Blood Sisters: The #1 bestselling thriller from the author of My Husband's Wife

by Jane Corry

  ‘Horrible.’

  ‘I bet it was awful. I always hate the dentist. But it will be worth it. I’ll get my brace off soon. And you’ll have another tooth when it’s ready, I expect. Then we’ll both be as good as new, won’t we?’

  He laughed. A properly happy laugh this time, and because his joke was really rather funny (how could she ever be as good as new?), Kitty laughed too.

  ‘How did you get down here?’

  ‘Margaret created a diversion,’ said Kitty. ‘And Duncan helped with his scratching, although he didn’t know that.’

  ‘Bet you came to find me.’ His eyes shone. ‘Wow!’ Then his face got all worried. ‘Don’t get caught, will you?’

  Yet he was still holding her hand as if he didn’t want to let her go.

  ‘Please get better soon,’ babbled Kitty, desperate to prolong the moment. His touch felt so nice and warm.

  ‘I should be better soon.’ His head nodded up and down as he spoke. ‘And next week it’s the concert. My mum and dad will be back from holiday then.’

  It was amazing how they could have a conversation without her actually speaking.

  He let go of her hands. They felt horribly empty now. Lonely. ‘I don’t want to say goodbye but we’re both going to get told off if they find you here. Thanks for coming.’

  Then he blew her another kiss!

  Kitty caught it with her good hand and put it in her pocket to add to the collection. It made her so happy that she began to hum.

  ‘You’ve got such a lovely voice,’ said Johnny with tears in his eyes. ‘See you as soon as they let me get back.’

  ‘Why … are … you … holding … your … hand … over … your … pocket?’ asked Margaret later, when Kitty had managed to steer herself back into their shared room without anyone noticing.

  It was no good. She was bursting to tell. ‘Because it’s got Johnny’s kisses inside it.’

  ‘What … are you … saying? I hope it’s … not going … to give you … nightmares again. Scream … and thrash … and mutter … all … night you … do.’ Margaret’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s like … you’re trying … to say … something.’

  That was strange. Kitty could never remember her dreams.

  ‘Maybe it’s got … something to do … with why you’re … here in the … first place.’ Margaret was looking sorry for her now.

  ‘Tell me, tell me,’ babbled Kitty.

  ‘It can’t be easy … We all feel … sorry for … you. That’s why I … try … to help. By … the … way, you … owe … me … one for … creating … that … diversion.’

  ‘There you are.’ Very Thin Carer came rushing in. ‘I’ve been looking for you, you naughty girl. You’re not meant to wheel yourself back to your room. It’s against health and safety. Now you’d better behave or else you won’t be allowed to play in the concert. Not long now. A little bird told me that you’ve got a special visitor coming to hear you. Now isn’t that exciting?’

  Kitty’s heart began to beat. What if it was Flabby Face again?

  He wanted something. She just knew it. But what? And why did she get the feeling it was something to do with an accident? If only she could fucking remember.

  11

  November 2016

  Alison

  I’m shaking so much that I can hardly hold two fingers against Barry’s neck. I don’t want to touch this child-killer’s rough mottled skin. But common decency means I have to check his pulse.

  I took a first-aid course years ago in the Guides. It hadn’t helped my sister, though. Later, as part of a teaching requirement, I went on a refresher session.

  Barry is still breathing and his bloody eye is staring glassily up at me. ‘Get help. Quick!’ My voice is hoarse.

  Why are they just standing there, looking down at the ground, shifting awkwardly? One of these men has just tried to commit murder. Which one?

  ‘Go!’ I yell. Kurt tears off. I think back to the conversation we had earlier about Barry and whether he was still a threat. ‘The rest of us wouldn’t let no one hurt you.’ That’s what Kurt had said.

  Have I just allowed a murderer to escape?

  Barry’s slumped body is twitching as though an electric current is passing through. His blood-curdling screams begin again. Piercing my ears. Making me unable to think straight.

