The Sisterhood

by A. J. Grainger

  Lil rolled her eyes with a smile. She leaned over and separated the fries into two piles. “Yours,” she said to Kiran, “and ours.”

  “Yours is bigger.”

  “Because there are two of us.” She gestured at Alice to eat. Alice had been staring at Kiran in a mix of wonder and disgust. “Don’t mind the piggy here,” Lil said, “but I would eat quickly. I’m not sure how long I can defend your pile.”

  Alice hesitated and then picked up a fry, turning it around and around in her hand, looking at it from every angle.

  “Do you want salt with it?” Lil asked.

  Alice didn’t answer. She tilted her head and squinted at the fry. Then she held it to her lips, and her tongue poked out to lick the end of it. After another lick she bit off the tiniest amount. Confusion turned to pleasure on her face, and she took another, larger bite. Then she smiled. “Good,” she said, “it’s good.”

  “You’ve never had fries before?” Kiran asked.

  Alice shook her head solemnly.

  “Try them with ketchup,” Lil urged. Where had Alice come from that she had never eaten fries before? Maybe her family was super healthy, but surely she’d have heard of them. Seen them. At school, if nothing else.

  “They’re better with mayonnaise,” Kiran said. “Bet you don’t know what that is either.” He grinned.

  Alice narrowed her eyes, offended. “We have only what the Light sees fit to provide.”

  Lil kicked Kiran and gave him a Shut up look. “He didn’t mean anything by it. We’re just trying to understand. It seems like it’s pretty different for you at home.”

  Alice paused midbite and then swallowed slowly. “Yes, everything is new and strange to me here.”

  “But some stuff must be the same, right?” Lil pressed. “Like . . . like . . .” She hesitated, trying to find common ground. “Like school! Where do you go to school?”

  “I don’t go to school. The sisters govern our education.”

  “The sisters” not “my.” Alice definitely wasn’t talking about siblings, Lil was certain of it. She exchanged a glance with Kiran. Nuns were known as sisters. Could Alice have come from a convent? Or maybe an orphanage? Didn’t the Catholic Church sometimes look after orphaned children?

  “Who are the sisters?” Lil asked quietly. “Are they who you’re running from?”

  For a second Lil thought that Alice wasn’t going to answer. Then she said, “It’s hard to explain in a way you’ll understand. I . . .” She drew in a deep breath, as though it was hard for her to speak. “While you were downstairs, I asked the Light for guidance. She said I can trust you. That I should trust you.” In a hushed breath she added, “I lied to you before, when I said my name was Alice. My true name, my Light name, is not Alice. It’s Seven.”

  “Seven?” Lil repeated, shocked, although not by the fact that Seven had lied about her identity. “As in the number seven?”

  Seven nodded. “Yes, I was born on the seventh hour of the seventh day of the seventh month.”

  Kiran whistled. “What are the chances of that?”

  Seven looked at him as if he might be a bit stupid. “It is prophecy. My birth was predetermined by the Light.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Right. I . . . see.” He raised an eyebrow at Lil, who shook her head at him. She didn’t want Seven to think they were laughing at her or communicating silently about her. She knew what a big deal it was for Seven to tell them anything about herself.

  “Telling you my name is a sign of my trust. To name things is to own them.”

  A shiver went over Lil at the idea that just naming something gave you power over it. It gave a tiny but frightening glimpse into the place Seven had come from, and Lil realized that she’d been kidding herself, thinking that she and Kiran could handle this. The thought was like a light turning on, and suddenly she could see everything clearly. It didn’t matter what Seven wanted, or what Lil had promised. Something terrible had happened to Seven.

  “I’m calling Sabrina,” she said, her voice strong and assured. She was doing the right thing. “I get that you’re scared,” she told Seven firmly but not unkindly, “but I wouldn’t be helping you if I didn’t do this. You can trust my aunt. She’s great; she’ll know what to do.”

  Her phone was broken, so she used Kiran’s, but there was something wrong with it. The phone wasn’t connecting. She pulled it away from her ear. There were four bars, but it wasn’t working. “I’ll try the landline,” she said, handing it back to Kiran. “Maybe the storm’s interfering with the reception.”

