‘I’ve saved some bacon for you, dear,’ said Grandma. ‘You need some meat on your bones. Turn sideways and we struggle to see you.’ Charlie did seem to grow taller and thinner by the day.
Grandma buttered thick white bread and slavered the bacon in ketchup, just the way Charlie liked it. ‘Sit down. We’re about to do presents.’
Charlie thudded the box onto the table and shoved it over to me. She picked up her sandwich, took a bite and licked her fingers.
I carefully removed the ribbons and bows and peeled the tape away from the paper, trying not to rip it. I planned to glue the paper and bow from each present into my scrapbook later, and write details of the gift and who sent it underneath. It was important to me to preserve my memories. Dad had so much stuff. I never knew where it came from or what it meant to him and it never seemed important to ask while he was here. Afterwards, it pained me to think I knew so little about the man I’d thought I knew so well.
‘You’ll be nineteen before you get it open at this rate.’
Inside the box was an assortment of vinyl records: Billie Holiday, Etta James, Bessie Smith. The music I’d grown up with that Charlie didn’t quite understand. I shook my head to dislodge the lump in my throat and stood up to hug her. She squeezed me with her forearms, her greasy hands splayed out to the side.
‘Where did you find them all?’
‘Car boot sales, eBay, Amazon. I’ve been saving my babysitting money and collecting them for the past year.’
Grandad took the albums through to the dining room, and as the strains of Etta James drifted through the open door, he came back and proffered his hand.
‘Ginger?’ He pulled me to my feet and I giggled as he Fred-Astaired me around the kitchen, twirling me around in his pinstriped pyjamas.
‘This is from Grandad and me,’ Grandma said, as we sank, breathless, into our seats. She pushed a sparkly silver-wrapped box towards me.
I rotated it in my hands, looking for the best place to open it.
‘Here we go again,’ said Charlie. ‘You do know the shops shut at five-thirty?’
‘Very funny.’ I slid the present out of the paper. Diamond stud earrings.
‘They were my mum’s,’ Grandma said. ‘I’ve had them cleaned for you.’
I tilted the box towards the window and my great-grandmother’s earrings sparkled in the light. It was hard to equate something so beautiful with the frail old woman who smelled of pear drops that I remembered visiting when I was small.
‘They were a present from your great-grandfather on their wedding day.’
‘They’re so beautiful, thank you.’
‘And buy yourself something nice to wear tonight when you go to town.’ Grandad pressed notes into my hand.
I was suddenly overcome by emotion. ‘I love you all.’ My voice caught.
‘And we love you, too.’ Grandma gave me a hug and then began to shoo me out of the kitchen. ‘Now go and put some clothes on, unless you’re planning on shopping in your pyjamas?’
I scooped up the wrapping paper before Grandad could recycle it and ran upstairs to get dressed.
The sofa was heavy. Charlie pushed as I pulled. Together, we wedged it into the corner of the room and slid the coffee table against the wall. The sideboard had been cleared and I flapped open a sheet and covered it up, ready to set the buffet on.
‘Are you sure your mum doesn’t mind me having a party here?’
‘Nah. She’s looking forward to it. I made her promise she won’t embarrass me.’
I ripped open packets of Wotsits and flung them into bowls as Charlie made a punch in a giant glass bowl I’d brought from Grandma’s. The liquid turned orange as Charlie sloshed fruit juice into the mix and gave it a stir.
‘Try this.’ She held a teaspoon to my lips and I slurped.
‘God, that’s strong. What’s in it?’ My eyes watered.
‘Everything.’ Charlie grinned and unscrewed the top from a half-open bottle of gin she’d found at the back of the cupboard.
‘It’s a good job my grandparents aren’t coming,’ I said.
I had invited them, but they’d said they’d leave us ‘young ’uns’ to it.