  ‘He’s bleeding out,’ whimpers one of the men. Desperately, I pull my handkerchief out of my pocket and try to stem the flow. The white linen with the daisy-chain border that was embroidered by my mother is soaked within seconds. There’s a smear of blood on my skin. His smell is overwhelming. It makes me want to vomit. Takes me back to –

  Barry’s screams rise even higher. They remind me now not just of the day we lost my sister but of a farm that Mum took me to as a child. It was lovely. Until the most terrifying screams started – pigs were being slaughtered. My mother was cross with the farmer for allowing visitors at the same time. ‘It’s the real world, lady,’ he’d said.

  He was wrong. This is the real world. A world where violence happens in the blink of an eye. A world where a man is haemorrhaging to death right in front of me.

  And it’s all my fault.

  ‘Do something!’ I yell as his blood seeps into the carpet. ‘Quickly! Someone!’

  12

  December 2016

  Kitty

  It was the day of the concert. Through a stroke of luck and a bit of wheelchair barging, Kitty managed to get next to Johnny at breakfast.

  ‘I like being with you,’ Johnny said, mopping up her dribble with his big white handkerchief. ‘Nod if you like it too.’

  Nodding was up and down, wasn’t it? But somehow it came out side to side. Johnny’s face fell.

  ‘Don’t … take … any … notice … of … that,’ said Margaret, who was sitting on the other side of Kitty. ‘She … nods … when she means … no and … shakes her … head when she means … yes.’

  Johnny’s face cleared. ‘That’s good.’ His hand tightened on hers. ‘I say the wrong thing too sometimes.’

  Really? It made Kitty feel that she wasn’t as stupid as everyone made out after all.

  ‘Why don’t you … come … to … our … room … again … tonight?’ asked Margaret loudly.

  ‘Shhhh.’ Johnny looked around. Kitty would have looked too but her neck was feeling particularly stiff today. It did that sometimes.

  ‘No … one … is … listening.’ Margaret snorted with laughter. ‘They’re … all … sorting … out … Duncan before … the guests arrive … for the concert.’

  Her eyes went all dreamy. ‘I … won’t … tell … Honest. I … had … a … boyfriend … once. But … he … went … off … me.’

  Margaret had had a boyfriend? She was at least as old as Friday Mum. Her hair was grey too. And she was scrawny without any boobs.

  ‘Everyone’s arriving now,’ said Duncan, who’d returned smelling much nicer. ‘There’s my sister!’

  There was an air of tense excitement. Kitty’s good hand squeezed Johnny’s tightly. A small woman with a mousy face came in. She stared at the group as if looking for someone. Then she waved at Duncan. ‘They’ve … got the same … long noses,’ giggled Margaret.

  ‘Have you got anyone coming?’ asked Johnny politely.

  Margaret shook her head. ‘My cousin … doesn’t … bother … with … me now she’s … gone to … Australia … Goodness! … Who … is … that … woman? I … love … her … pearls.’

  ‘It’s my mother,’ said Johnny casually. He said it in a way that suggested he was a bit upset. He must miss home. But if it hadn’t been for his family ‘needing a break’, he wouldn’t have met Kitty. He’d told her that during the hand-holding and after lights out.

  Someone else was waving now. ‘That’s … Kitty’s … mum,’ said Margaret knowledgeably. ‘She … hasn’t … been … here … for … a … bit, has she? Usually … comes … on … a … Friday. All right … for … some.’

 
Friday Mum’s hair was a different colour. It wasn’t grey any more. It was blonde like Johnny’s mother’s. Kitty bit the inside of her cheek as the other guests came in. Where was her special visitor? Maybe it wasn’t going to be Flabby Face at all. Maybe it was going to be someone nice! But no one else had ever come to see her apart from Friday Mum.

  Straight Fringe Barbara was standing up now. She was pointing the stick in Kitty’s direction. That meant she had to start humming. A solo, Barbara called it. Everyone else had to be quiet so it could be heard properly. They were all waiting. Kitty’s mouth was dry with apprehension. She’d practised so many times that she could do this in her sleep.

  But now with the audience looking expectantly at her, the hum wouldn’t leave her mouth.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ she whispered.

  ‘What’s … she … saying?’ groaned Margaret.