  “But that wasn’t working earlier. Sabrina couldn’t—” Kiran said.

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine now,” Lil said. Dear God, please let it be fine now. She went out into the corridor. It was dark, inkiness spilling down the stairs, so that it was almost impossible to make out the hallway below.

  As she crossed the landing, the sky lit up with a blinding flash, and a second or two later there was a loud clap of thunder. Rain followed, slamming into the house at an angle, so it hit the windowpanes hard. The sound of it did something to Lil. Her nerves had been stretched too tight, an elastic band pulled taut, since she’d found Seven on the road, and now they snapped.

  She took the stairs two at a time, energy coursing through her. At the bottom she flicked on the light switch, filling the house with beautiful, normal electricity and pushing back the darkness and her own growing fear. Her relief was immense.

  She moved quietly toward the landline, scared for some reason to make any noise. She could hear the low murmur of voices coming from her bedroom: Kiran’s a soft mumble, Seven’s shriller, panicked. Lil wondered if Seven might follow her, try to stop her, but she didn’t. Perhaps Kiran had convinced her it was a good idea, or perhaps Seven was secretly relieved that Lil was getting help.

  Other than the sound of the storm, everything inside the house was quiet. They were so isolated here. Lil had never worried about it before. She viewed the countryside as a friendly place, with the sheep and the hills. Now that isolation squeezed in on her, making her small and afraid. She remembered the burnlike mark on Seven’s arm. Had someone hurt her deliberately? Why? What reason would anyone have to hurt someone as vulnerable and innocent as Seven?

  She pressed the talk button on phone. There was no dial tone. She punched the redial button. Nothing. The line was dead.

  “Kiran!” she said; her voice came out croaky and loud in the near-silent house. For some reason the sound of it spooked her.

  She whipped around quickly, as if checking whether her voice had drawn anyone out. The hall was still empty. The light didn’t seem so bright now, or so comforting. Rather than shout for him again, she dashed back upstairs, the phone still in her hand.

  Lil dropped the house phone onto her bed in frustration. “It’s not working.” There was another clap of thunder overhead. She sank down onto the bed.. “The lines must be down because of the storm.”

  Lil had procrastinated, and now the chance to call Sabrina was gone. If they wanted her, they’d have to venture out into the storm by themselves, and the roads around here were dangerous enough on a good day. For the moment they were stuck here, alone.

  Kiran came up behind her and Lil jumped. God, she was so on edge.

  “You all right?” he asked quietly.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said.

  “There’s nothing we can do for now. I don’t fancy driving in this, unless we have to.”

  Lil nodded. He was only voicing what she’d already thought.

  “We’ll have to wait it out.” Kiran sounded resigned but not angry or resentful. That was one of the best things about him. He got on with things as they were, didn’t apportion blame or wish things different.

  Lil glanced at Seven. She was pretending to read a book, but Lil could tell she was listening. She went over and crouched down in front of her. “I’m really trying to do the right thing here.” Lil drew a deep breath.

  Seven jutted her chin ou
t. “I do not need the authorities. The Light will protect me, as is Her will.”

  “It hasn’t done a great job of it so far. Look at you!” Lil snapped, and instantly regretted it, but Seven was unfazed.

  “The Light has not forsaken me. She brought me here, to you.”

  Lil gave a long sigh. “I guess. Not that I’ve done anything to help you.”

  “You have!” Seven cried, clapping her small hands together. “You’ve done so much. I am a stranger, but you took me in, even though you know nothing about me.” Her large brown doe’s eyes assessed Lil intently. “I was taught that people outside are not kind, but you are. It proves what I always believed: that the Light shines where She will and all are welcome in Her glory.” She smiled gently. It was beautiful but fleeting.

  After a moment she added, “I am sure your aunt is kind and good too, but sisters can’t trust the police. They have destroyed us before. I cannot risk that happening again. And I cannot risk being taken back home. So long as I stay away, my sisters are safe. I will not endanger their home or their lives for my own.”

  “But—” Lil began.

  Seven raised a hand. “That is my decision.” Her tone left no room for doubt.

  Lil acknowledged silently that it would be a waste of time and energy to ask anything more. “Maybe you should get some rest,” she said. “You look exhausted.”

