Sisters

by Michelle Frances

  It must be in the handbag.

  She stepped over to Abby’s side of the room and, pushing the clothes aside, she opened it. The thick envelope of cash lay on the top. Ellie slowly lifted it and then recoiled.

  Cold hard metal gleamed up at her. It had an energy, even though it was a stationary object, a brutality that made her shudder.

  Ellie suddenly heard the shower turn off. Panicked, she shoved the envelope of money back on top of the gun and, fingers scrabbling, zipped up the bag, then ran over to her side of the room.

  The bathroom door opened. Abby stepped out, wrapped in a towel. ‘All right?’ she said.

  Ellie smiled as casually, as normally as she could. Her mouth felt strange, as if the muscles couldn’t quite form the right expression.

  ‘I’m going to give Jamie another call,’ said Abby, ‘then I’m going to turn the phone off. Just in case. Don’t want anyone picking up where we are.’

  ‘You mean the police?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t know how they’d track us to the retail park but I don’t want to take the risk. We can switch it back on in the morning, to check for messages.’

  Ellie nodded.

  ‘You OK?’ asked Abby.

  She smiled quickly. ‘Fine.’

  Ellie watched agitatedly as Abby went over to the chair. Her sister opened her bag. Ellie stared as she saw Abby’s hands disappear into its depths to retrieve her phone. She looked at her sister’s face. She knows there’s a gun in there, thought Ellie, and she doesn’t even flinch. Abby looked up then, caught Ellie watching, and Ellie quickly turned away.

  Abby made the call but, by the look on her face, Ellie knew she’d got the answerphone again. Her sister left a brief message, then put on a fresh T-shirt and climbed into bed.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ she said.

  Ellie snapped to, realized she was rooted to the spot.

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ Her head felt heavy with tiredness. She undressed and stiffly got into bed. Her legs would hardly move and she had to lift them to turn on her side, her back to Abby.

  ‘Night,’ said Abby, switching off her light.

  ‘Night,’ Ellie replied.

  She lay there in the dark, rigid with fear and uncertainty. Mum was right. Ellie felt hyper-aware of her surroundings. She heard Abby shift in bed and stiffened with fright. Was her sister getting up? My God, was she, Ellie, even safe in this room with her? But then she heard Abby settle back down again. Heart hammering, Ellie tried to think. But she was so tired. Stay awake, she instructed herself firmly. Do not fall asleep. She suddenly knew what to do. She had to wait until Abby fell asleep and then creep back downstairs. Call Susanna and tell her where they were. This had gone on long enough – Ellie mentally kicked herself for not believing her mother sooner. If she’d listened, she could have avoided this situation; she might not have been lying here in the pitch black, afraid of what her sister might do. Her eyelids drooped and Ellie forced them back open. Stay awake! It wouldn’t be long, Abby was tired too, Ellie knew. She just had to wait long enough for Abby to fall asleep and then . . . what? Call! Yes, she had to make a call. She could do it. She felt herself drifting and pinched her leg. To her alarm she couldn’t feel anything. She pinched again, harder. There, that was better, she was awake now. Wasn’t she? Ellie sensed her mind might be wandering but she was too tired to chase it, to bring it back under her control. So, so tired.

  FORTY

  Abby lay in her bed listening to the sound of her sister breathing as she slept. She knew she should sleep too but there was too much on her mind.

  There were several ways this little venture could play out and Abby didn’t know yet where it was going. There were two things she was certain about: the first was that she had to finally put an end to a lifetime’s unhappiness, remove the thorn that had been forever in her side. The second was that whatever the final scenario turned out to be, Abby was aware she’d need Jamie’s help. It wasn’t beyond her understanding that there was a looming possibility of a custodial sentence somewhere down the line. It had to be avoided at all costs and she knew this was something Jamie was notoriously good at. His reputation as a defence lawyer was second to none.

  That’s if it ever got to that. Abby was determined that this would not end up in any court.

