor I can think of any relation or mutual friend who might want to scare us or threaten us in this way. Apart from each other.

  Llewellyn drums her fingernails on the table. ‘The fact that these letters are targeting the pair of you is leading me to believe that this might not be a random stranger. It seems more personal. Maybe an old school friend? A boyfriend you might have had in common?’

  My mind immediately jumps to Joe. Emma and I both catch one another’s eye.

  Llewellyn picks up on this. ‘Something you want to share?’ she prods.

  But I know it’s not him. It’s not Joe. Why would he do this? The kiss with Emma happened years ago. ‘No one I can think of,’ I say quickly, before Emma opens her mouth.

  Emma shrugs and shakes her head at Llewellyn, but her lips are pursed and her whole body has gone rigid.

  Llewellyn gives us each a hard stare. ‘Okay, well, it might be an idea for the two of you to get together and make a list of all your mutual acquaintances, and think seriously about who might hold a grudge. May not even be a recent thing. Might be something that’s been festering over weeks, or months. Even years.’

  As Llewellyn ends the interview, the blood is whooshing in my ears. It seems like Emma and I have an awful lot more talking to do. And this is one conversation I would rather not have. But we can’t put it off. Our unwelcome past is tapping on the window. And there’s no hiding from it. Not any longer.

  Thirty-Two

  ‘I should go home,’ Emma says as we leave the police station and walk out into the floodlit car park. ‘Mike will be worried about me.’

  Night has fallen while we’ve been inside talking about unpleasant things. Joe will want me home, too, but now that my sister and I are finally speaking, I feel like we need to finish off a long-overdue conversation. ‘We should go for a drink. There are a few things I need to talk to you about.’

  Emma stops walking. ‘Do you think that’s a good idea? Maybe things are better left as they are.’

  ‘Maybe for you,’ I snap. But getting angry isn’t going to persuade her to stay. I take a slow breath and try to stay calm. ‘I just mean, I would really like it if we could… clear the air. If we could talk about what happened with Joe. If I could find out why you…’ I pause. ‘If I could find out what really happened between you two. Maybe, maybe it’s got something to do with the letters. Or maybe not. But either way, I think we need to have that conversation.’ Even as I say the words, I know it’s probably a mistake. Far easier to leave everything buried. To go back to ignoring one another. But outside influences are forcing my hand. If it weren’t for these damned letters, I could go back to pretending my sister doesn’t exist. But maybe the past is influencing the present. Maybe what happened between her and Joe is something to do with these threats. Like it or not, Emma’s life is intertwined with mine, our history woven together like twisted vines around a tree.

  Emma puts her fingertips to her temples and stares down at the ground for a moment before facing me again. ‘Fine. May as well get all the shit out into the open.’

  Emma isn’t the sweary type, so her words shake me a little. Does she have more to tell me? Things she wants to confess? ‘Where do you want to go? A restaurant? A bar?’

  ‘Let’s just sit in the car,’ she says. ‘This conversation isn’t really one for a public place, and we can’t exactly go back to your house.’

  ‘Fine. But not here. I don’t feel like talking in a police station car park.’

  We get into her car and she drives us two minutes up the road, parking up by the river, the Victorian-style street lamp throwing a pool of yellow light across the dark, rippling water. We each stare out of the windscreen for a few minutes. Neither of us willing to start the conversation.

  ‘Do you remember when you fell in?’ Emma asks.

  ‘Yeah.’ I smile grimly. ‘I remember. But we’re not here to reminisce about our childhood.’

  ‘You went in head first,’ Emma says. ‘I was terrified.’

  I’d been about seven years old and Emma was ten. We’d raced ahead of Dad, who had stopped at the pub to buy some cigarettes. He was in charge of us that morning, giving Mum a break. It was a grey, drizzly day. No one else around. We stopped by the river to feed the ducks and to wait for Dad to catch us up. There was a duckling behind all the others who wa
sn’t managing to reach any of the bread. I squashed up my pieces into doughy balls so I could throw them further in the hope that it would reach the tiny creature. But I must have been a bit too enthusiastic, because I lost my balance and toppled into the river. I remember the thick, brown water surging up my nose and down the back of my throat. I’d been too startled to be scared. I was more worried that Mum was going to tell me off for getting soaked. And then I remember a sharp pain in my legs. Emma had reached down and grabbed my feet, tugging me out, sliding me up the muddy bank and out of the freezing water.

