I take the wine Anna proffers. I’m feeling fuzzy, but it’s Friday. Everyone has a drink on a Friday, don’t they?
‘Good day?’ I ask.
‘A productive one. I’ve applied for quite a few jobs. There are some nice flats on the market too. I’ll need a hefty deposit, though, and the first month’s rent in advance.’
‘I might be able to lend you some.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’m used to taking care of myself. Now, I have a surprise for you. A little thank you for all you’ve done for me.’ Anna passes me an envelope.
‘What is it?’
‘Open it.’
I run my finger under the seal and peel it open. Inside is a gift voucher for a spa day.
‘It’s for tomorrow. I hope you’re not busy? Dan says he’ll be at football.’
‘I don’t have any plans. This must have cost a fortune?’
‘Not really. It was a Groupon offer. Virtually free.’
‘Thanks.’ I’m genuinely pleased. I read aloud the list of treatments on offer as Anna serves the food. ‘Chocolate mud wrap, orange zest facial…’ My mouth waters. ‘They all sound good enough to eat.’
‘Try this instead.’ The roast beef is pink, goose-fat potatoes crispy, and when I’m finished I don’t think I can possibly eat dessert, but then I’m presented with tiramisu covered in cream and dusted with chocolate. It tastes just as good as it looks.
‘Dan doesn’t know what he’s missing.’ My jeans feel tight and I slouch back in my chair, unfasten my top button.
‘No. He’s a moron.’ There’s a bitterness in Anna’s voice that I haven’t heard before. ‘Grace, I don’t know how to put this, so I’ll just come out and say it.’
I sit up straighter.
‘I heard Dan talking on the phone before he went out. Arranging to meet someone.’
I freeze but then shake myself. Don’t always jump to the worst conclusion, Grace. I look at Anna steadily. ‘It was probably Harry.’
‘Does he always call Harry “babe”?’
The room suddenly feels cooler and I wrap my cardigan a little tighter. ‘Are you sure that’s what you heard?’
‘I think so. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I thought to myself, what would Charlie do?’
Brandy and cream tap-dance together and I feel sick. Why do I always overeat?
‘I could have misheard. The TV was on. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.’ Anna springs to her feet and begins to stack plates, clattering cutlery. I squeeze my eyes shut, and when I open them, she has gone into the kitchen. The candle flickers and hisses, fighting to stay alight in its diminishing pool of wax. Black shadows prowl around the walls, the strangers from my nightmares, the monsters under the bed. Chills run down my spine and I blow out the candle and switch on the light.
Anna is running steaming water into a bowl. Bubbles froth and multiply, out of control, much like my thoughts.
I pop the lid of the bin open, begin to scrape the plates. Beef fat and stray peas land on a piece of lined paper. Recognising Dan’s handwriting, I fish it out and shake off a piece of potato peel that’s stuck to it. ‘Going for a beer with Harry. See you later x’
‘Anna, did you put this in the bin?’
She reads it. ‘No.’
‘Why would Dan write me a note and throw it away?’
‘Maybe he was afraid you’d check with Harry? Catch him out? Or maybe it just blew in there. I had the back door ajar when I was cooking; the bin lid was open for the peelings. I did shut the door when I thought I saw a figure in the garden, though.’
‘There was someone in the garden and you’re just telling me this now?’ I snap, tossing the cutlery into the bowl. Frothy water splatters up over the tiles. I cross to the back door, rattle the handle to make sure it’s locked and peer out through the glass into the garden.
‘I wasn’t sure if I imagined it. It was so dark.’
‘But still. You’d know if you saw someone, surely?’
‘Or something. I’m not used to the country. Easily spooked. It could have been a badger squeezing under the hedge.’
I pull the roller blind down on the back door and draw the kitchen curtains. We finish cleaning the kitchen in silence, then head upstairs to bed. I read my book, and have just got to the part where Mr Rochester makes Jane Eyre cry, when I hear a hammering on the front door. I bang the book shut and test the weight of it, as if I can use it as a weapon. They’ve come back. The figure Anna saw in the garden earlier. I should have rung the police.
