Blood Sisters(101)

I almost laugh. Except it’s not funny. It’s true. Love is close to hate when it comes to sisters. You’re as close as two humans can be. You came from the same womb. The same background. Even if you’re poles apart, mentally. That’s why it hurts so much when your sister is unkind. It’s as though part of you is turning against yourself.

And that’s why Vanessa was so jealous. She might have claimed to be a blood sister. But it’s not the same thing.

Kitty, on the other hand, acted like a real sister. She’s the one who wanted to shield me from the truth about my father. David might have promised not to tell me directly but he’d made a big mistake in thinking that he could use his own daughter to tell me and get back at Mum that way. She could have done, so easily – just minutes before the crash. She could have allowed Vanessa to spill the beans. But she stopped her. It’s a sad tragedy that Crispin’s mother was racing round the corner at the time.

‘I begged her not to die,’ I add, recalling how I had knelt over Kitty’s body.

Mum is white. ‘Did you really have to send yourself to prison?’

I reach out for her hand. ‘You’d been punished enough seeing Kitty in the state she is in.’ My grip tightens. I think back to my men in Archville: the ones I’d worked with quite happily until I knew what their crimes had been. ‘How would you have managed if you’d known that she’d pushed Vanessa in front of the car?’

Mum is silent. It’s answer enough.

Sarah clears her throat. ‘My feeling, Alison, after getting to know you in the last few months, is that you might have had a breakdown after the rape, and then the accident. You’ve never got over the shock. It’s not surprising.’

I think back to that terrible time when it felt as though there was a lead weight on my chest. The grief was too deep to cry. Vanessa’s death and Kitty’s horrific injuries were too terrible to be true. How could the rest of the world go on around them when something like this had happened? Something I had started.

‘You didn’t have any counselling at the time, did you?’ says Sarah softly.

I glance at Mum. ‘No.’

‘No one suggested it,’ she says desperately.

‘Please – I’m not blaming you. Counselling wasn’t so common in those days. I’m just saying that not all head injuries are obvious.’ She glances at Kitty. ‘And I think, Alison, that you are still suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.’

Could she be right?

‘Take the identity of the driver. You said it was Crispin. Did you feel bad about lying?’

I hang my head. ‘Yes,’ I whisper. ‘Well, not at first. I did it out of anger. But when he didn’t deny it, I couldn’t take it back. And then over the years, I’ve … I’ve honestly convinced myself it was him at the wheel. It was the only way I could cope with the fact that I’d put an innocent man into prison.’

Meanwhile, Lily the barrister is writing furiously. ‘Would you say in court,’ she asks Sarah, ‘that the rape, combined with the shock of the accident, made Alison take the blame for an accident that she did not cause?’

‘I would,’ says Sarah. Her eyes are milky with sympathy. ‘If you ask me, you were the one who was pushed – mentally – over the edge.’

My throat swells. My eyes blur.

‘Some people,’ adds Sarah, ‘have an overactive conscience, especially if they’re constantly seeking praise or have low self-esteem.’

I wince. So does Mum. I can tell she’s beating herself up too.

‘Hang on,’ Mum says in a quiet voice. ‘If Kitty pushed Vanessa, does that mean she could be tried for manslaughter now?’

Lily’s usually steady voice now wavers slightly. ‘It’s unlikely, given her condition, and that she was a child at the time. And there’s something else that should be taken into consideration.’ She reaches into her bag and brings out a black book. It has a year written on it in silver loopy writing: 2001.

‘Vanessa’s mother gave it to me after I went to see her recently. It’s her daughter’s diary.’

The first page falls open. It is dated 2 March 2001.

My mother loves me more than anyone else …

When we finish reading, Mum and I look at each other for a long time.

‘It looks,’ whispers Mum, ‘as if Vanessa was jealous of the two of you. She wanted Kitty all to herself.’

My mouth is dry. ‘But she was also angry with Kitty for the note that said she didn’t want to be her best friend any more.’ My voice comes out as a cry. ‘It was my fault.’

‘No.’ Mum takes my hand. ‘It’s mine for letting David spoil Kitty. For not telling you the truth about your father in the first place. I’m so sorry, my love. I was scared. I didn’t want to be alone again.’

I can see that.

‘It must be very hard,’ Mum continues, ‘to be an only child.’

How often had I wished during my childhood that I didn’t have a sister. It was only when Kitty had been so terribly injured that I’d appreciated what we’d had – or rather what we could have had.

‘I know Kitty wasn’t easy,’ says Mum. ‘But I always hoped that when you both grew older, you’d get closer. Poor Vanessa didn’t have that hope. Look at this entry.’