Sisters

by Michelle Frances

  ‘It’s not that much,’ said Abby quickly. ‘Not compared to what some of my bosses were doing. And don’t even get me started on some of my City worker friends.’

  Ellie gave a pained smile. ‘Sure. Not that much,’ she echoed.

  ‘I went without for years.’ Abby gave a small laugh. ‘Baked beans for weeks. And don’t forget it’s got to last me the rest of my life.’

  Oh, poor you. Needing to stretch out two million pounds. However will you survive? Ellie thought bitterly, and then stopped herself. There was no point. And she’d asked for it by starting the conversation. Two million pounds! The amount kept reverberating through her brain, like a deranged wind-up toy spinning out of control. Two million pounds! Two million pounds! There were three of them in the car now: herself, Abby and, between them, a giant swag bag, large enough to suffocate her. She thought of her eighteen-thousand-pound credit card debt, a bill that she found impossible to pay off. Abby could make it disappear in a heartbeat.

  Ellie stared out of the window again, seeing the salt marshes, the delicate flamingos. She thought of all those wonderful holidays she’d had that Abby had sacrificed. All those good times. The experiences, the memories. She still had those.

  Suddenly they didn’t seem as special anymore.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  1999

  The new careers teacher was called Mr James. He’d only just started but was already immensely popular with both the girls and boys. He was young, much younger than the crusty old staff who’d been around so long they had a faded quality, like the desks in their classrooms which had spent too many years by the window being bleached by the sun. No, Mr James was good-looking and vibrant. He joked around with the kids; he wore chinos instead of ancient Marks and Spencer’s trousers that disappeared under a middle-aged gut. He would be interested when you had something to say and he could talk about whether Manchester United were going to win the treble and sing along to Fatboy Slim’s ‘Praise You’ without ever embarrassing himself.

  Ellie was only vaguely aware of Mr James as she’d not had any interaction with him yet. Towards the middle of the summer term, however, he was tasked with talking to each of the Year Eight pupils about their options, with a view to helping them decide which subjects to study for their GCSEs to help them get on the right road for their career interests. Ellie didn’t yet know what she wanted to do when she left school and, in any event, she already had a resigned sense of pessimism for what she might be able to achieve. It was hard to believe in yourself when you were in the bottom set for every subject. Ellie had no illusion about how the teachers perceived her and the other kids in her set: the staff were only interested in getting them over the very minimal line to keep the school numbers from alerting Ofsted.

  She knocked on Mr James’s door with little enthusiasm.

  ‘Come!’ was the cheery instruction from inside and she walked into his room, instantly noticing the scent of aftershave, something that evoked crashing waves on a deserted beach. Mr James smiled his twinkly smile and indicated she should sit in the chair on the other side of the desk to him. He leaned over and held out his hand.

  ‘We haven’t met yet,’ he said. ‘Mr James.’

  ‘Ellie Spencer,’ she said, unsure of quite how to take this new-style friendly teacher who oozed positivity.

  ‘I’ve heard about you,’ said Mr James. Ellie’s smile dropped. Heavy-hearted, she prepared herself for the conversation about the importance of focusing on maths and English and gaining a pass in at least these two subjects.

  But Mr James was still buoyant. ‘Yes, a number of teachers have been singing your praises.’

  Have they? thought Ellie, puzzled.

  ‘So, any thoughts on your GCSE options? You should be thinking ahead to your A Levels, university – maybe Oxbridge. From what I hear, you’re already on that track. I’m going to start up a new scheme here,’ continued Mr James, ‘for those who show potential for Oxbridge. There are lots of hoops to jump through to get somewhere so prestigious and I want to be able to prepare students as much as possible.’ He smiled at her. ‘So, what are your thoughts?’

  For a brief, magical moment, Ellie felt as if Mr James was her fairy godfather. This teacher, who exuded passion, was interested in her and was waving a wand and promising to send her to the ball. For a brief, magical moment she believed what he was saying, that she was special, she was capable, she was bright.

  ‘What does Mr Cummins say about you choosing history?’ asked Mr James.

