Her Sister's Secret

by E. V. Seymour

  “Quite the little princess when she was little.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Your mother idolised her.”

  I did not need my aunt to tell me what I already knew. My mother’s mantra was that pretty gets you a long way in life. In this regard I fell massively short. It occurred to me that, as much as I’d envied my sister, I didn’t covet the weight of expectation on her shoulders, the degree of smothering she’d endured from Mum. It seemed to me then that Scarlet was always destined to tumble from the pedestal on which she’d been placed.

  Smoke snatched from the corner of my aunt’s mouth and drifted skywards. “Obviously something was very wrong.” I gave her my best clueless look and, slipping my arm from hers, said goodnight and went to bed.

  The next morning, I rose early and so did Mum. I found her outside in her dressing gown, deadheading roses. Barefoot, the polish on her toenails was chipped and flaking. She didn’t look up as I approached.

  “Scarlet loved these,” she said dreamily.

  “I know.”

  “Wonderful fragrance.” She burrowed her face into a spray of yellow blooms.

  “Mum—” I began.

  “Every second of every minute of every hour reminds me she’s not here.” She spoke slowly, softly, painfully, as if every word cost her dear. How I wished I could shift her sorrow.

  “It will get better.”

  “Will it?” She looked at me then, like a small child seeking reassurance from a parent. I saw Scarlet in her expression, the hurt and the fear and blind hope. “I wish I had your certainty.” She picked up a pair of secateurs. Snip. Snip.

  “Mum, about the other day—”

  “It’s forgotten,” she said. “All rather silly.”

  This was not how I remembered it. “The man in the garden,” I began. “Dad’s old colleague.”

  The light behind her eyes flickered. “Yes?”

  “What’s his name?”

  She frowned. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I’m interested.”

  Indecision shadowed her features. I faked my biggest smile. She cleared her throat. “Clive Mallis.”

  I’d never heard the name before and said so.

  “They don’t see each other that often. Clive came to pay his respects.”

  “And Stanton? I mean did he and Dad ever work together?”

  “Never.”

  She carried on with what she was doing, as unanchored and lost as a guest stumbling around a country pile after a late-night party.

  “Are we all right, Mum?” I blurted out. “You and me?” I didn’t bother to tame the desperation in my voice. I didn’t want to be a black sheep, as my aunt had suggested, as though being an outsider was glamorous and exciting. I wanted to belong; now more than ever. It’s all I’d ever wanted.

  Mum stopped, straightened up and looked me dead in the eye. Then, unpredictably, a smile, big enough to rival the morning sun, broke out across her face. “Of course, Molly.”

  I didn’t believe her. Not when she opened her arms. Not when she held me too tight. Not when she dropped a kiss on top of my head.

  Chapter 34

  If the police hadn’t phoned on the dot of 9 a.m., I’d have made a break for it.

  We assembled in the living room. Light poured in. I couldn’t help but think there was no smile in the sunshine, that it wanted to shrivel and burn, and consume the sky.

  Roger Stanton was short, whey-faced and had a voice that could put you into a coma. Not that this was particularly relevant right now. All we were interested in was what came out of Stanton’s thin-lipped mouth. Was Scarlet condemned, or not? What else had the police unearthed during the course of their investigation? Were they going to slay us with a revelation and connection to a dead Charlie Binns, and an anonymous contract killer? A shiver travelled all the way up my spine and shot out at the base of my neck.

  I glanced around the room. Dad and Mum huddled close together on one sofa; Stanton and Childe sat on the other. Nate and I opted for a couple of wingback chairs.

  I understood why Dusty had fled. The atmosphere was as taut as cheese wire. It made me feel faintly dizzy and there was a weird knocking sensation in the middle of my chest. Both officers were impossible to read. Stupidly, I thought how smart they looked – like villains who scrub up well for the court appearance.

  Childe glanced at Nate. “Are you happy to discuss Scarlet in front of your in-laws?”

  “You’re talking about my daughter.” Mum’s face was thunderous, her voice pregnant with outrage.