  Relief filled Seven’s eyes. She was clearly so glad that Lil wasn’t going to ask any more questions. “I am quite weary,” she said.

  That seemed like a massive understatement, given the deep-purple circles under her eyes and her pale, washed-out face.

  Lil insisted Seven take her bed. Seven refused at first but finally fell gratefully into it. “I have never had my own bed,” she said. “All to myself.” She was asleep almost immediately.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It was too early for Kiran and Lil to go to bed, but they piled blankets and sleeping bags on the floor and snuggled down into them anyway. It was cold. Lil didn’t see how she’d be able to sleep at all tonight. It wasn’t just Seven. It was Mella. She always felt more anxious about her when it rained: Let her be somewhere safe and dry. Let her come home.

  Recently the police had scaled back the search. Four and a half months was a long time for a young girl to be away. Lil knew what they were implying—that Mella was dead. But she wasn’t. Lil knew she wasn’t. She could feel it deep down inside: Mella was alive and she was coming home. They just had to keep searching, keep hoping.

  She pulled the sleeping bag up to her ears and tried to switch off her brain. Kiran’s voice broke the silence. “You’re not going to throw up on me, are you?” he said.

  It took Lil’s brain a second to click to what he was talking about. She’d been so far away in her own head. Then she gave him a weak smile. He was trying to distract her, and she was grateful for it. “Once,” she said. “That happened one time! I had too much vodka. Which was your fault! Plus, I’ve apologized, like, a thousand times.”

  “You can never apologize enough for vomiting in someone’s hair.”

  “I didn’t throw up in your hair. Your hair just happened to be there.” She laughed and Kiran grinned wider. He had such a nice smile. It was kind of lopsided, but that made it even nicer. It was weird lying next to him like this. So close. Almost like they were in the same bed.

  As Kiran moved about, getting comfortable, Lil lay perfectly still. It was something she’d perfected—this way, she found that even if she didn’t sleep that much, which she never did these days, she didn’t feel so tired the next day. She’d also gotten into the habit of focusing on her breathing: In, out, in, out, in, out.

  The night was the worst time. It was when images of Mella and where she might be crowded her head, forcing everything else out. In the early days Lil thought she would go mad imagining all the terrible places Mella could be. In the daylight she could keep her visions under control, if she kept busy. But at night, when there was only the darkness, they rushed in on her all at once. She’d breathe in and out, in and out, focus on the way the oxygen came down into her lungs, the sound of her heart beating.

  Nighttime was when she talked to her sister the most.

  Mella? Lil said in her head now.

  Yup!

  Do you have somewhere to sleep tonight?

  Of course! I’m warm and cozy and tucked up tight so the bedbugs don’t bite.

  Kiran had stopped moving and the house was completely silent.

  Are you really safe, Mella?

  An image of Mella on a street corner, wrapped in a ratty sleeping bag, popped into Lil’s head. No . . . worse . . . lying beaten and . . . No. Don’t you dare even let that thought enter your head. Mella is fine. She’s fine. She’s coming home. She’s coming home.

  “Lil.” The sound of Lil’s name in the darkness made her jump. It was just Kiran, though, of course.

  She rolled over. “Yes.”

  “Are you asleep?” He shuffled his sleeping bag closer. In the darkness she could see the outline of him.

  She smiled, grateful for the distraction, anything to stop her agonizing over Mella. “Yes,” she said, “asleep and snoring at six thirty in the evening.”

  He grinned and propped himself up on one arm, and the sleeping bag slipped, revealing his right shoulder. His T-shirt had rucked up, showing the top of his arm. Lil had to admit that his bare arms were nice. His skin was a tawny brown and smooth as silk, and he had muscles. Not big ones—Lil hated that—but just a little definition. The perfect amount, actually. That must be due to all that kayaking. Lil wondered what it would be like to touch him. To run her hand over his skin. To trace the taut line of his muscle. Would it be as soft as it looked? Lil was grateful for the darkness as heat flared across her cheeks.

  Ooh-la-la, Mella said in her head, and gave a wolf whistle.

  Lil’s blush deepened, and then she mentally shook herself. What was she doing? Why was she thinking like this? They were friends. Friends.

