My Sister's Bones(26)

‘What are you talking about?’

She slumps back and closes her eyes.

‘Sally, tell me what you’re talking about.’

‘Get out of my house,’ she mutters without opening her eyes.

‘But –’

‘Leave me alone. Do you hear me? Piss off.’

‘Okay,’ I say as I stand up and make my way out of the room. ‘I give up. At least I can tell Paul that I tried.’

I open the front door and stagger down the driveway holding my bag across my stomach like a shield. I can’t breathe. I need to get out of here, get far, far away from Sally and her poison. I try to clear my head of her, try to think pleasant thoughts, but her voice is ringing in my ears, getting louder and louder until it feels like my head will explode and all I can hear are those words:

Kate would never let a child die.





13


Later that afternoon

I arrive home to a pile of post lying on the doormat. I pick it up and flick through as I walk to the kitchen. Reader’s Digest ; a letter from Cats Protection; a circular from a life insurance company offering a free silver pen to anyone who takes out a policy in the next ten days. That is it, the remnants of my mother’s life.

As I walk into the kitchen I try not to think about Sally and the argument but I can’t shake off her bitter words. Deluded. That’s what she called me. Am I? I look down at the post in my hand and think of my lucky pen and Chris telling me that he loved me. I believed in both of those things; I believed that a pen could keep me safe and that Chris and I were soulmates destined to be together for ever. I held on to those beliefs and threw common sense out of the window because I didn’t want to face up to reality. Maybe Sally is right, I think to myself as I put the junk mail in the bin, maybe I am deluded.

My head aches as I take off my coat and open the cupboard in search of painkillers. I can hear the old woman. Her screams are faint for now but I know they’ll get worse as the evening progresses. I need to do the deep-breathing exercises I read about, the ones that are supposed to help with anxiety, but I feel too tense. I just want to go to sleep before she can get any louder. But it’s still early; hours to go before I can take a sleeping pill. Instead I fill the kettle and swallow a couple of painkillers as I wait for it to boil. The pills stick in my throat so I run the cold water and put my head under the tap, taking a long glug. As I lift my head I’m aware of a presence, something moving outside the window. I look up and see a figure by the back fence. Someone is in the garden.

Shaking the water from my hands, I run to the door and open it. My body goes cold. The door is unlocked. How can that be? I was sure I locked it when I left earlier – but then I was so distracted with losing my pen.

But as I step outside all is quiet, eerily quiet; like the silence you get just before a bomb explodes. I walk gingerly down the path, peering through the weeds, my heart pounding.

‘Hello,’ I call, making my way to the end of the garden where a pile of broken plant pots lies stacked against the far wall. ‘Who’s there?’

But there is nothing. Whatever or whoever was there has gone. I stand on an old brick and peer over the wall. The back alley that cuts behind the houses is empty save for some abandoned wheelie bins a bit further up.

I jump down and as I make my way back to the house I toy with the idea of calling the police – but the sight was so fleeting they would have nothing to go on, no description. I’m not even sure whether it was male or female.

No, best not to bother with the police, I think to myself, best to just get back inside and make sure everything is locked up. It was probably kids. But as I reach the back door my shoe catches on something. I look down and see a marble. It’s just like the ones Sally and I used to play with as kids. I remember I kept a huge stash of them in an old Bovril tin. I bend down to pick it up. It’s a nice one and the child in me marvels for a moment at the milky blue eye suspended in glass. As I stare at it my phone buzzes in my pocket.

I take it out and see Paul’s name on the screen. It’s a text. Clicking on it, I read:

Heard you’ve been to see the patient L Thought you might be in need of a drink! I’ll be in The Ship on the seafront at 8 if you fancy joining me. And thanks for trying, Kate. I know your visit will have meant a lot to Sal even if she doesn’t show it. P x



I take the marble and the phone inside, locking the door firmly behind me, and wonder whether I really want to join Paul for a drink. He’ll want to talk about Sally and there’s nothing more to say. But then I think of the long evening ahead of me in this wretched house and it suddenly seems like a good idea to get out. I put the marble in my bag and head upstairs to find something suitable to wear. I’ve had enough ghosts for one day. A glass of cold wine, a friendly face and a few hours of ordinary life will do me good.

Paul is sitting at a low wooden table with his back to the room, his head bent as he drinks his pint of beer. I cross the warm, dimly lit bar and tap him lightly on the shoulder.

‘Hello,’ he says, swivelling round on his stool. He stands up and places a dry kiss on my cheek. ‘What are you having?’

‘No, it’s okay,’ I say. ‘This is my shout.’

Paul smiles and returns to his seat, and as I walk to the bar to buy the drinks I can sense him watching me. He’ll be thinking about Sally, wondering what we talked about and he’ll be worrying. I know he will.