A bang. A thud against the window. A voice. ‘Grace?’
It’s Dan. I remember I pulled the chain across, and I run downstairs to let him in.
‘Why’s the chain on?’
‘Where have you been?’ I cross my arms over my chest.
‘Out with Harry. I left you a note. Didn’t you see it?’
‘And you call Harry “babe”, do you?’
‘Of course not. What are you talking about?’ Dan pulls his trainers off. ‘Are you OK? Your eyes are really bloodshot.’
‘I’m tired.’ Nothing makes sense. ‘Anna heard you on the phone calling someone “babe”.’
‘Did she?’ Dan throws his trainers onto the mat and they thud against the front door. Fragments of mud stipple the carpet.
‘And I suppose you expect me to hoover that up?’
‘I don’t expect you to do anything except believe me over some mad bitch you’ve only known five minutes.’
‘Keep your voice down.’
‘Why? In case precious Anna overhears and twists things around? I can shout if I want. This is my bloody house.’
‘Our bloody house. So where were you?’
‘At the club with Harry. Ask Chloe, if you don’t believe me. She was there. There are still girls around who actually want to spend time with their boyfriends.’
‘Well, maybe their boyfriends don’t go around calling other girls “babe”.’ I stomp back upstairs and lie rigid in bed, listening to the muffled sounds of the TV drifting up through the floor as Dan watches a late-night film, all squealing tyres and gunshots. It seems ages before sleep tugs me under. My dreams are strewn with torn-up notes, red Corsas and a figure in a black padded coat hiding in the bushes.
19
Now
Everything is stark white: my fluffy robe, slippers, the floor and wall tiles. If it wasn’t so warm I’d think I was in the Arctic. I stuff my belongings into a locker and drop the key into a canvas bag that is already bulging with my towel and a book, Jane Eyre. Anna’s cubicle door creaks open. She steps out, swamped in her robe. I pull my belt a little tighter.
‘Ready?’
‘Ready.’
‘Sauna first?’
‘I’ve never had one before.’
‘Never? Let’s do that, then. You should leave your necklace here. The metal will heat and burn your skin.’
I finger the gold hearts. ‘I never take this off.’
‘I’ve noticed; did Dan buy it?’
‘No. Charlie.’
‘It will be safe in your locker. You won’t want it on for the massage anyway.’
I carefully take the necklace off, fasten the clasp and put it inside my jacket pocket.
‘Let’s go.’
We hang our bags and robes on the hooks outside the sauna. Anna tugs the glass door and the rush of escaping heat takes my breath away. I trail her through the gloom and copy her as she spreads her towel out on a wooden bench and kicks her slippers off.
‘Are you OK?’ she asks.
‘I wasn’t expecting it to be quite so hot in here.’
‘You’ll get used to it pretty quickly. I was wondering, Grace, if we can go and see Lexie tomorrow?’
‘I’m sorry, Anna. I haven’t talked to her about you yet. I will, I promise, but I haven’t had a chance.’
‘We could surprise her?’
‘I don’t think that’
s a good idea. She’s very fragile.’
‘But I might cheer her up?’
‘Maybe. I’ll talk to her. How about you come and have Sunday lunch at my grandparents’ tomorrow? They’re dying to meet you and they have lots of Charlie stories.’
‘OK.’ Anna lies back and closes her eyes and I do the same. Sweat runs in rivulets down my body and, when Anna suggests a swim several minutes later, black dots dance in front of my eyes as I stand. I grip the bench to steady myself before I walk. It’s a relief to take a shower and plunge into the cold pool. I swim lengths until my breath rasps, then I flip over and float on my back. Anna climbs out the pool before me. Her thighs are covered in puckered scars I haven’t seen before. I wonder what happened to her after her parents died. She can be so guarded sometimes.
I shuffle across the poolside, conscious of the slippery tiles. Lots of the guests have brought flip-flops and I decide that if I ever come again, I’ll do the same. It’s so warm I don’t bother drying my skin, but I rub my hair with my towel as I perch on the edge of Anna’s lounger.