  “I appreciate that, Mrs Napier, but Nate is Scarlet’s next of kin.”

  Mum stiffened. Fat tears swelled up into her eyes. I tensed. Any second it could all kick off. Dad took her hand. “Come on, Roger,” he intervened, ignoring Childe and addressing the senior officer, “we’re in this together. We’re all family. No secrets to hide. Isn’t that right, Nate?”

  “It’s fine. No secrets here.” Nate twitched a smile. Stanton twitched too. Didn’t look as if he appreciated my father’s assumed familiarity. I looked straight ahead.

  Peeved at being upstaged, Childe shut up and Stanton did the talking. Wisely, he was inclusive and addressed his remarks to each of us. Not at all appeased, Mum sat ruler straight, blue eyes intent, watching every twist and slant of Stanton’s mouth, like she was lip reading.

  “Had Mrs Jay lived, she would be charged with one count of causing death by dangerous driving and another of driving while over the prescribed limit.”

  “I understand,” Nate said gravely.

  “This, as you know, would have likely resulted in a custodial sentence.” I caught my breath. Stanton didn’t need to spell it out. We weren’t stupid. We knew this. I dared not look at Mum and Dad. “Having carried out a thorough technical audit, we’ve found nothing on either Mrs Jay’s phone or laptop to suggest that she had a connection to Richard Bowen.”

  Tension in the room eased. I clamped my mouth shut and studied the carpet. Stanton cleared his throat. “Pornography was discovered on Mr Jay’s computer, but this fell within the parameters of the law and we regard this as a side issue.”

  I stayed focussed on the floor.

  “To conclude,” Stanton droned on, “and as far as we’ve been able to establish, Nate, we have no reason to believe that there was any prior or existing relationship between your wife and Richard Bowen.”

  I was floored. Fear threw a thick, stifling sack over my head. This couldn’t be right. Astonished by the speed with which the investigation had been carried out and wrapped up, I almost asked Stanton to repeat it. Nate caught my eye, looked at me deadpan. Don’t. Mum sat, still and stony. Only Dad reacted with open relief. If he could have taken Stanton’s hand in both his and shaken it, I think he would have done. I wondered how many corners were cut to reach such a speedy conclusion. Without a connection, it would be impossible to prove that there was intent to kill. While I welcomed the outcome, I wasn’t sure about its veracity.

  On firmer ground, Childe picked up the conversation and ran with it. “Now the criminal investigation has been concluded, the inquest will go ahead in due course.”

  “So, I can bury my wife?” Nate said.

  “You can.”

  A defining moment, I should have felt pleased. I didn’t. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was badly wrong. Wasn’t helped by the prospect of Scarlet’s remains lying in the ground.

  Stanton glanced at Childe, his cue to bring down the final curtain on their performance.

  “I understand that Mrs Bowen threatened to sue you, Nate.”

  “She lodged a claim against Scarlet’s estate, yes.”

  Stanton did that thing people do when they hold all the cards. He took his time, flicked a non-existent speck off his neatly pressed trousers. A company man, he appeared to be enjoying the show, the power he wielded. “Mrs Bowen has been under enormous strain.”

  “So have I,” Nate said darkly.

  “Apprec
iated. You’ll be relieved to know that all proceedings are to be dropped.”

  Nate’s jaw slackened. “That’s marvellous news. Whatever made her change her mind?”

  “Does it matter?” Dad said with a tight smile.

  I can’t fix everything, woman, he’d said. But had Dad tried?

  “Let’s say, it was a pragmatic decision, based on self-protection.” Stanton stared straight ahead, for Nate’s attention only. Theatrically, I leant forward, elbows on my knees, my chin cupped in my hands in an attempt to break Stanton’s concentration. Didn’t work. I might as well have been a sideboard.

  “Is there anything else we can help with, Nate?” Stanton said.

  “I don’t think so. You’ve covered everything.”

  “Very thorough,” Dad chipped in.

  Childe stuffed his notes into his briefcase. All four men stood and shook hands.

  “I’d like to ask a question.”