  Sure, sure, Mella piped up. You keep telling yourself that, Mouse.

  “You know,” Kiran said, “your room is kinda creepy in the dark.”

  Lil laughed warmly, and probably more heartily than the comment warranted because it meant he had no idea what she had been thinking, and thank God for that. “Are you scared of the dark, Kiran?” she asked wryly.

  “No! Course not. I’m far too rational for that.”

  Lil laughed again. “Mella hated the dark too,” she said, settling onto her back and looking up at the ceiling. It was too distracting looking at Kiran while his shoulder was exposed like that. She kept wanting to touch it. Ugh. What was wrong with her? Stop this right now, she told herself. “It was worse when we first got here. It’s just so dark. And so quiet. It’s not like that in London. There’s streetlights and always some noise, cars or whatever.” Lil remembered how amazed she and Mella had been to see the stars. They’d seen stars before, of course, but not like this. As clear and sharp as a needle point.

  “Yeah, it’s the same in Birmingham. It took me ages to get used to it here.” Kiran and his family had moved to Wales earlier in the year. He paused and then said quietly, hesitantly, “I didn’t realize your sister’s room would be like that. I thought . . . I mean, it’s like she never left.”

  Lil didn’t answer for a minute. They never spoke about Mella. Kiran helped her put up MISSING posters, but he never asked questions. Lil had told him about her being missing the third time they met. She’d spoken fast, and angrily for some reason, like he was going to challenge her. “And I put up posters in case anyone’s seen her,” she’d finished. “And so she knows that she can come home at any time.” He’d nodded, thoughtful. “Makes sense,” he’d said. “I’d do the same.”

  When she went to the kayaking club the next time, he’d put up a corkboard by the entrance. Above it was a sign that said: HELP US FIND MELLA LAVERTY. “I thought it could be good to have a place to put everything. I’ve put a place for sight
ings.” He ran his hand through his hair awkwardly. “Is it all right? I mean, we can take it down if you hate it.”

  “It’s perfect,” Lil said. She wanted to hug him, because he hadn’t run away and never spoken to her again, awkwardly shuffling past her, head down, whenever they bumped into each other. So many people Lil considered friends had done that. When people didn’t know what to say, it was easiest to say nothing at all, to pretend nothing had happened. All the time Lil knew they were bubbling over with questions, though. Why did she leave? What did you do? What didn’t you do? And the worst one of all: How did you not know she was that unhappy?

  How did you not know? Lil asked herself that every day. It was the hardest one of all to answer, and the one filled with the most regret. If only she’d paid more attention, if only she’d been more patient, been there more for Mella, could she have stopped all this? Could she have stopped her running away?

  “Sorry,” Kiran said now. “I shouldn’t have said that. . . .”

  “Mum put everything back exactly the way it was after the police returned it. I hate it. It feels like she is still here, and every time I see it, I have to remind myself that she’s not. But then, I’d hate it more if we’d packed everything up, because that would feel like . . . like she was . . . wasn’t coming back.”

  “Dad packed up most of Mum’s things a few months after she died. I went mad. ’Cause it meant she was gone—properly gone.” Kiran’s mum had died of a brain tumor eighteen months ago. He almost never spoke of it.

  Lil didn’t know what to say, so the silence stretched between them until finally Lil reached out and took Kiran’s hand. The touch of Kiran’s skin made Lil’s heart speed up, and for just a moment, just a second, she let that feeling take over—fill up the emptiness and pain and ache of guilt that Mella’s disappearance had left. Then the guilt resurfaced and she slid her fingers out of his. She couldn’t afford to forget her sister for a second. Not a single instant.

  “Did . . . did,” she asked hesitantly, “you keep any of her stuff?”

  “Bits and pieces. The books she wrote, of course.” His mum had been a professor of astrophysics at the University of Birmingham and written three books on black holes and dark matter. Two of them were widely recognized as the best in their field, and all were long, with pages of densely packed type, made up of lengthy sentences of long words that Lil didn’t understand. “Dad kept her wedding ring too. And the engagement one. And I kept this jade necklace that she always wore. It’s shaped like an elephant. I loved it when I was a kid. Mum always said he came alive at night and would go on adventures. She’d tell me bedtime stories about him.”