By nine o’clock my head was fuzzy, my step unsteady. Half the sixth form were crammed into Charlie’s tiny house and the walls vibrated with the thump-thump-thump of the bass. Disco lights flashed red, green and blue, and I had a sense of detachment as I watched bodies sway on our makeshift dance floor to the playlist Charlie had created. Dan shuffled his feet to ‘Sex on Fire’, waving a beer can in the air, as Siobhan raised her hands high and shook her head from side to side. Her chest wobbled. She didn’t have a bra on under her spaghetti-strapped top. Slut. I swiped a cocktail sausage and bit it in half, wishing I could stab Siobhan with the stick. It was my birthday. Dan should be with me.
Beside me, Lexie ladled punch into a pint glass. ‘You should go get him, girl,’ she slurred, as she nodded at Dan. ‘You’re only young once. Just don’t do what I did, Grace. Don’t fuck it up.’
‘What did you do?’
But the opening bars to ‘Mamma Mia’ rang out and Charlie yanked my arm.
‘Let’s boogie.’
I swigged what was left of my drink and fought my way into the middle of the lounge. Esmée clasped my left hand, Charlie my right. I lost sight of Siobhan and we were spinning and spinning and flying and falling. We heaped on the floor, arms and legs tangled, giggling, but then I felt sick.
The queue for the toilet snaked down the stairs and I pushed my way into Lexie’s darkened bedroom instead. There was a pile of coats on the bed and I sat cross-legged on the floor, pressing my palms into the floorboards, wishing the room would keep still.
The door banged open and I was cast in a rectangle of light streaming in through the landing. Charlie tottered towards me.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah. Too much punch I think.’ I rubbed my eyes. ‘Do I look a state?’
Charlie clicked on the bedside lamp. ‘A bit.’ She rooted around in Lexie’s drawer and pulled out a handful of Rimmel make-up.
‘Do you miss your dad, Charlie?’ The alcohol had made me emotional. ‘I miss mine.’
‘Your face I can fix,’ she said. ‘Your dad…’
‘I know.’ I sighed. ‘I’m OK, mostly, but days like today… How do you cope?’
Charlie shrugged. ‘Can’t miss what I never had.’
‘But what if you found him? You could have a whole new family.’
‘That might be a good thing. Mum’s pissed again.’
‘I noticed.’
‘Suck your cheeks in.’ Charlie dipped a brush into bronzer.
‘We could find him.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know, but we’re eighteen now. You can get a copy of your birth certificate if your mum still won’t give you one. There are organisations that will help trace him. Google.’
‘I dunno. We’re supposed to be focusing on our A Levels. It’s our last year. With Mum and Ben and everything…’
‘I’ll do it. It’s not like I have a love life to occupy me.’ Excitement welled up in me. Here was something I could change. Something I could do right. ‘I could do with something to focus on.’
A groan came from the bed. Charlie peeled back coats.
‘It’s Mum. Out for the count, again. Let’s go downstairs.’
The crowd had thinned. Charlie disappeared into the lounge. I crunched down the hallway towards the kitchen – someone had trailed pretzels over the floor – and filled a glass with water.
I jumped as Dan appeared behind me, reflected in the kitchen window.
‘Look.’ He wrapped an arm around my waist and pointed at the night sky. ‘It’s Orion.’
I squinted at the mass of stars. They all looked the same. ‘Where?’
‘You see that cluster that’s brighter than the others, just there?’
‘Yes.
’
‘That’s Orion.’
‘Is it?’
‘I’m not sure. Got a telescope for my birthday but haven’t used it yet. You were impressed though, weren’t you? Admit it.’
I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow, but he kept his arm around me. I leant back into him, fumbled around for something interesting to say and wished I hadn’t drunk so much. I wasn’t sure if it was alcohol or anticipation making my head spin.
‘How’s work? I haven’t seen you in ages.’ Work? I mentally kicked myself. No wonder Siobhan got all the boys. How did you learn to flirt?
‘It’s OK. I show people around houses they have no intention of buying most of the time. I miss school and the laughs we had. I miss you.’
I studied his reflection in the window. I couldn’t make out his expression. ‘We miss you.’
‘I mean, I really miss you.’
My body felt weightless, as if I could float away if he weren’t holding me.
‘Charlie too?’ My voice squeaked.