  Four sets of eyes fixed on me. Obscured by Dad, I couldn’t see Mum.

  “What happened out there?” I was taking a big risk. At any moment my parents could remind me of my argument with my sister and damn me. As guilty as I was, I was not so bent by grief or challenged by authority that I couldn’t recognise a piece of window-dressing designed to pretty up an ugly picture. I knew other things were in play.

  Stanton frowned. Wasn’t nice. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Road was clear. Beautiful day. No rubber on the road. Nothing found in the post-mortem suggesting that Scarlet blacked out.” I held my breath, wondering if either Mum or Dad would launch in, take the opportunity to tell everyone what nobody else appeared to know. To my surprise, Dad remained silent, muscles in his jaw clenched. When he shifted his stance, I caught a glimpse of Mum looking down, not really listening, her fingers screwing up the fabric of her skirt, tighter and tighter as if she wanted to rip it to pieces.

  “I think we made this perfectly clear,” Childe said, appealing to my father to help him out, which he did, but not in the way I thought he would.

  “She was drunk, darling, suffering from depression.”

  “Was she, Nate?” My boldest move, and still Mum and Dad didn’t kill me off with a few well-chosen words.

  “I didn’t spot it. Who knows?” He sounded calm. His mouth was resolute. Only his eyes flashed fear. Seemed we all knew things –apart from the real story behind Scarlet’s decision to drive off the road. I held his gaze.

  Stanton’s voice cut through the foetid atmosphere like sharpened glass. “Suicide rates among young women are definitely on the up, regrettably.”

  “Scarlet was the most grounded person I knew.”

  “Molly,” Dad said sternly. “Sometimes there are no neat answers.” I opened my mouth to speak, to tell them everything.

  Dad’s expression darkened, suggesting that if I knew what was good for me, I would shut up and there would be a reckoning later. My cheeks burnt with humiliation. It was enough to make me lose my bottle.

  Silence as deadly as carbon monoxide enveloped the room.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Childe said awkwardly, speeding towards the door, Stanton in pursuit, Dad following close behind.

  Nate looked through me as if I were sheet glass and turned to Mum. “You don’t mind me going home, do you, Amanda?”

  She glanced up. Distant. Loose. Not connecting. “As you wish.” A fake smile stuttered across her lips.

  “I’ll go and pack.” After he made a break for it, I got up to leave.

  “Scarlet didn’t kill herself because of your row.”

  Amazed, I turned and looked at my mum. “You’re right, Molly. She was too sensible.”

  Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Tears of relief pricked my eyes, not because I was absolved but because Mum had, for once, agreed with me on something that really mattered. “So why did she?”

  Mum shook her head sadly. “It’s a mystery. We’ll probably never know. Best left.”

  No, no, no. This wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

  “It was a good outcome, better than expected. I suppose that’s it,” she said, almost in a trance. “No more police. No more waiting. The end.”

  I shivered at the thought. She was so wrong. This was only the beginning.

  The slow burr of male voices drifted in from the hall followed by the sound of the front door opening and the crunch of gravel under boots. Mum dropped her head. “How do I go on?” She spoke quietly, more to herself than to me, her face pinched and wretched.

  “Mum, I need you; we all do.”

  She flicked a vacant smile, patted my hand, as if I’d uttered a nice speech using words I neither meant nor understood, which was so far from the truth, it made my heart ache. Deep down, I’d hoped that somehow, she could love me like she’d loved Scarlet. I wanted to tell her that I could never be as pretty as my sister, or witty, or as smart, that I was no substitute for the daughter she adored, but I’d do my best if only she’d give me a chance.

  She got up, went to the kitchen. I followed. Couldn’t leave things as they were. “About Zach,” I began.

  “Yes?” It was as if a light switched on behind her eyes. She seemed suddenly with it, alert, in the present, in the moment.

  “Will you talk to him? Tell him what the police said?”

  “Naturally.”

  The door flew open. “They’ve gone,” Dad said. “Time for a drink. Want one, Amanda?”

  “My usual.”