  She sighed and turned her mind to more pleasant thoughts. A smile came to her lips as she remembered the extraordinary discovery of the afternoon. The Camargue had been so beautiful, breathtakingly so. She’d never experienced anything like it and it would stay in her memory forever. The light, the glorious light on the pink wings of the flamingos and the grey-and-white horses. And their sense of freedom. Those horses were in their own utopia, away from humans, able to do as they pleased. A calm, simple life with no one to rely on for their survival.

  It was all Abby had ever wanted for herself and she knew her extreme sacrifices had bought her independence, freedom from her mother. But she hadn’t actually planned on retiring quite so young. She’d originally thought of reducing her hours, maybe even finding another job. Of living her life more fully, taking a holiday, trying out new places, new experiences. Maybe even going out for dinner once in a while. Instead she’d stopped altogether and hidden herself away on a tiny, albeit beautiful island, where she couldn’t get out of the habit of scrimping and saving, just to make certain she’d have enough to last her until old age – which was half a century away. Perhaps even longer. No, the decision to retire had been sudden, unexpected. It had come out of fear.

  FORTY-ONE

  2018

  The placard held up by the rep in arrivals read Someone Special Singles’ Holidays in bold black letters and Abby cringed. If it had been possible for her to turn back around and head through baggage reclaim to the plane, she might have done just that, but then she would’ve had to explain to her boss how she ended up not taking a holiday after all and he would go on at her and HR would send some officious email and it was all too much hassle. It wasn’t even really a holiday, it was a long weekend, Friday to Monday, and she’d picked that weekend purposely as the Monday was a bank holiday, which meant she only spent one day’s leave. (She wasn’t allowed to sell them all, there were regulations against it, but she certainly wanted to max out her allowance.)

  She walked over to the beaming man with the sign and was directed to a minibus outside Florence airport. As she stepped on board her heart sank further as she noted a collection of . . . she didn’t want to say oddballs – that was unkind. In any event, she was there too, but it was becoming clear to her that people who booked a singles’ weekend were not necessarily busy high-flyers looking to make like-minded new friends.

  Abby took a seat in an empty row, nodding hellos at those she passed. One or two of the girls looked at her with a sharp eye of appraisal, clearly summing up the competition, and all of the men’s gazes were open and hopeful.

  As she sat down, the man opposite, dressed in a black T-shirt and ripped black jeans, leaned across the aisle.

  ‘Hi, I’m Sean.’

  She shook his outstretched hand, noting it was slightly sweaty. ‘Abby.’

  ‘What do you do?’

  Flipping heck, it was one hell of an opening question. No warm-up at all, and the way he’d said it, it sounded like a test. Abby had the distinct impression she was about to be defined by her job.

  ‘Business analyst.’

  His eyes remained blank, then he quickly covered with a knowing smile. ‘Cool.’

  You have no idea what that is, thought Abby.

  ‘You?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m a music producer,’ he said faux-casually as he attempted to cross his leg and rest an ankle on the other knee, but he was hampered by the tight leg room and had to drop it to the floor again.

  ‘Oh yes? What kind of music?’

  ‘Bit of grime, garage, jungle. Some hip hop. I did Shanga Weed’s debut – you heard of them?’

  She shook her head. ‘Sorry.’

  H
e looked downcast. Or was it relieved? She couldn’t tell. But then another female boarder, a not unattractive blonde who cast her eyes over the bus looking for a seat, took his attention. Sean was about to indicate the space next to him when she slid into one at the front. Did she just swerve him? thought Abby, hiding a smile.

  The blonde was the last to board and the rep opened with his effervescent welcome as the bus drove off. Sean took up where the rep finished, non-stop jabber the entire journey to the hotel, and Abby began to wish she’d had the foresight of the blonde woman and eyed up the seating arrangements with a little more nous.