‘Not in the same way. Look, Grace, I can’t stop thinking about you. You’ve always been there in the background, and I took that for granted. Now you’re not, I find myself missing the conversations we had. Charlie was a crush, someone to flirt with, fun. But what I feel for you, it’s different. Real. Natural. I want to be with you. Do you want to be with me?’
He spun me around and locked his gentle eyes onto mine. I coaxed my nervous tongue to form an answer.
‘Yes,’ I whispered.
Dan brushed my hair away from my face and ran his finger down my cheek.
‘Happy birthday, Grace.’ His lips feathered across mine.
‘No!’
We jerked apart. Siobhan stood behind us, hands on hips.
‘Siobhan,’ I started, ‘I’m…’
‘No fucking friend of mine, Grace Matthews.’ She turned and ran down the hallway towards the front door. ‘You’ll regret this,’ she yelled over her shoulder.
A pang of guilt shot through me. I knew she really liked him. ‘I’d better go after her.’
The garden gate was swinging open by the time I got outside. Siobhan was nowhere to be seen. I put a hand on the stone wall to steady myself and let the icy air fill my lungs. The moon drifted in and out of focus and nausea churned up inside me like a tornado. The ground was hard and damp as I dropped to my knees and vomited Charlie’s punch into the hydrangea.
I heard heels clicking down the pavement towards me and I thought Siobhan had come back to gloat.
Hands bunched my hair behind my head as I vomited again, and cool fingertips stroked my brow.
‘Grandma said I’d find you here, Grace.’
I looked up and gasped. It wasn’t Siobhan. It was Mum.
18
Now
‘Where were you last night?’ The breakfast table is heavy with preserves and accusations. Dan unscrews a jar of marmalade, plunges his knife in. I try not to tut as butter seeps into the orange jelly. I dip a clean teaspoon into the strawberry jam and heap it onto the side of my plate.
‘I went for a quick drink with the lads.’
‘Until midnight?’ I don’t want a row before work, but my head throbs and my eyes are gritty with tiredness. I’d lain in bed, muscles tense, eyes wide open, until I heard the scratching of Dan jabbing his key in the front door lock, his unsteady tread as he stumbled his way up the stairs. He’d undressed with exaggerated slowness and, when he’d tumbled into bed, I’d turned away from his alcohol fumes, wanting to avoid a late-night row. I’d been conscious of Anna sleeping in the next room.
‘I was worried, that’s all – I wish you’d left a note.’
‘I didn’t think you’d notice.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You’re usually with Anna, hunched over photo albums. If she spent as much time looking for a job as she does quizzing you about Charlie, she’d have gone by now.’
‘You want me to throw her out?’
‘It was only supposed to be a few days. It’s been three weeks. We’re nearly in March.’
‘I know.’ I pour tea. It has brewed for too long and is dark and unappealing.
‘I just thought we were going to concentrate on us.’
‘I’ll talk to her.’
‘No.’ Dan swigs tea, screws up his face. ‘I’ll do it. You’ve had enough stress.’
‘Morning.’
We both jump. Anna usually stays in bed until after we’ve left for work. I wonder how much she’s overheard. I lower my head, letting my hair fall over my burning face, studying the table as if it’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen.
Dan pushes his chair back, fastens his top button and eases the knot on his tie upwards. ‘See you later.’
‘Grace, can I borrow your laptop?’ Anna asks. ‘I want to send off some more CVs and look at some flats for rent. I don’t want to outstay my welcome.’
‘Borrow away, and you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you like.’ I mentally apologise to Dan as I sweep toast crumbs and guilt into my cupped hand.
There’s a staff meeting after work, but I find it difficult to focus my busy mind. I don’t want Anna to move out, but Dan and I do need some quality time together. I wonder whether we should book a weekend away. We still haven’t resurrected our sex life. I’m too aware that Anna could overhear our creaking headboard and squeaky springs.
The muscles in my back are tight as I drive home. Rain lashes against my windscreen and my wipers swish at double-speed, but it’s still difficult to see. I drive carefully. Puddles form at the side of the road and fat drops of water bounce off my bonnet. I hold my hand in front of the heating vent. The air hasn’t warmed yet and I’m freezing. I can’t wait to step into a warm bath and scrub the poster paints from my fingernails, wash the glitter out of my hair. I decide on a Chinese for tea; we can curl up on the sofa with the laptop and check out country hotels. Anna might be glad of a few days to herself; she could look after Mittens.