‘Can I ask you something personal, Anna?’
‘You can ask. I might not answer.’
‘Where did you go? After your parents…’
‘I was fostered for a while, but it didn’t work out.’
‘Why?’
‘Some children are hard to love, I suppose. I was very angry. I wanted my mum. Hungry?’ Anna stands and folds her towel into a square and I feel hurt that she doesn’t feel able confide in me.
Lunch is a buffet. I feel virtuous following my swim, and heap my plate with colourful salads and cold rice. I can’t resist the dessert table, though, and eat two slices of cheesecake, telling myself I can swim it off later. However, by the time we’ve finished our coffees and nibbled on after-dinner mints, I’m too full to exercise, so we sink into the Jacuzzi instead. The water comes up to my chin.
‘How many foster homes did you have?’ I can’t help probing.
‘Not as many as the calories you’ve just eaten. Look at the body on him.’ Anna nods towards a guy spreading his towel on a lounger.
‘His biceps are huge.’
‘That’s not the only huge thing, looking at his Speedos.’
I avert my eyes. ‘Not my type.’
‘I don’t really have a type. I want someone who can make me laugh.’
‘Dan’s funny.’ I catch her expression: she looks slightly scornful. ‘No, really, usually he is; he was, anyway,’ I persist, not sure why I’m feeling so defensive.
‘What do you mean, “he was”? What happened?’
‘I couldn’t cope when Charlie died. It was such a shock. I began to wonder if I was cursed. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. I snapped at Dan constantly, hating him for not knowing how to make me feel better. He started going out drinking every night just to avoid me. He’s never been one to talk about feelings. Anyway, it has got a bit better lately. Relationships are hard work, and you’ve got to take the rough with the smooth, I guess. I want to make it work. We both do.’
‘I’m sure you will.’
‘How long have you been single?’
Anna fiddles with her hair. ‘Not long enough!’
‘Bad break-up?’
‘Is there such a thing as a good one? I don’t know if I believe in all that happy ever after stuff. It’s not the way it works in real life, is it? I have this idyllic memory of my parents, but maybe they just died before it could all go wrong. Relationships don’t last, do they? Between anyone?’ She looks at me intently.
‘My grandparents are doing all right. It’s their golden anniversary this year.’
‘They’re the lucky ones then, or maybe more tolerant than the rest of us. Living with someone’s faults, accepting their mistakes, forgiveness – that’s true love, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Suppose.’ I wonder, should you compromise to accept someone for who they really are, or is that settling for less than you really want? I’m not sure.
‘How about your parents?’ Anna asks.
But before I can answer, a girl in a black tunic sashays towards us, clipboard in hand. She looks barely old enough to have left school and I wonder how it is her thick make-up doesn’t melt in this heat. I don’t often bother with make-up but when I do it doesn’t take long before my nose is shiny, mascara smudged and there’s lipstick on my teeth. I’m lucky Dan prefers the natural look, but is that something men just say? The women they seem to look at in magazines, in movies, on the street, are the glamorous, the über-thin. Not like me. Not like most of the women I know.
‘Grace Matthews?’
‘That’s me.’
She smiles, teeth impossibly white. ‘I’m Caroline. I’ll be doing your aromatherapy massage. If you’d like to come this way?’
The room is in semi-darkness; wall lights in the shape of candles cast a mandarin glow over the therapy couch. Pan pipes stream from an iPod dock. I undress and lay on my front on a chocolate faux-fur throw that tickles my skin. Caroline covers me with a soft fleecy blanket and I breathe in essential oils, praying my bottom won’t wobble too much once the massage starts. Caroline warms lavender oil between her palms, and her fingers start to unknot long-neglected muscles. I stop worrying about my cellulite as the heels of her hands slide either side of my spine. My eyelids flutter and close.
‘Grace, it’s time to get dressed.’ A whispered voice and a gentle hand on my shoulder stir me. I sit up, blinking and disorientated, feeling like I’ve just come out of the cinema into blazing sunlight. Caroline passes me a glass of water and I take a sip.