  ‘I don’t have Mr Cummins, I have Miss Short.’

  Ellie watched as Mr James’s face began to deflate, like a balloon with a leak, its air slowly dissipating. He knew Miss Short took the lower sets.

  ‘Sorry . . . I don’t understand.’ He looked down at his desk and then he found her file. He froze as his eyes scanned over it and a red blush crept up his neck.

  ‘I . . . er . . . I think I might have got the wrong end of the stick.’ He pushed his hand through his hair, looked back up at her, tried to regain his composure. ‘I had a conversation this morning, with the deputy . . . I think I may have got my names mixed up.’ He shook his head, perplexed. ‘Although I was sure she said Spencer.’

  The poisonous snake uncurled itself from the stones in the pit of her stomach. It reminded her it was there every so often. It was a snake whose venom was inferiority and bitterness. Ellie wondered whether to put Mr James out of his misery.

  ‘She was probably talking about Abby Spencer,’ she said.

  Mr James lit up, as the light bulb switched on. ‘Abby. Yes, that was it. Sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right. You’re new.’

  ‘Not sure who Abby is,’ joked Mr James, waving a hand in pretend dismissal.

  ‘She’s my sister,’ said Ellie, looking him right in the eye. ‘She’s in Year Eleven.’

  This time the blush flooded his entire face.

  At the end of the day, after the bell rang, Ellie was a bit later than the other kids as she’d lost a textbook that she needed to take home for her homework. As she walked down the quietening corridors, past the staffroom, she overheard Mr James talking with the deputy, heard her name mentioned.

  ‘I felt really bad,’ said Mr James. ‘I had no idea. Must be awful for her, her sister being so brilliant and she not even average.’

  Ellie stopped in her tracks, feeling as if someone had just punched her in the gut. The snake unleashed another dose of venom and her throat thickened up with hurt. Tears threatened. She put her head down, set her jaw firm and left the school as quickly and as invisibly as she could.

  Three words reverberated around her head all the way home.

  Not even average.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The shadows were so long now they were beginning to stretch far into the landscape. In an hour or so they’d melt away altogether, swallowed up by the night. The growing lateness of the day had slowly changed the atmosphere inside the little Fiat, not least because as the hours had slipped away, Abby’s phone still hadn’t rung. Neither of the girls had yet mentioned the lack of a response from Jamie, the criminal lawyer, but as time ticked on, each of them became a little more agitated, a little more desperate.

  Ellie, one finger constantly on the map, knew they were just outside the hilltop town of Carcassonne. Up in the distance she could see the fortified wall that snaked around the medieval city, its honey-coloured stone lit up for the night. She wondered what Abby would do as they got closer – would she suggest they stop or would she ask Ellie for directions that took them beyond the town? They passed another sign, this one saying they were only five kilometres away and, exhausted, Ellie felt an overwhelming urge to head for civilization, pull in somewhere and rest.

  ‘Time to change it up a bit?’ she asked Abby, who sighed with relief.

  ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ said her sister. ‘I’ll keep going until we get to the town and then let’s swap.’

  Ellie frowned. ‘Swap?’

&nb
sp; ‘Yes. I have been driving for pretty much the entire day.’

  ‘You mean you want me to get behind the wheel?’

  ‘It’s not too much to ask, is it?’

  ‘It is, actually.’

  ‘Flipping heck, Ellie, I’m knackered. You could at least give me a bit of a break.’

  ‘I can’t drive,’ said Ellie.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Never had the need to learn.’ She shrugged. ‘Lived in London or its suburbs my entire life. Trains and tubes got me everywhere I needed to get to.’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘So what now?’

  ‘I guess we stop. Find somewhere to stay the night,’ said Ellie. Abby glanced across, frustrated, but could put up no argument.

  From the back seat of the car came a sound. Two high-pitched beeps, muffled by a handbag.

  The girls locked eyes – Jamie! – and Ellie reached over to grab Abby’s bag and retrieve her phone.

  ‘Don’t!’ snapped Abby.