  ‘Don’t be nervous.’ Johnny took her hand. ‘I’m here. We can do anything together.’

  But it still wouldn’t come out.

  ‘Make yourself happy or angry,’ whispered Johnny. ‘I’ve noticed that you always hum then.’

  But she was too scared. It was almost like the time when …

  A memory began to form. Then disappeared just as fast.

  Everyone was staring. How awful!

  But then Barbara’s baton beckoned the others like a giant finger. Duncan was going crazy on the triangle. Bang. Drop on floor. Bang. Margaret was bashing the glockenspiel with all her might. And Johnny now had to take his hand away from hers to play the guitar. Kitty sat there, silently, tears streaming down her face.

  At the end, everyone got up in the audience and clapped hard. It was a standing ovation, said Barbara. Then they clapped so hard again that the others all had to do another piece which they’d been practising in case everyone liked the first bit. This was called an On Core.

  The words sounded familiar. Had she done On Cores with the girl that Barbara reminded her of? Before she’d come here? If only she could ask someone who understood what she was saying. But all this was too complicated to explain on a stupid picture board.

  ‘That was lovely, darling.’ Friday Mum came up and put her arms around her afterwards.

  ‘No it fucking wasn’t. I didn’t hum like I was meant to.’

  ‘You enjoyed it too, did you? And is this a friend?’

  Mum was speaking in that voice that people used when they didn’t expect a reply.

  ‘That … is … Johnny,’ said Margaret, butting in. ‘And I’m … Margaret.’

  Friday Mum nodded. ‘Lovely to meet you. I’m sorry I haven’t been here for a bit, Kitty. But I had to go on a couple of residential training courses.’

  ‘I … bet,’ whispered Margaret. ‘That’s … why … we’re … here … So … they can … go … away … and … have … fun.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Friday Mum’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Margaret.

  ‘And how long have you been here?’ Friday Mum was addressing Johnny now.

  ‘A few weeks.’

  They didn’t like each other. Kitty could see that. Friday Mum was walking away now. She was talking, head down, to one of the members of staff. At one stage they turned to look at her and Johnny. And suddenly Kitty wished that Friday Mum had never come to the concert at all.

  What were they nattering about?

  ‘Well done, everyone,’ said Barbara. Her face was flushed. ‘You did fantastically. Yes, Kitty. You too, for trying. Even famous musicians dry up sometimes. It’s quite normal. Now we’ve got a photographer from the local paper here. He’s a very special visitor. And he wants to take a picture of you.’

  So that was the person the carer had referred to. What a relief. It wasn’t bastard Flabby Face after all.

  ‘What … about … the rest … of us?’ demanded Margaret. ‘Doesn’t … he … want to … photograph us … too?’

  ‘Of course! Say “cheese”, everyone!’

  Johnny put his arm around her shoulders. Kitty could have died of happiness.

  ‘Smile, everyone. Perfect! Great, Kitty. Now it’s your turn.’

  ‘Why just her?’ sniffed Duncan.

  ‘Because I’m special!’ gabbled Kitty. Hadn’t someone told her that once? The memory made her hum with happiness.

  ‘Not that … bloody sound again,’ groaned Margaret. ‘Sounds like … the Death March … They played that … at my grandmother’s … funeral.’

  Kitty’s hum stopped. Death? Funeral? Both words rang bells. But why?

  ‘Please don’t start headbanging again, Kitty.’ This was Smiley Carer. She didn’t look very smiley now. ‘Time for a little lie-down, I think.’

  No way!

  ‘Now, Kitty, you know that when you don’t behave, we have to give you something to …’

  And after that, it was black.

  13

  December 2016

  Alison

  Since the attack on Barry, my men have been subdued. And so have I. Every time I run a class I hear his screams. See his blood seeping across the floor.

  Tonight we’re doing potato prints, but my mind can’t stay still. I think back to my conversation with Angela. I’d rushed to find her as soon as the police and governor had finished interviewing me.

  Communication, like I said before, is slow in prisons. Unless bad news happens. Then it travels at the speed of light.

  ‘Something awful has happened …’ I’d begun.