‘That was magical. Thank you.’
It feels like I float back to the poolside. ‘You’re up,’ I tell Anna.
I flop onto a lounger; I don’t want to swim and wash the oils off. My skin feels so soft. I close my eyes and doze, until Anna gently shakes me awake.
‘Time to go home, sleepyhead.’
‘Do we have to?’ I yawn and heave myself upright. ‘I could happily stay here for the rest of my life.’
‘You’d get bored.’
I’m not convinced I’d ever tire of this, but I follow her to the changing rooms all the same. I fish my key from my bag and open my locker, bundle my belongings and find an empty cubicle. My arms feel heavy as I guide them into sleeves. I can’t remember ever feeling this relaxed. I drag a brush through my hair and reach into my jacket for my necklace. It isn’t there. I’ve barely taken off the heart since Charlie gave me it on my fifteenth birthday and I feel light-headed. I check again. The pocket’s empty. All the pockets are empty. Panic wells. Where is it? Fingers of dread twist my insides and I bang open the door, scouring the floor as I rush back to the locker I used. The necklace isn’t there.
I chew my lip. Think, Grace. I rummage through my handbag. Everything is still there.
‘Are you OK?’
Anna stands behind me, shower-wet, dripping over the floor.
‘My necklace has gone.’
‘What do you mean, gone?’
‘Gone, as in it’s not there.’ I bite my lip hard to stop myself from crying.
‘It must be.’ Anna checks the locker and my pockets. ‘I don’t understand. Has someone taken it?’
‘How? The door was still locked. I left the key with you when I went for a massage. Did you go in my locker?’ I cross my arms.
‘No. Of course not. Let’s think. Have you let the key out of your sight at all?’
‘No.’ I sit down heavily on a bench. ‘Well, I did fall asleep after my massage. My bag was on the floor next to me.’
‘Someone could have taken your key then?’
‘And stole my necklace but left my phone and purse, and put the key back before I woke?’
‘That’s pretty implausible, isn’t it? Let’s go and talk to reception.’
I stand tapping my foot as Anna dresses, then we rush back to the entrance I had floated through so happily, just hours befor
e.
‘Sit down,’ Anna says. ‘I’ll fetch the manager.’
I sit on the edge of a high-backed chair and grip the table in front of me. My knuckles are chalk white. Charlie, I’m so sorry.
Anna murmurs in a low voice to a woman in a black pencil skirt and white blouse, who glances over. Her forehead is Botox-smooth and glossy, eyebrows rigid and arched. It’s impossible to see if she’s shocked. She totters over to me, thrusting out her tanned hand. ‘I’m Tina. Let’s go back to the changing rooms, shall we?’ She leads the way. ‘Which one was yours?’
I point to the locker on the bottom row.
‘Look. There’s a slight gap between the door and the base. How thick is your necklace?’
‘It’s quite thin.’
‘It’s possible then that if you didn’t put it in your pocket properly, or if it slipped out when you pulled your jacket out, it could have fallen down there?’
My heart sinks as I examine the gap, thinking of the way I dragged my clothes out: bundling them together, trying to carry everything at once. ‘I suppose so.’
‘I think that’s the rational explanation. We’ve never had an experience of theft here.’
‘So how do I get it back?’
‘Is it valuable?’
‘It has great sentimental value.’
‘Rest assured that when we next renovate and replace the lockers, we’ll find it. If you want to leave your name and number, we’ll contact you.’
‘When will that be?’ I feel so desperate.
‘I don’t have an exact date, but we’re always improving our facilities. That’s why our customers return again and again. Did we give you a membership leaflet?’ I turn away from her dazzling smile.
Anna rubs my arm. ‘I’m so sorry, Grace. I know how much the necklace means to you. We’ll buy another one.’
‘It won’t be the same. It won’t be from Charlie.’
‘No, but it will be from me.’ Anna smiles and I feel grateful she’s there, wonder what I would do without her.
The Sister: A psychological thriller with a brilliant twist you won't see coming Page 12