My Sister's Bones(65)

‘Sally, listen to me,’ he says. ‘We got a call just now from the MoD. They told me that Kate had us down as her next of kin. Sally, they’ve confirmed it. Your sister’s not missing, love, she’s dead. They’re sending her belongings to us.’

I stand up from the sofa, grabbing for something, anything, to hold on to.

‘But the papers,’ I begin. ‘They said missing. Why would they say that if it isn’t true?’

‘I’m so sorry, Sally.’

Her face fills the room and my head starts to spin with that bloody song. Hey you. I hold out my arm to stop myself from falling but it’s too late and I go crashing into the edge of the coffee table.





30


‘I shouldn’t be here,’ I think to myself as I sit on a sterile white bed. Through a gap in the thin green curtain I see disembodied feet passing by, all in such a hurry but none of them stopping at my cubicle. Why won’t anyone come?

The nurses cleaned me up when I arrived; stitched my head and put a monitor on my heart. Paul stayed in the waiting room while they wheeled me into Accident and Emergency. I was relieved. He kept asking me if I was all right. What did he want me to say? Yes, I’m great. I’m deliriously happy. My sister is dead and everything’s fine and dandy.

As more feet pass below the curtain, not stopping, my loneliness intensifies. Everyone I love is gone: my daughter, my sister. I even miss my mother, the cantankerous old cow.

I should be dead too, I think as I place my hand on the jagged stitches that ripple along my forehead like a railway track. There is nothing left for me to live for.

Nothing.

The curtain is pulled back and Paul steps into the cubicle with a concerned smile. I start to cough. Just his presence seems to suck the oxygen out of a room. Is this what happens when a relationship dies? You drain each other to the point of collapse. I know I drain Paul. I can see the exhaustion on his face as he closes the curtain and walks towards the bed.

‘I feel like this is all my fault,’ he says. ‘I shouldn’t have gone out. I should have stayed with you. I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ I tell him. ‘I’m a big girl now.’

My head is sore and it hurts to speak. I watch as he pulls out a chair and sits down. He rolls up his sleeves and scratches at his arms. I look at the silvery scars and remember that night. Him trying to grab the bottle from my hands and then the sound of broken glass. He notices me looking and stops scratching.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. ‘I’m so sorry, Paul.’

After that night things haven’t been the same between us. We sleep in separate bedrooms. We don’t eat together any more. And Paul is spending more and more time at work. We’re two strangers who just happen to live in the same house.

‘Let’s not worry about that now,’ he says gently. ‘You didn’t know what you were doing.’

He smiles and my stomach twists. Poor Paul. The day after, he didn’t even want to admit what I’d done to him.

‘I didn’t mean to do it.’

‘I know,’ he says. But I can see in his eyes he doesn’t trust me.

‘It’s fine, honestly.’ He attempts a smile. ‘Anyway, the doctor said you can go home now. The car’s out front, we can go whenever you’re ready.’

The thought of going home makes me think about Kate again; the news.

‘It just doesn’t seem real,’ I say, turning from him. ‘That she’s gone.’

‘I know,’ he says. ‘I can’t believe it either. She was an amazing woman. I just wish I hadn’t left you today. I’m an idiot. Or what was it Kate used to say? A plonker.’

He laughs sadly and my heart hurts.

‘She used to call me that too,’ I say as I ease myself off the bed and pick up my cardigan from the chair. ‘When we were kids.’

I see the two of us on Reculver beach. One of my clearest memories. I’m building a sandcastle and she’s digging. She was always bloody digging. Then she stops and I look up and she’s got this thing in her hands. ‘Is it a fossil?’ I ask as I come closer. ‘Dunno,’ she replies. ‘But I’m going to keep it.’ Next minute Mum’s looming over us and then she grabs the fossil thing from Kate’s hands and runs and throws it in the sea. ‘What did you do that for?’ Kate whines as my mother stomps back up the beach. ‘That was mine.’ Mum’s skirt is dripping wet from the waves and she scowls at us as she settles back on to her beach towel. ‘That was a bomb, Kate. You don’t mess around with things like that.’ And Kate nods her head, her face all serious, and carries on digging, but I can’t concentrate on my sandcastle because I’m confused. ‘What’s a bomb?’ I ask. ‘Is it a kind of dinosaur egg?’ And my mother and Kate roll about laughing and they look so funny I can’t help but join in. ‘Oh, Sally. You’re such a plonker.’

I close my eyes and bury my face into the woollen folds of the cardigan. I hear my mother’s voice as the tears finally come: You don’t mess around with things like that.

‘The silly, stupid fool,’ I cry. ‘Why did she always have to be so bloody brave? Why couldn’t she just leave those people to it; let them fight their own battles?’