  Mum might help herself to gin at coffee time. My father never did. I watched as he avoided my eye and meticulously prepared gin and tonics. Cool blue Bombay gin. Ice and slice.

  “Where’s Nate?” Dad asked. There was an odd jaunty ring in his voice as if the news from the police was cause for celebration. I supposed it was.

  “Packing.” Mum lifted the glass to her lips, taking a long deep swallow.

  “Good God, no need for him to go.”

  “He wants to,” I cut in, thinking the silent treatment really didn’t suit my father. “Don’t I get offered a drink?”

  He focused on me as if he were looking down the barrel of a gun. “I assumed you were driving.”

  I forced a smile. “You’re right.” Couldn’t have two daughters screwing things up. Before I was tempted to say something I’d regret, my mobile bleeped. A text from Rocco: ‘Meet at mine. I have a surprise.’

  I made my excuses and left. Their sigh of relief was as great as my own.

  Chapter 35

  I’d have done anything to escape the distorted dynamics at home. When Rocco bundled me into his car and said we were going out, I didn’t argue.

  “Any news on the investigation?” We were in his Mini, hurtling to God knew where.

  “What investigation? Case closed.”

  “Do these coppers have names?” he said with an amused grin.

  I cast him a look that told him, if he knew what was good for him, he should back the fuck off. His expression instantly changed.

  “I want to understand, Molly. That’s all.”

  The warmth in his voice sounded genuine enough. Without disclosing anything that didn’t compute, I gave him a potted version of the police visit: facts without fiction. His eyes flared when I told him that Scarlet had been cleared of deliberately targeting Bowen. “The police found no pre-existing relationship between Richard Bowen and my sister.”

  “But that’s fantastic. It must come as a huge relief.”

  “I’m pleased. Yes.”

  Rocco glanced across, uncertain how to measure my response. “But isn’t that great news?”

  I forced a reassuring smile.

  He changed down a gear as we headed up hill. “Your dad was a copper, wasn’t he? Sorry,” Rocco said with a grin. “I mean police officer.”

  I smiled back. “Even Dad talks about coppers. He retired ten years ago.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “Burn out.”

  “Comes with the job description, I guess.”

  �
�My older brother, Zach, didn’t exactly help. He was a drug addict at the time.”

  “Whoa,” Rocco said theatrically. “On your father’s patch?”

  “’Fraid so, a nightmare for my parents. Every time there was a drugs raid, Dad expected my brother to be under arrest.”

  “Must have been upsetting for you too.”

  “I developed a knack of detaching myself from the daily drama.”

  “What about Scarlet?”

  “She took a medical interest, which made her more objective than Mum and Dad.”

  “And how is Zach now?”

  “He’s good.”

  “Does he live at home?”

  “I don’t think Zach ever lived at home,” I said with a dry laugh.

  “Bit of a rolling stone?”

  “You could say. Lives in a commune.” I looked out at the road and speeding countryside. It must have been the heat, but I was tired of answering endless questions. Put me on my guard, too. “Where are we going exactly?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Clues?”

  “You like ancient things, don’t you?”

  “A tour around antique shops?”

  “Busman’s holiday. Definitely not.”

  “Castle?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Getting warm?”

  “Little bit.”

  I smiled. It seemed a long time since I’d had someone take this level of interest in me. Then, with a jolt, I remembered the weirdo who’d broken into my home.

  “You okay?” Rocco seemed adept at picking up on my fast changes of mood.

  “I’m like a weather forecast,” I said, making light of it. “Sunny periods followed by a big depression coming in from the East.”

  He rested his hand on my thigh. “We can turn back, if you prefer.”

  “It’s okay. There is no turning back, is there?”

  *

  “That was amazing.” I gazed back up at eight hundred years of history, Hereford Cathedral.

  “Best bit?”

  “You first.”

  “Well, the Mappa Mundi was pretty cool but, for sheer impact, the SAS Memorial. You?”

  “The Chained Library. I’ve never seen so many medieval manuscripts in one place. And what a neat security system – all those rods and locks.”