  ‘You pulled me out,’ I reply. ‘You saved me… what happened to us, Emma? I mean, I know we were never exactly best friends when we were teenagers, but we’re sisters. We’re supposed to look out for one another, like you did for me that day.’

  Emma sighs and tips her head back to lean on the headrest.

  ‘Are you going to tell me why you made a play for Joe that night?’ I ask. ‘And why you never apologised? Why you’ve been so cold to me over the past few years?’

  ‘Are you sure you want to hear this?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m asking, aren’t I?’ It’s like picking at a scab. I’m asking the questions but I’m beginning to get the feeling that I won’t like the answers.

  She turns to look at me and I stare back at her face illuminated by the street light. Even with the scratches marring her porcelain skin, there’s no denying that my sister is a beautiful woman.

  ‘I didn’t try to kiss Joe that night,’ Emma says.

  ‘How did I know you were going to say that?’ I turn my face away in disgust. This is just going to be a repeat conversation of the one we had five years ago. Stupidly, I thought that with all this crap going on, Emma might think it was a good time to come clean. To admit what she did and finally apologise. Obviously not.

  ‘Look, Lizzy. I know that’s not what you want to hear. I know you want me to say it was all my fault and I’m a terrible person. So if that’s what you want, then I’ll say those things. I’ll say yes, I kissed Joe, I was in love with him, I’ve hated you ever since. But that’s not what happened. So do you want to hear the truth or not?’

  ‘Your version of the truth?’

  ‘Of course. My version. Who else’s version would it be? But Lizzy, this is the God’s honest truth as I remember it.’

  ‘Go on, then. Tell me your version.’ I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice. My nails are digging into my palms and my body is rigid. Part of me wants to get out of the car and run home.

  ‘I didn’t kiss Joe,’ Emma says calmly. ‘I never even fancied him. He came on to me that night. Not the other way round.’

  ‘So nothing’s changed,’ I say. ‘You’re still denying it.’

  ‘Joe cornered me as I was coming out of the loos and trapped me against the wall, between his arms. He told me… he told me I was prettier than you and that he would drop you in a heartbeat if I gave him the word.’

  Her words come at me like blows to my abdomen. If she’s telling the truth, then my boyfriend is a two-faced monster. If she’s lying, then she’s the monster. To my shame, the second option is more appealing. But I have this awful feeling she’s not lying. The way she’s telling it this time, it’s like she doesn’t want to hurt me. It’s like she pities me.

  ‘I told him that even if I did like him – which I didn’t – I would never betray you like that. I said that he didn’t deserve you but that if he left me alone, I would forget the conversation ever happened.’

  I picture the scene unfolding as Emma tells it. Picture her leaning against the wall with Joe leaning into her, wanting her. Did it really happen like that? Is my sister telling the truth?

  ‘Joe was annoyed by my rejection,’ Emma continues, staring straight ahead through the windscreen. Is she picturing the scene in her head, too? Or is she conjuring up more lies from her twisted imagination?

  ‘He was embarrassed,’ Emma says. ‘He let me go and said he was only joking. That of course he loved you and would never hurt you. I was relieved. I thought that was the last I’d hear of it. I thought he’d simply had too much to drink and that he’d come on to me in a moment of drunken lunacy. I knew how much you loved him, Lizzy. I thought if I brushed it off and pretended it had never happened that it would all be forgotten and no one would ever get hurt. He was young and idiotic. But I didn’t realise the stupid bastard would go straight to your house, make up some insane story about me trying to kiss him. That’s why I never rang you to apologise – because I hadn’t done anything to apologise for.’

  ‘So why didn’t you tell me all this back then when I came to see you?’ I ask through gritted teeth. It’s so hot in here. I open the car door and suck in a lungful of soupy air.

  ‘I did try to tell you. But you wouldn’t listen to me, Lizzy. You were furious. I’d never seen you so mad in all your life. And I was angry with you for taking Joe’s side over mine. I thought you were more loyal than that. I thought blood was thicker than a pretty boyfriend. So I thought, okay, I’m not going to break my neck trying to convince you of the truth, you’re welcome to him. And I assumed he would let you down eventually, that he would stray and have his head turned by other girls. To be quite honest, every year at Mum’s birthday I’m always stunned that the two of you are still together.’

