My Sister's Bones(87)

‘Sally,’ I call, stepping inside. ‘Sally, are you there?’

But the house is silent as I walk into the hallway. I pop my head round the kitchen door. There are two mugs on the table.

‘Sally,’ I call again, going upstairs. ‘Are you up there?’

I have a knot in my stomach and my mouth is as dry as parchment as I reach the top of the stairs.

Something is wrong.

I cross the landing and make my way to her bedroom. The door is open and I step inside. The curtains are closed and the room smells of sweat and stale alcohol. So she is still drinking. But then where is she?

I go to the window and pull the curtains open, releasing a cascade of dust particles that whirl through the fetid air. I shiver as I look at the room. It’s in a terrible state with clothes flung on the floor and a plate of congealing toast on top of the chest of drawers. The quilt is all tangled and looks like it hasn’t been washed in weeks.

I go back down to the kitchen to call Paul. But as I lift up the receiver I can’t remember his number. Shit. Perhaps it’s written down somewhere. I go to open the kitchen drawer where Sally always used to keep things like that.

And then I see something on the side. A black object.

A Dictaphone. It’s all battered and damaged. It can’t be . . . I pick it up, my hand shaking.

There’s a note lying next to it. It’s from Harry. It’s Mum’s Dictaphone. I’d tried to find it after the explosion but it had gone. I’d assumed it had been destroyed.

I look at the Dictaphone and the cups on the table. Sally will have listened to it. Paul too. And he, more than anyone, would understand the ramifications. Now it all makes sense: the silence, the deserted house. I know exactly where they are.





43


Number 44 is in darkness when I arrive and there’s no sign of Paul and Sally’s car.

Maybe they walked, I think to myself as I pull my hood over my head and make my way up the driveway. The front door is open and as I stand on the step my stomach lurches.

‘Fida,’ I say.

She is almost unrecognizable. Her face is bloodied and swollen. She’s been beaten to a pulp.

‘Fida.’ I shake her and her eyes open. ‘What happened? Did your husband do this?’

She looks up at me and her eyes widen.

‘No,’ she gasps. ‘No. It can’t be . . . I thought you were . . .’

‘It’s okay,’ I say in a low voice, crouching next to her so she can hear. ‘I’ll explain it all later. We need to get you out of here.’

She’s trying to say something. I lean closer to hear her.

‘Didn’t . . . want . . . to hurt . . . him,’ she says, almost choking on the words.

‘Who?’ I say quietly. ‘Who didn’t you want to hurt?’

She tries to lift her head but it rolls backwards.

‘Don’t try to sit up,’ I say. ‘Just take deep breaths.’ I notice there’s a coat draped over her. I tuck it in round her more tightly.

‘It’s okay, Fida. I’m going to call an ambulance.’

‘You must believe me,’ she whispers. ‘He made me . . .’

Her voice falters and I wonder if she’s delirious.

‘He made me do it.’

Her eyes roll back in her head. I know I need to act fast and get her out of here before her psycho husband comes back. Then I remember I have no phone.

I scour the hallway. Nothing. I run into the kitchen. Then I see it: an old-fashioned cordless push-button phone on a shelf by the door. I grab it, punch 999 and head back to Fida.

‘Ambulance, please.’

As I speak to the operator, Fida tugs on my sleeve.

‘Hang on a sec,’ I tell her as I give the address to the woman on the other end of the phone.

I end the call then turn to Fida. Her injuries are worse than I initially thought. I can see now why she can’t speak properly. Her mouth is all cut and swollen. It must be agony.

‘It’s okay, the ambulance is on its way,’ I tell her, praying that it will be fast. ‘You’re going to be fine.’

She starts to shake and I put my hand on her arm.

‘Shh,’ I whisper. ‘It’s okay. They’ll look after you in the hospital. I’ll make sure they know about your husband. He won’t find you.’

‘Not okay,’ she mumbles. ‘I . . . he nearly died . . . he’s so tiny, I . . . I’m not a monster.’

Her words twist inside me. So he’s real. I wasn’t going mad.

‘Fida,’ I say, leaning over her. ‘Tell me. Where is he?’

Her breath becomes shallow and for a moment I think she is going to pass out, but then she opens her eyes and grips my arm.

‘Sally,’ she gasps.

‘Sally? My sister?’ I cry. ‘Is she here?’

I recognize the coat covering her. It’s Sally’s green puffa.

‘Please, Fida. Where is she?’

‘Sh . . . sh . . . shed.’

The exertion of getting that final word out is too much and she flops back on to the stairs.

‘Listen, Fida,’ I say, jumping to my feet. ‘The ambulance is on its way. Everything’s going to be fine. I’m going to go and find my sister.’