Forget Her Name(46)

I stare at him sideways. ‘You had words with Dad?’

‘Bloody right. Speaking to my wife like that.’ He grins, and glances at me wryly. ‘Did you really think I wouldn’t stand up to him? I told him not to be such a fool. Someone is obviously trying to scare you. He can’t just dismiss it as . . . I don’t know, some kind of acting-out on your part.’

‘So he definitely thinks I wrote it?’

‘Of course.’

‘Bastard.’ I hesitate, almost not daring to ask the obvious question. ‘What about you? Do you think I did it? To get everybody’s attention?’

‘Now you’re being silly.’

I close my eyes. ‘I had to check. If Dad’s so convinced I drew that hangman on the wall myself, I thought maybe you would be, too.’

‘Well, he’s either suffering from a lack of imagination . . .’

‘Or?’

‘Or there’s something else at work here.’

‘Meaning?’

We reach the street corner, which is fairly quiet now, and cross the road. The Italian restaurant at the end of the next block is lit up, a waiter standing outside having a sneaky cigarette in the cold.

Dominic stops and frowns. ‘Look,’ he says, ‘it’s not really any of my business. I’ve come in late to this situation. But I can see how upset you are and, all joking aside, you’re my wife and I love you.’

Somehow I manage a smile. ‘I love you too.’

‘If you ask me though,’ he continues slowly, almost thinking aloud, ‘your parents are hiding something. I saw how they were when you asked them about Rachel’s death, and you’re right, it’s clear they don’t want to talk about her. Or not to you anyway.’

‘But why?’

‘Perhaps they’re afraid of saying the wrong thing. Of not being able to control the message.’

‘I don’t care about any of that.’

‘No.’ His gaze holds mine. ‘It was a long time ago and you were only a child. But Rachel was your sister, and you have a right to know how she died.’

My heart is beating erratically. ‘Agreed.’

‘So my advice is, write them a letter.’

‘A letter?’

‘Yes, why not? Take an hour to sit down and ask them in a letter what happened to Rachel. But be sure to ask them to write you a letter back, rather than talk to you about it.’

‘Good God, what makes you think they’d agree to that?’

‘Because a letter is less confrontational. Therapists use the technique all the time in conflict resolution, especially between close family members where emotions can run high.’ He kisses me lightly on the lips. ‘The idea is, your parents are more likely to agree because, in a letter, they get to control the message. Whatever the message is.’

I shiver, but nod, saying nothing.

Whatever the message is.





Chapter Twenty-Seven

The next day is my day off work. While Dominic is at the hospital in the afternoon, I go out to a café where I can be private, and write the letter.

Dear Mum and Dad,

Dominic suggested I should write you a letter to explain how I feel about what’s happened recently, and things we’ve never discussed – like Rachel. He thinks it’s easier to say in a letter something that would be hard face-to-face, and I agree. So if you want to reply to me in a letter too, that would be fine.

First though, I want you to know that I love you both, and won’t ever blame you, whatever you tell me. All I want is the truth.

Here’s what I already know.

Rachel died in a skiing accident when we were on holiday in Switzerland. I was twelve, she was nearly fourteen. It would have been her birthday the following week. Rachel was really excited, looking forward to it. I remember the place we stayed at, that big white hotel just outside the village, and the ski resort. And I remember waiting on my own for news after the accident, and then Dad coming to tell me Rachel had passed away.

That moment is really clear in my memory.

But my other memories of the holiday are confused and fuzzy. I’m not sure if that’s because I was in shock over what happened, but it means I can’t actually recall what happened to Rachel that day, or how she died, or whose fault it was – if anyone’s.

I can’t remember much about what happened when we got home, either. Mum, you told me that she was cremated, only I wasn’t allowed to be at the funeral because I would have been too upset. Then Dad got that posting in Dubai, and it was years before anyone mentioned her name again.

But now I’m not sure if everything you told me is true. Because odd things have been happening. Things that remind me of Rachel’s nasty tricks. And I don’t want to be horrible about my sister when she can’t defend herself, but we all know she could be really unpleasant at times. And it’s somehow connected to me marrying Dominic.

First I got Rachel’s old snow globe through the post, with a cow’s eye in it. Then someone broke into our flat and cut my wedding dress to bits, and covered it in what looked like blood. I know I should have told you about that, and I’m sorry, but I didn’t want you to get upset. The police still haven’t come back to us about that. At the wedding, Jasmine told me she’d received a postcard from Rachel, with some sick message saying I was being watched. And somebody signed Rachel’s name on some paperwork at the food bank, and I don’t know how they managed that, but it wasn’t me, I swear it. Then last night, there was the lipstick hangman on the wall. With my name on it. So it’s clear this is all aimed at me.