Bad Sister(16)

The fresh cut grass wafted from the room as she opened it, and for the first time the scent made her stomach churn, like the queasiness of early pregnancy. For a moment Connie stood, hand placed over her belly, and thought. No. She couldn’t be. Dates were completely wrong. She let her hand drop and carried on over to her desk. The memory of her unsuccessful pregnancy lingered even once the queasy sensation had disappeared. Last year had been a tough one. She wasn’t sure if she could cope with another like it.

She fired up her computer and hung her suit jacket over the back of her chair. Steph should be arriving soon, she wanted to run through all the information she held on her first, find out if any of yesterday’s story checked out – the family history, the names. It didn’t. Very strange. She leant back and stared at the screen, then retrieved the paper file from her desk drawer. She frowned. Both said the same: mother in a home, father’s whereabouts unknown – not dead in a fire, as Steph had described – and no siblings. No brother. No one named Brett. How could it be so wrong? It was likely that Steph had lied. But why? What could she gain from making it up? Attention? Continued input from the services she was so afraid would abandon her? It made some sense. In Steph’s mind, if she came up with a story in which she or her child were in danger, then Miles would offer further protection and Connie would offer more sessions. Could that really be what Steph was trying to do here?

The intercom buzzed. Hopefully, she was about to unravel whatever was going on.

‘Morning, Steph.’ Connie opened her door to let Steph in. ‘No Dylan this morning?’

‘I took him to pre-school, I had to. Needed to see you on my own.’ She looked drawn, a deep line ran from one side of her forehead to the other, her lips were tightly closed and her nostrils flared. ‘He’s out.’ She brushed past Connie and sat heavily in the chair.

‘Brett?’

‘Yes, Brett!’

‘How do you know?’

‘Got this.’ Steph held her hand out, in it a piece of folded paper. ‘Another one. This morning.’

Before Connie got into this, she needed to retrace a step, or twelve. She hadn’t found out what the first letter had contained yet.

‘Okay. Try and keep your breathing steady.’ Connie flinched as Steph shot her an angry glare.

‘Are you for real?’

‘I just want to understand what’s going on, Steph. And for that to happen, I think being calm would be best.’

Steph snorted. ‘Fine.’ She took a deep, exaggerated breath in, and slowly out.

‘Can you tell me about the first letter?’

Steph sighed, slumping her shoulders. ‘I wasn’t gonna read it, but somethin’ made me. I had this feelin’ that it was gonna be bad. Bad for me and Dylan.

‘It started off the usual – Dear sis. I need to see you. Why didn’t you write or come see me?’ Steph shook her head gently. ‘But then it changed. His letters usually blamed me for some stuff, like abandoning him when he needed me, being a bad sister, that kind of bull. But this one was different. Seemed even more angry than usual.’

‘Angry in what way?’

‘Like in that he threatened me and Dylan. Said he’d finish what he started.’

‘Oh. He said those exact words? Have you brought the letter?’

‘Oh, right, so you’re questioning me, don’t believe what I’m tellin’ you?’

‘No, it’s not that, Steph. I thought reading it would help me to interpret his words.’

‘What’s to interpret? He’ll finish what he started, Connie. He started the fire, he killed his dad, Mum’s as good as dead, and his big sister is the one that got away. It’s pretty simple, eh? He’s wanting to kill me and Dylan now. Finish whatever weird, psycho fantasy he’s got going.’

‘Sometimes, when we’re scared, things that are meant one way are taken another. We read things into it, and can blow things up, out of proportion—’

‘I don’t scare easy. I grew up learning how to cope wi’ being afraid, I dealt wi’ it every day just crossing my own estate.’ Steph glared at Connie, and huffed. ‘You wouldn’t know. You got no idea, you and your cosy sheltered life down here …’

‘Actually, I grew up in Manchester, too,’ Connie snapped. She closed her eyes, pinched her nose with her thumb and forefinger and took a deep breath. ‘I know more than you think.’ She spoke without looking at Steph, not wanting her to see the pain in her eyes. ‘Anyway, go on.’ Connie straightened, was back on track. This was Steph’s session, possibly her last if she didn’t consider it safe to visit any more; she couldn’t let her own past creep into it.

‘Well, perhaps this’ll show you that I’m not making it up.’ Steph thrust the piece of paper into Connie’s hand. She was reminded instantly of DS Mack doing the same on Monday. She hesitated. Once she opened this paper and read its content, she was involved. She opened it. The writing was a scrawl, barely legible:

It ends with fire. We should all burn together.

I’m coming to see you.

For a moment, Connie didn’t know what to say. It seemed pretty cut and dried – if she’d received this, she would’ve taken it as a threat as well.

‘You’re going to hand this to Miles?’