Glaring white light slices through my thoughts and I squint through my windscreen. I can barely see the road. I flash the oncoming driver. Dip your lights, idiot. In my rear-view mirror I see the car screech to a stop. It spins around in a U-turn. I turn the radio down. Concentrate on the winding road ahead of me. An engine revs. Headlights flash. The car has caught up with me. It’s so close it’s almost touching my bumper.
My palms are damp with sweat. I remove my hands from the wheel, one at a time, and wipe them on my jeans. My foot squeezes the accelerator. I weave through the country lanes I know so well, but the car stays on my tail. There’s a horn. A flash. And I’m scared. Really scared. I don’t like driving fast. Don’t like driving in the dark at all, especially in this foul weather. I’m pushing eighty now. Far too fast for these wet roads with their sharp corners and potholes, but I can’t bring myself to slow down. We squeal around corners, tyres slipping. I think of a film I saw once with a serial killer chasing a driver, and I lean forward as though I can make my car go faster. As I reach the lane, I slam my foot on the brake, make a sharp right and screech to a halt. My car skids sideways as the tyres lose traction. The other car doesn’t turn but it stops at the top of the lane, engine put-put-putting. The orange glow of the lamp post illuminates its bonnet. It’s red and I know with certainty that this is the person who’s been following me.
My left hand grips the steering wheel. My right rests upon the door handle. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. I could step out of the car. Ask them what the hell they’re playing at. My fingers twitch and my lower back aches where I’m twisting around in my seat. There’s a beat. The interior light floods the red car as the door cracks open. A shadowy figure moves, but with the rain pelting down I can’t see them properly. I know I should go home but I’m transfixed. The snake and the charmer.
A horn. A bus grinds to a halt behind the car, bus driver beeping impatiently. The car door closes. The interior li
ght darkens, and as the car pulls away, I feel I’ve escaped something – but I don’t know what. I rest my forehead on the steering wheel momentarily. Then I urge my trembling legs to move, press my feet against the pedals and speed towards the cottage.
‘Dan!’
The smell of roast beef greets me as I push open the front door. In the lounge, the candles are lit and the table is set for two. There’s a large vase of baby-pink roses on the coffee table.
‘You’re late?’ Anna bustles towards me, wiping her hands on my apron.
‘I had a staff meeting. Where’s Dan?’ I’m panting.
‘He’s gone out. It’s just you and me.’
‘Did he say where he’s going?’
‘No. Just “don’t wait up”. Are you OK? You look pale.’
I open my mouth to tell her what happened, but I think how ridiculous it sounds: There was another car on the road and I got scared. I think I’m being followed. An overactive imagination, Grandma would say.
‘I need a drink.’ There’s a bottle of Shiraz on the table. Not my favourite, but it will do. I twist the cap off, slug some into a large goblet and knock it back in one. The alcohol burns my throat and my head swims.
‘Grace, are you OK?’
‘Fine.’ I pour another glass. ‘Look out of the window, Anna.’
‘What am I looking for?’ She crosses to the window and parts the curtains.
‘A car.’
She looks right and then left. ‘There’s just your car.’ She steps back and the curtains fall from her hands, coming back together like magnets. There’s still a strip of light shining through and I press my back against the wall, scared someone might be looking in.
‘What’s going on, Grace?’
‘Never mind. I’m going to get changed.’ I pause by the front door on my way to the stairs, make sure it’s locked, but I’ve only climbed three steps when I come back down, rattle the handle and put the chain on. You’re safe – you’re safe – you’re safe.
There are no missed calls or texts from Dan when I check my phone – so much for our chat about communication. I swallow a fragment of a tablet, strip off my uniform, drop it in the laundry bin, and jump in the shower. Rinse away the cold sweat and dread that had covered me during the journey home. By the time I’m dry and dressed, I’m encased with the familiar warm medicated feeling and the terror has seeped away.
The Sister: A psychological thriller with a brilliant twist you won't see coming Page 11