  But Angela had reached out to touch my hand. ‘I heard. Well, bits of it. Not surprising, really. He was a nasty piece of work. Now, tell me exactly what happened.’

  So I’d told her about the scissors which I was sure I’d locked up in the cupboard.

  ‘Are you certain?’ Her face had been sympathetic. ‘It’s easy to forget something in this place. So many rules and regs to follow. Distractions too.’

  The photograph. The red drawing pin in my face. I’M GOING TO GET YOU.

  Had the shock made me forget to lock up properly? But I couldn’t tell anyone about that, especially now.

  ‘One of them did it when I was cleaning up the spilt tea,’ I’d added, in a bid to justify myself.

  Angela had sucked in her breath. ‘Sounds like the culprit did it on purpose to make you look elsewhere, love.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Then I’d whispered the thing I’d been thinking ever since it happened, ‘Do you think it could have been Kurt?’

  She’d given me a sharp look. ‘Why?’

  I’d flushed. ‘Well, he’s always looking out for me.’

  Angela had tutted. ‘Watch for that. I’ve warned you about grooming. But I still don’t reckon it was him. Not his style.’

  How did she know?

  ‘There’ll be an investigation, of course.’ Angela had spoken as though working out the consequences in her own head. ‘Who’s in your group again?’

  I’d listed my students’ names.

  She’d whistled quietly at the last. ‘Facial mutilation was Stan’s thing. Remember that case in the nineties? Whole family in London. They … never mind.’ She’d smiled uneasily. ‘Was there any friction in the class?’

  Exactly what the governor had asked.

  ‘Only a bit of bantering.’

  ‘I heard the police interviewed you too.’

  ‘They asked me the same things the governor had. I gave them the same answers.’

  She’d nodded. ‘They’re still here, apparently, questioning the men.’

  On an ordinary day, I’d have wondered how Angela got her information. But this wasn’t an ordinary day. It had been a mistake to confide in her, I realized. Angela hadn’t helped. She’d made me feel more uncomfortable. Like this had been my fault.

  ‘You ought to eat something, love.’

  But I’d felt too sick. The prisoner on table duty hadn’t even approached me for my order. It was as though I was bad luck.

  I’d stood up then, conscious that the people on the neighbouring tab
le were looking away quickly, as if they’d been staring. ‘Got to get ready for the next class.’

  Angela’s eyes had widened. ‘You’re going to carry on working?’

  ‘The governor said I could. Besides, I need the money.’

  She’d shrugged. ‘Like getting back on a horse again, I suppose.’ Her fingers had begun to drum. ‘Still, if you feel up to it, it’s probably the best thing.’

  Of course, I hadn’t felt up to it. All I’d really wanted to do was drive home and hide under the covers. For the first time in ages I’d craved the sharp edge of glass piercing my skin. But I had to carry on. At least, that’s what I’d told myself. Not just to pay my bills. But because this was my penance.

  I try to bring myself back to the potato prints. Such childish activities feel out of place now. But the men seem to be immersed in their pieces. Some of them will give them to their kids, some their nephews or nieces; some will give them to their mothers. Already I’ve learned that family outside assumes gigantic proportions for prisoners. Possibly more than they did when they were actually with them. (‘I’m really sorry about putting my mum through this,’ one young man told me the other day.) But even though two weeks have passed since the stabbing, they still want to talk about Barry. Speculation is reaching fever pitch.

  ‘It’s been ages, miss. How’s he getting on?’

  ‘Is he going to be blind, miss?’

  ‘Is he still in hospital, miss?’

  I don’t know the answer to any of these questions because no one has told me. When I asked the governor’s secretary, she informed me with a stony look that I would be ‘informed if there were any developments’.

  Angela, usually a fount of information, didn’t know anything either. So the only thing to do was to carry on with my routine. Today, the potatoes have already been carved into shape – I did this earlier myself to avoid any more accidents. So all the men have to do is cover their potato with black paint (approved by the governor) and press it on the page.

  Primary-school stuff.

  But I daren’t take my eyes off them and it’s a relief when class is over. Swiftly, I clear up; aware that it’s dark outside. Prison feels even weirder at night. More threatening.