  I unclick my seatbelt and step out of the car, taking in deep breaths of the river-scented night. Do I believe my sister? If it’s true, then the past five years with Joe have been a lie… I can’t even think about it.

  ‘Lizzy.’ Emma gets out of the car and comes around the back towards me, but I hold out a hand, warding her off. She stays where she is, keeping her distance.

  ‘Can you drop me back at my car?’ I ask, swatting away a cloud of midges that have gathered nearby.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I should have made more of an effort to make you listen to me back then. To make you hear the truth. I kept quiet because I was angry with you for taking his side over mine. Despite that, I never wanted to upset you. You always had self-esteem issues, and I thought that harping on about what had happened would make things even worse. I thought you’d blame me and I’d end up losing you. Funny thing is, I lost you anyway.’ Her voices cracks. ‘But you’ve been happy with Joe, right? He loves you? You love him?’

  I ignore Emma’s questions and get back into the car, slamming the door. Why is she being so reasonable? So nice? I was expecting her to be cold. To be a bitch. Question is, do I believe her? I don’t want to believe her. If I do, it means my life with Joe is a sham.

  My sister gets back in the car and starts up the engine. ‘Are you okay?’ she asks.

  I can’t even respond. My thoughts are flying all over the place.

  ‘I’ll drive you back to your car. But we should keep in touch over the letters. Whoever’s doing this, I don’t think they’re about to stop any time soon.’

  ‘How would you know that?’ I ask. And then under my breath I mumble, ‘Unless you’re the one sending them.’ Luckily she doesn’t hear me, and I don’t really believe it anyway. I’m simply clinging onto the shred of hope that it isn’t Joe. That he didn’t betray me.

  ‘I don’t know anything for sure,’ she replies, reversing onto the quiet road. ‘I’m just saying, it doesn’t seem likely whoever it is will stop.’

  A wave of anger bubbles up from my core, like a volcano about to erupt. But I tamp it down, swallow the bile. Is my sister a liar? Is she manipulating the truth, trying to get me to forgive her? Maybe she’s still trying to break up my relationship with Joe. So why, then, if I don’t believe her, am I still picturing Joe coming on to Emma? Why is my heart twisting and my stomach hollow? Why am I scared to confront Joe about what Emma has just told me?

  Maybe because I know that when I look into his eyes I’ll see the truth.

  Thirty-Three

  I step into the hallway and stare around at the familiar space, at the mirror on the wall, the ceiling pendant. It seems like weeks since I wa
s last here.

  ‘Lizzy! That you?’ The lounge door flies open and Joe comes out, his hair messy, T-shirt creased. ‘How’d it go? What did she say?’ He stares at me for a long moment. ‘Are you okay? You look a bit… odd.’

  I walk past him into the lounge. Frank is asleep on the armchair. He opens one eye and then closes it again. The TV is paused – a freeze-frame of some cop drama where a guy is yelling at a police officer, his mouth twisted in anger.

  ‘Do you want a cuppa?’ Joe asks.

  ‘No.’ My stomach feels empty and my throat is dry. I feel as though I’m on the precipice of the rest of my life and it’s about to go into free fall.

  ‘Are you going to sit down, or are you just going to stand there in the middle of the room?’ Joe gives a short laugh, but it dies in his throat when I don’t respond. ‘Are you still annoyed because I wanted to come with you? Because I was only trying to be—’

  ‘I don’t care about that,’ I say, scratching at the back of my neck.

  ‘Good, okay. But I was thinking about it, and you’re right, Lizzy. I do get overprotective sometimes, and maybe it’s a bit much. But it’s only because I love you. And I’m worried about you, what with all this stuff that’s been going on.’

  ‘Yes.’ I nod slowly. ‘You say that a lot. You’re always telling me that you love me and you’re worried about me.’

  ‘That’s because it’s true.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘What do you mean, is it? Of course it is.’ Joe’s cheeks flush. He takes a step closer. ‘Lizzy…’

  ‘I had an interesting chat with Emma this evening.’ I tilt my head and stare at my boyfriend, studying his face for clues to the truth.

  ‘About the letters?’ he asks. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘About the letters, and about… other things.’

  Joe licks his lips. ‘Let’s sit down.’ He tries to herd me over to the sofa, but I stay where I am.