Blood Sisters(32)

That’s when it really started to kick off.





21


January 2017


Alison


When I finally feel better, I turn on the television and watch the morning presenter wittering on. That’s when I realize I’ve missed not only Christmas but New Year’s Eve too. They’ve never been the same since the accident. Even before, I’d always been conscious of a father’s absence at this ‘family’ time of year. So I’m grateful for the blurring of the last few days. All I can recall is my burning body, getting up to stagger across to the kitchen with a dry mouth to get more water and – or have I imagined this? – the sound of someone at the front door. But I was so ill all I could do was wait for my fate to come for me.

Yet it hadn’t.

Now, I look down at my sweaty body and my damp sheets which have that distinct odour of illness. I am still here. I’ve survived. Whoever sent those messages hasn’t got me.

So far.

Of course, I tell myself as I take a warm shower and make myself get dressed despite still feeling weak, I don’t have to go back to the prison.

Instead, I can just leave. Move flats, find a new job. Think of some story to tell Mum. But I have to be brave. For my sister’s sake.

I search for my phone while doing up my jeans. The waist hangs loose on me after not eating for so many days. There are a few missed calls from a number I don’t recognize. This freaks me out. Could it be the person who sent the card?

There are also several texts from Mum. The disappointed ones come first.

So sorry you can’t make it. Hope you had a nice time with your friends.



I can tell she’s curious. In truth, I don’t have either the time or inclination for a social life, although I had enjoyed that college dinner with Lead Man …

Then came the worried ones.

Where are you? Please let me know you’re all right.



Do all thirty-something women feel like this about their mothers? Such a mix of guilt and fear and love?

But we are different. Mum and I had been close before. Yet the accident has given us an extra bond that no one else could understand unless they’d been through it.

When I ring, having worked out my excuse, the answerphone is on. Maybe she’s out for a sherry with a neighbour who feels sorry for this woman whose own daughter can’t be bothered to see her at this time of the year.

‘Mum, it’s me. Look, I didn’t want to tell you earlier but I haven’t been well. Only flu. Can you call? I could come down next weekend, if you like. I’ve got to go back to the prison tomorrow.’

Too late, I wish I’d said ‘work’ instead of ‘prison’. My mother has made it clear that she’s still ‘unhappy about this job of yours’.

Meanwhile, my stomach is rumbling. I need food. There’s nothing in the fridge. I’d been planning to go shopping before I got ill. Even the eggs are out of date. But my legs have suddenly gone weak. Supposing my stalker is waiting outside the door?

‘Alison!’

The voice in the communal hallway strikes fear into me before the sensible part of my brain registers who is speaking.

It’s my landlord. For a minute, I almost don’t recognize him. Gone are the usual rather scruffy blue jeans. Instead, he wears a pair of beige chinos and a different pair of slippers – they have Rudolph faces.

‘I thought I heard the odd movement so I’ve been knocking on your door a few times to see if you wanted to share a meal or have a drink.’

I am so heady with relief that I want to hug him. But, of course, I don’t.

‘I’ve been in bed with flu,’ I say.

He edges away. ‘Won’t come near then, if you don’t mind. Got the grandchildren coming round.’

So his offer of a meal had just been out of charity. The kind of thing you do when you have a single lodger. As for the grandchildren bit, that was the first time he’d ever mentioned anything about his personal life. Once more, I feel desperately alone. Mum doesn’t count. We’re both as lonely as each other. Especially when we’re together.

Then I head out into the street and make for the corner shop. Is anyone watching? I can’t see an obvious candidate.

It almost makes it scarier. If I knew who was after me, at least I could prepare myself.

When I get back, I realize I’d left my mobile behind. There it is, lying on the sofa. The screen announces that I’ve missed a call. It’s the same number I noticed before. A heavy feeling settles in my chest. Should I ring back? Yes. No.

I go to the window. A woman is walking past with her dog. A youth is cycling by. Someone out there is watching and waiting.

What would my sister do?

Get one step ahead, of course.

I can almost hear her voice.

But maybe she’s right.

Perhaps, instead of being scared, I need to take the initiative. I just need to think how.





22


January 2017


Kitty


‘Something’s … up,’ whispered Margaret at supper that night. ‘She … is being … too … nice.’

It was true. Bossy Supervisor had treated Kitty differently from the minute she’d returned from the hospital. Was her poor arm all right? Would she like a sweet cup of tea?