  There were a number of excursions organized that they were encouraged to sign up to – all included in the price! the rep kept enthusiastically reminding them – and later that day, after the welcome drinks, Abby found herself, along with about eleven others, following the rep around the highlights of Florence. They explored the Piazza della Signoria, taking in the Uffizi and the Palazzo Vecchio, outside which stood the vast copy of Michelangelo’s David. Abby was happy to hang back and listen and wonder at the genuinely magnificent buildings. She found she was even beginning to enjoy herself. As they gazed upwards at a spectacularly painted dome, or marvelled at a statue, Abby was increasingly aware of Sean zoning in on the blonde girl from the bus again, always within two feet of her, gesturing, talking. Even when Blondie moved away he managed to find her again, always at her shoulder. Abby amused herself as she noted how, as much as Blondie continuously batted him away, he kept coming back for more.

  The afternoon wore on and they stopped outside a gelateria in another picturesque square, where, unable to decide between chocolate and cherry, Abby went for both.

  ‘Lucky you don’t have to watch your figure,’ said Sean, grinning as she took her first lick.

  He was proud of his ‘compliment’, Abby could see. She really couldn’t be bothered to explain to him how objectifying his comment was and, looking around for the blonde girl, Abby saw she was talking animatedly to another man from their group.

  So Sean had finally been elbowed away and now she, Abby, was next in line for conquest. She started to wander off but, to her dismay, Sean followed. He made a beeline for her at dinner too and she had to endure two hours of how difficult it was handling ‘creative types’ in the music ‘biz’. Eventually she could stand it no more and went to bed. Served her right for being amused by poor Blondie being trailed earlier.

  Sean had the uncanny knack of knowing when she would be in the hotel dining room for breakfast, and had also signed up for the morning excursion to the Duomo, like herself. By late afternoon, Abby had had enough. She let the rep know she was going off on her own, declining Sean’s offer of company as politely as possible, and when he wouldn’t take no for an answer, she waited until he’d stepped behind a pillar at another grand church and made a run for it.

  The sudden freedom made her giddy. She laughed to herself as she scuttled out of the church and down the street, ducking left and right, just in case Sean should try and follow. When she was certain she’d shaken him off, Abby looked around and gasped at what she saw: the Ponte Vecchio.

  She wandered onto the spectacular bridge where shop after shop was crammed into the medieval architecture. It was a dazzling sight, not least because so many of them were fine jewellers. Abby gazed in the windows at the antique brooches made of gleaming enamel, the shell cameos, bright semi-precious stones laced together into a gold bracelet to adorn a nineteenth-century wrist, coral pendants carved into the faces of Roman gods. Most of it was eye-wateringly expensive and Abby gaped, astonished and a little disapproving – why would anyone want to spend so much on one item? Then, in a less ostentatious shop, she saw a silver bracelet set with lapis lazuli and there was something about the intensity of the blue that took her breath away. She stopped and stared. It seemed to be talking to her, something that she tried to dismiss as ridiculous, but she couldn’t take her eyes off it. She allowed herself a glance at the price tag and was taken aback to see it was actually affordable. Except it would use up the entire amount she’d brought out to Florence – the whole 150 euros. She’d planned her budget carefully – it was enough to last the whole time she was there. She hugged her bag closer, thought of her purse nestled inside. If she spent the money, she’d have to withdraw more and so eat into next month’s budget.

  Abby made herself walk on quickly and not look back. The further she got from the shop, the easier it would be to forget about the bracelet. She felt a pang of deep disappointment as she strode along the bridge but then gave herself a stern talking-to. It’ll be worth it. Think of your savings. Think of that early retirement.

  After that she didn’t feel much like window-shopping and, in fact, as she debated what to do next, she realized she’d not noticed the evening draw in. The bridge lights were on now and, tummy rumbling, she checked her watch and couldn’t believe it had just gone eight o’clock. Dinner was served at the hotel at eight thirty so Abby checked her phone and reckoned on a shortcut to get her back in time.

  She headed back over the river, holding her phone out so she could follow the map, and was so busy concentrating on the screen she failed to notice her surroundings change. The tourist-busy streets had disappeared and she was in a narrow alley overshadowed by tall buildings either side. The street lighting was set far apart and the lamps were dim, leaving long stretches of darkness.

