Blood Sisters(31)

‘Let me,’ said Flabby Face.

‘NO! GET THE FUCK OUT!’

‘I think it might be best if you left. Kitty seems rather upset.’

You could say that again. Whatever Flabby Face had done before – and she was certain he’d done something – it had been bad. Very bad.





19


Christmas Day 2016


Alison


The fever started soon after I’d got back from the college dinner. Unable to sleep, I’d forced myself to wrap up and go out again to the late-night chemist on the corner. Then I’d staggered back in the cold, heaving one foot in front of the other, desperately hoping I’d make it back to the flat.

But the medicine hasn’t touched it. Right now, a pernicious ache has taken over my body like the mist outside which is wrapping its way round the buildings as I stand at the window. Is that a shadow I can see? Or is flu making me hallucinate?

‘It’s doing the rounds,’ Angela had already warned during the days leading up to our Christmas break. ‘Not much you can do about it. Prisoners get ill like anyone else. A bit like new teachers at a kids’ school. You catch everything going until you’ve been here for years like me and develop a strong immunity.’

Fear. Flu. Call it what you will. But something scary is seeping through my bones.

I can no longer blame Grandad Barry. Pretend it’s all a harmless prank.

Someone is after me.

MAY ALL YOUR SINS BE FORGIVEN.

No one knows where I live. I am paranoid about that. The colleges where I teach – and even the prison – all have a PO Box address listed for me. (I had put it down on my original application form.) The only post I receive is from utilities. I don’t have a Facebook account. I regularly change my pay-as-you-go mobile number. Naturally, I’m careful who I give it to.

So how did the card with the sparkly carriage and the London postmark get here?

My sheets are soaked with sweat. And, despite the cold sharp air that’s coming through the open window, my entire body is burning.

Or did it begin burning during dinner with Lead Man? There was something about him that stirred longings inside me I’ve only had once before. Something I don’t want to think about.

Anyway, it’s not right. I’m not allowed. I would be letting down my sister. Hadn’t I deprived her of love? She could’ve been married by now. I might have been a bridesmaid. It’s what sisters do …

These thoughts are going round my head when my mobile goes. Listlessly, I reject the call, then check the time and the caller. 11.59 a.m. MUM.

I yearn to talk to her but I need to get my story right first.

I am going to have to leave my flat now I’ve been found. Find another hiding place. My heart sinks at the thought. I like it here. Besides, even if I do move, what’s to say I won’t be found again?

One thing is clear. Mum mustn’t know what’s going on. She’s had enough to deal with already. My hot index finger starts texting a message.

But then I hesitate. I don’t want to say I’ve got flu or she’ll be round here, ministering to me. She tried to do that after the accident and it didn’t work. We were both too consumed by our grief. My sister’s empty room. Her silent place at the table. Her shoes which still lay, waiting, for her to slip back into them.

Sorry. Am with friends



I can barely concentrate on the screen.

Speak later



Then my sweaty fingers drop the phone on to the floor and I let the darkness take me.





20


Christmas Day 2016


Kitty


At the hospital they put her arm in plaster. According to the nurse, she had fractured it (‘poor love’) when she had fallen on it. At least it had got rid of Flabby Face. But now she had an arm she couldn’t use – how would she be able to wheel her chair if she needed to get away?

The nurse had just finished. Kitty wanted to get back home and be safe. But – for some reason – they were looking at the rest of her. Why? What the fuck was going on?

‘Can you hold her legs down, nurse, so she doesn’t flail about like that? Thank you. Now, Kitty. This is a special machine. It’s going to look inside your tummy to check everything is in order. This might feel a bit wet and sticky. It’s called gel. We need it to do the ultrasound.’

Gel was for hair. Maurice used it. But what was an ultrathingy?

Kitty stared up at the big screen in front of her. It was a mess of lines, bobbing up and down and making funny noises. Looked like they needed a new telly.

‘Do you see that?’

The doctor’s voice was different from before.

The nurse gave a strange nod. One that looked as though it didn’t want to be there.

Then there was a heavy sigh. It seemed to come from both of them. ‘Thank you, Kitty. Now nurse will help you get dressed again.’

‘No,’ said Kitty, shaking her head and then nodding it just to be certain. ‘I rather like this gown that you’ve put me in. Green and white! Makes a change from the clothes I have to wear in the home. And how about bloody lunch?’

But they were wheeling her out. Back down the squeaky corridors. Into the van through the streets where people walked instead of pushing themselves in chairs. And into the home.