  Stung by her sister’s sharp tone, Ellie stopped midway between the back and front seats, with the bag hanging from her fingers. ‘But—’

  ‘Leave it.’

  ‘It might be Jamie,’ said Ellie, puzzled. ‘In fact, it probably is. Who else is going to have your number? I’ll just check—’

  ‘I’ll look in a minute.’ Abby tried to neutralize her outburst. ‘We’re almost there anyway.’

  Ellie dropped the bag back on the seat and flung her hands up in surrender. ‘OK, whatever you want.’ She shifted back in her seat and stared out of the windscreen, aware of Abby glancing over to her, trying to gauge her mood.

  ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap,’ said Abby. ‘I just don’t like people going through my bag.’

  ‘You mean me.’

  ‘No, not you,’ said Abby in an overly bright voice.

  God, she sounds so fake, thought Ellie.

  ‘Except you might have been trying to steal some of my millions,’ said Abby with a forced grin.

  It was a punch to the gut. Ellie stared at her, mouth agape. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Abby immediately realized she’d overstepped the mark. ‘I was joking. I didn’t mean— Sorry. I was trying to make light of it.’

  ‘How dare you?’ Ellie took a sharp intake of breath. ‘My God, you have a really low opinion of me, don’t you?’

  ‘No—’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry you’re having to fund this . . . escapade, but I don’t have two million in the bank.’

  ‘That’s not it at all . . . OK, it was in bad taste. Crap joke. Not even a joke—’

  ‘Let’s just get one thing straight. I may be broke but I would never, ever stoop so low as to steal from you.’

  ‘Not even a first edition book,’ mumbled Abby under her breath.

  ‘What?’ demanded Ellie furiously, unsure if she’d heard right.

  ‘Nothing.’ A sign loomed up above for a bed and breakfast. Abby suddenly turned sharply off the road into the gravel driveway and she stopped the car outside a tired stone building with a large peeling wooden door. Rusty railings of julienne balconies clung to the exterior walls and two cracked pots filled with half-dead plants flanked the entrance.

  ‘Yes, this looks perfect,’ said Abby decisively. She got out of the car and retrieved her bag from the back seat, and Ellie watched as she checked her phone. ‘It’s from the phone company,’ said Abby, the hope in her eyes fading. ‘A special offer on an upgrade.’

  Ellie gave a tight nod, then wordlessly walked into the B & B.

  They hurriedly ate before the dining room closed, then Abby decided to return to the room to shower.

  Ellie saw her opportunity. ‘I’ll be up in a few minutes,’ she said, ‘after I’ve finished my coffee.’

  She watched as Abby left the dining room and mentally counted to fifty. Then she placed the coffee cup back on the saucer and headed out of the room. As she approached the reception area she glanced towards the stairs but they were empty; Abby had long gone.

  ‘Excusez-moi?’ she asked the woman on the desk, a fierce madame with her grey hair in a chignon. ‘Is there a payphone I can use?’

  ‘Over there,’ replied the woman, indicating what looked like a dusty cupboard.

  ‘Merci,’ said Ellie, but she stayed at the desk. ‘Um, I need the call to be private.’

  ‘I do not listen,’ said Madame, affronted.

  ‘No . . . I mean, is there a way to hide the number when you dial?’

  Madame was looking at her. Then, just when Ellie felt she couldn’t bear the scrutiny a second longer, Madame ripped a piece of paper off a block pad on the desk and wrote some numbers on it. ‘You dial this first,’ she said.

  Ellie went over to the payphone and inserted some coins. Carefully, she dialled. As the phone rang, she glanced in her purse. There were only a few euros left. Maybe, after she’d called her mother, she’d ring Fredrik. It would be nice to hear his voice.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mum, it’s Ellie.’

  ‘Ellie! Where are you?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Of course it does. We need to get you safe.’

  ‘Have you told the police we’ve spoken?’

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘No . . . I don’t know. Look, I just don’t get it. How did Abby poison me? She was a child! How on earth would she even get the stuff?’

  ‘She took it out of the medicine cupboard.’

  ‘But surely you noticed the level in the bottle going down?’

