Blood Sisters(15)

‘Before I was born,’ I say.

‘Right. Silly me. Anyway, when the police caught him, they found his whole house full of cats. Beautifully cared for, they were. Then they discovered human remains in the cat food …’

I want to vomit. ‘So why does his family still keep up with him?’

‘Doesn’t get any visitors as far as I know.’

My skin is cold. ‘But he’s got a Best Grandad mug.’

‘Probably bought it himself. They can do that, you know. The men get a list of stuff they are allowed to order in.’

‘But why?’

‘To fool us? Fool himself, maybe? Pretend that he was a nice regular guy.’ Angela lowers her voice. ‘Listen, Alison. Lots of people here lie. Many have secrets. You’ll come across some very deceptive customers. And some decent ones too. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. My advice is to make use of Kurt. He might have an odd manner. But he knows everyone here. Ask him to find you more students. And just make sure you have him in the room when Barry’s there.’

‘What did Kurt do?’ I whisper, still shaking.

Angela looks as though she’s about to tell me. Then she stops and flicks back her long jet black hair. ‘You’re better off not knowing. But believe me, he’s not the one you want to worry about.’

The note. Then the revelation about Barry’s crime. It’s all too much. I’m still wobbly as I get to college that night. Yet I also feel a sense of relief. Students who haven’t committed a crime are exactly what I need right now. My stained-glass group is already waiting for me in the classroom. The only person who isn’t there is the man with the strong jawline. Clive. Alias Lead Man. I feel a brief stab of disappointment. Then bury it quickly.

‘Evening, Alison!’ There’s a chorus of excited voices. Tonight is a big event in the world of my stained-glass students.

‘How was your day?’ asks my horsey-faced student brightly.

I could say I’ve been helping a child-killer to draw cartoon cats. But instead, I deflect the question. ‘How was yours?’

‘Bit dull, to be honest. You know. Housework. Mucking out. Couldn’t wait to get here. Left the husband with macaroni cheese in the Aga.’

Macaroni cheese. Never again. It’s irretrievably bound up in my mind with kittens and cat food and …

‘Right, everyone!’ I say with a false conviviality. ‘Gloves on? Goggles?’

‘All ready!’ beams Beryl. As she speaks, there’s a purr outside. I glance through the window. A sleek silver Porsche is gliding into the car park. A tall man in a green checked Barbour is getting out. Lead Man.

I don’t appreciate latecomers when I’ve started a demo. It interrupts my flow. Helping someone catch up means there’s less time for those who have bothered to get here on time.

‘Sorry.’ Lead Man throws me an apologetic glance as he hurries in. ‘Board meeting went on for longer than I thought.’

I might have guessed. A director type. I don’t ask my students what they do because often they come here to escape. I am reminded of the unspoken ‘don’t ask’ rule in prison.

Focus, Alison.

‘We’re about to see if the glass will fit into your shapes,’ I say.

After my demo – I feel the old thrill of satisfaction as my piece of glass fits perfectly despite my jangling nerves – I sit down with each student in turn to help. I leave Lead Man to last. Partly as a punishment. And partly because he makes me feel nervous in a way I still don’t understand. Even though he hasn’t asked me out for dinner again, and has only been politeness itself since.

‘I really am sorry about being late,’ he says in a low voice.

‘It’s fine. Honestly.’

Maybe I’ve got him wrong. He’s not threatening. He just has good manners. But then our hands brush accidentally as I help to trim a sharp edge of glass. Something passes from him to me – a sizzle of something dangerous and exciting.

‘Sorry,’ we both blurt out at the same time.

‘I’ve done it!’ squeals Beryl. ‘Look, Alison.’

My heart soars. Her picture fits. It’s a blue tulip against a scarlet sky. ‘Careful,’ I say quickly. ‘We need to secure it.’

Smash. Too late. The pieces have fallen. I help my distraught student to pick them up.

‘How clumsy of me!’

‘It’s happened to me too,’ I reassure her. ‘We can do it again.’ Then I take the shattered shards out to the side room. I wrap one of them in my handkerchief for later. I can feel the need building already.

‘You did a great job there,’ says Clive, who is the last one to leave. ‘I really admire the way you saved the day. In fact –’

‘Thanks,’ I interrupt, suddenly panicking. ‘I’ve got to lock up now. See you next week.’

I watch him walk out of the building towards his flashy car. Part of me – the bit that felt his hand brush mine earlier – is filled with regret. The rest feels that if my sister can’t enjoy life, then nor should I.

I rush into the side room. Reach for the piece of glass. I hold it against my wrist, savouring the moment like an alcoholic cradling a bottle.

I can’t wait any longer.

And I’m not just talking about the cut.