  It was the quiet that got her attention first. The kind of silence that hung ominously in the air. Abby looked up from her phone and gave an involuntary shiver. There was no one around and she didn’t like the sensation of being enclosed by the buildings. She hurried onwards, looking up for the end of the alley so she could break out into the open again, but there was a bend ahead that she couldn’t see round.

  A clatter sounded behind her, something kicked in the street, a drinks can perhaps. Abby turned and saw a human figure in the shadows. Shoulders hunched, she quickened her pace, simultaneously tucking her phone into her pocket, out of sight. There was a turning up ahead, another street leading off this one; maybe it would take her back to the main drag. She hurried up to it and was almost there when a man stepped out of that very same turning right in front of her.

  Abby jumped. She stopped, her heart hammering. Instinctively she knew the shadowy figure behind her had caught up.

  ‘Borsa,’ demanded the man in front of her, indicating her bag. He was thin, with sunken shadows under his wired eyes. He kept moving the entire time; desperation seemed to engulf his limbs and he twitched and ticked.

  She clutched it tighter, some mistimed sense of justice making her deeply indignant. Why should she hand her bag over to some junkie? She could feel the other man was right behind her but up ahead she could see a main street full of people and noise. Surely she could get to it in time, and even if she couldn’t, the very fact she was running for it would scare these two addicts away. They looked like chancers, opportunists who would shrink back into the shadows the minute they might be exposed. She dodged around the man in front and was about to break into a sprint when a white-hot pain seared her shoulder. She found herself stumbling, then falling and hitting the ground with such force her chin felt as if it had been pushed back into her skull. Senses slowed by the pain, she was one step behind the man wrenching her bag off her shoulder and failed to hold on to it. The pain in her shoulder screamed out – or was that her? – and then a crack to her hip made her lose focus and she realized she’d been kicked. She tried to curl up in defence, her hands protecting her head as she cowered at their feet. From her position on the ground she could see her phone had fallen out of her pocket and had skidded across the cobbles. One of her attackers retrieved it and then they were gone, their trainer-clad footsteps running off in the other direction.

  She lay there for a while, unable to move. She wasn’t sure how to get up; it was as if her body had lost its sense of self-belief, no longer knew how to operate muscles and tendons that it had been controlling for thirty-five year
s. She felt a warm wetness on her right shoulder and had an overwhelming urge to find out what it was. It was this that propelled her through the pain and paralysis, and she dragged herself up off the street, arching a screaming arm backwards, the agony almost unbearable as she touched blood.

  There was a lot. Too much, thought Abby as she began to stumble towards the main street she could still see up ahead. As she broke out of the alley, back into the lights and the fun-seeking tourists, the terror of what had just happened suddenly engulfed her and she was so relieved to see a policeman that she lunged for him, just as he looked up and caught her in his arms.

  She had a fractured jaw, severe bruising to the hip and a two-inch stab wound on her right shoulder. She’d been in hospital for three days, and was aware her short break had encroached on the beginning of a new working week. All her other Someone Special companions would have gone home now. She’d half wondered if she’d hear from Sean but no message had made its way to her via the rep who visited to talk her through her journey back to the UK. When the rep left the hospital, after filling in various forms, she burst into tears.

  She sobbed silently, not wanting to draw the attention of the nurses. She was used to looking after herself, to not having a guardian to fall back on. She’d prided herself on successfully building her own fortress, on relying on no one but herself. Abby could look after Abby. Except, the first time she fell into trouble, she had behaved pitifully. She hadn’t fought back. She hadn’t even screamed. She’d just let those thugs do whatever they wanted, let them take her things, and had lain in the dirt, weak and pathetic.

  A polite cough drew her out of her reverie. Flustered, Abby wiped her eyes and looked up. A policeman was stood at a respectful distance from the foot of the bed. Abby recognized him as the one she’d collapsed onto on the night of the mugging.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ he said.