  ‘She smashed one once. Pretended it was full so I would buy another. Another time she stole some. From the chemist on the corner – you remember?’

  It was on a parade of shops on the way to school; Ellie could picture it now, with its windows crammed with beauty products and the queues of people waiting in line to get their prescriptions, keeping the staff busy. Perhaps distracting them so much that they wouldn’t notice child shoplifters.

  ‘But how did she give it to me?’

  ‘You remember your sister’s job was to set the table? I always used to insist you drank milk with your meals. You were ill so often I worried you weren’t getting enough nutrients. Abby would put out the drinks. One day, when you were about eight years old, I caught her spooning liquid paracetamol into your milk.’ Susanna’s voice was catching with emotion. ‘I stopped her immediately. I’m so sorry I didn’t notice anything earlier. She’d been doing it for years.’

  Ellie shook her head, her mind whirring. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes. I promise you, I’m not lying.’

  ‘But Mum, she has no reason to hate me. She’s got everything! She’s a multi-millionaire, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Is she?’ gasped Susanna in wonder. ‘I knew she was wealthy, but I didn’t reali—’

  ‘Mum, you’re missing the point,’ said Ellie, frustrated. ‘I don’t see how Abby would want to harm me.’ Uncomfortable, she paused. ‘Which means . . .’

  ‘It was me?’ retorted Susanna sharply. ‘It would do you well to remember that she wasn’t a multi-millionaire when she was nine years old. She disliked you from the moment you were born. You took me away from her. You have to try and imagine what it’s like for an only child to suddenly get a sibling. She used to constantly ask me when your mother was coming to take you home. I had to explain that you were home, and she would go off into these awful tantrums. She’d stop breathing, turn blue. Even when she got older, she could never accept you.’

  Ellie was suddenly hit with an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. She leaned against the wall, tried to breathe evenly.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Susanna had suddenly realized Ellie hadn’t been responding.

  ‘Just feeling a bit dizzy.’

  ‘You’re unwell?’

  The beeps suddenly sounded in Ellie’s ear. She fumbled for her purse, slotted in her last coins.

  ‘I’ve been a bit off-colour.’

  �
��Oh . . .’ It was a small word, spoken with dread.

  ‘Mum . . .’

  ‘Has she given you anything?’

  There it was again. The fear that blew a cold wind right through her.

  ‘Ellie?’ Susanna’s tone was sharp.

  ‘Mum, stop. Please.’

  Her mother’s voice hardened. ‘Look, there’s something you need to know. She has a gun.’

  Ellie stopped still. ‘A what?’

  ‘Go and look in her things if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘Sorry, did you just say she has a gun?’

  ‘Yes, a gun! A bloody gun!’

  ‘But what would she have that for?’

  ‘I keep telling you, Ellie, she hates you.’

  ‘But she has all that money. That free life.’

  ‘Money does not buy you happi—’

  Ellie heard a click in her ear. The call had dropped out. She looked at the display on the phone – her balance had run down to zero. Ellie slowly replaced the receiver.

  Her sister had a gun?

  THIRTY-NINE

  Ellie slowly walked back through reception, not even noticing Madame look up as she passed the desk. She climbed the stairs, her mind racing. Surely it couldn’t be true? A gun. She couldn’t conceive of such an idea. It didn’t seem real; it was a mistake, some sort of madness. She got to the second floor, to the door of their room, and opened it.

  The shower was running. Ellie listened to the sound of the water. On Abby’s bed was her travel bag. Ellie hesitated a moment, then went over. Tentatively, she unzipped the bag and, with a sense of treachery, put her hands inside. She felt only the softness of clothes, nothing hard. She checked the inside pocket too but it was empty. She zipped the bag back up.

  Ellie looked around. There was a chair on the other side of the room, tucked away in the corner. On it was draped Abby’s clothes, those she’d been wearing that day. And poking out from underneath a T-shirt was Abby’s battered blue leather handbag.

  With a jolt, Ellie remembered how she’d lifted that same bag off the back seat of the car earlier, and how Abby had snapped at her to leave it.