Blood Sisters(33)

Of course, she didn’t direct her questions at Kitty herself. She asked the carer instead. But in Bossy Supervisor’s mind, this was the same thing.

‘When … she’s … like this,’ added Margaret, ‘it … means … trouble.’

That was true too. When Duncan had splashed himself with hot water from the tea urn to ‘stop my skin itching’, Bossy Supervisor was particularly kind to him before taking him to the hospital. It was, they all agreed, because she was frightened he’d report one of the staff for leaving the urn unattended.

The next day, Friday Mum turned up, which was odd because it was a Wednesday. The pretty presenter with the bright red lipstick had told them that on breakfast TV only that morning.

‘Your mum and that bossy old supervisor are having a right old barney,’ reported Duncan excitedly. He was scratching his knee as he spoke. Not a pretty sight as he’d rolled up his trouser leg to do so. His calf was still angry red from where the tea urn water had bitten him.

Kitty and Duncan and Margaret were in the lounge, but they could hear phrases like ‘responsibility’ and ‘duty of care’ screaming out of the office.

Then Friday Mum came out with red eyes and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Don’t worry, love. It will be all right.’

‘Go away,’ said Kitty, turning her face away. ‘Can’t you see I’m watching a bloody programme. Come back when it’s your proper day.’

This seemed to make Friday Mum cry even more. ‘Wish I knew what you were saying. I really do.’

Thankfully, she left then, but the interruption meant that Kitty missed the bit where the good-looking doctor kissed the nurse. Margaret had to tell her about it instead. Kitty liked the doctor because he reminded her of Johnny. She missed him so much that she felt physically sick. She couldn’t even eat. It stuck at the top of her chest and wouldn’t go down. ‘Please bring him back,’ she prayed that night.

Kitty didn’t normally pray. What was the point of talking to someone you couldn’t see? But Margaret was what she called ‘a … devout … Catholic’ and always wore a cross around her neck. A pretty gold one that reminded her of … No. The memory had almost been there that time.

Her roommate also said her prayers on her knees every night before going to bed. Kitty wasn’t able to get down on her knees, of course. But the Good Lord would still listen to her. That’s what Margaret said, anyway.

And she was right! The very next day, Duncan came flapping in. ‘Your Johnny’s here.’ He was so excited that he forgot to scratch himself. ‘He’s here in the office with his mother. And your mother is there again too.’

Impossible. She was here only yesterday.

‘Maybe … they’ll … call … you … in … too,’ said Margaret.

Kitty waited and waited.

At one stage the voices got even louder. A door slammed. Footsteps approached. It was Friday Mum. She was in tears. ‘I’m so sorry, Kitty. But it’s for the best.’

What was for the best?

Then Johnny’s mother appeared behind her. Her eyes were red too. ‘You poor, poor dear,’ she said, kissing the top of her head and leaving a lovely smell behind.

‘I want to see Johnny.’ Kitty hammered on the chair with the good hand. It made an even better noise with the plaster on it. ‘Where is he?’

‘What is the poor girl saying?’

Friday Mum burst into tears. ‘I wish I knew.’

Johnny’s mother patted her on the arm. ‘Maybe we’d better go back into the office, Lilian. The others are due to arrive any minute, aren’t they?’

She looked at Kitty and shook her head. ‘They should never have allowed this to happen.’

What shouldn’t have happened? What?





23


January 2017


Alison


Somehow I’m back here. Inside.

I’ve spent the last few days trying to work out my strategy and considering all the options. Who are the notes from? Maybe someone is winding me up. Hadn’t Angela warned me about this? But if the notes are genuine, I’m probably safer in prison than being in the flat. At least here I’m surrounded by people, with guards only a whistle away.

Either way, I cannot give in my notice. I need the money and there aren’t that many vacancies for artists. You have to take what you can get. But I’m going to be on my guard from now on. Far more than before.

The older man with the eastern European accent, Stefan, is waiting for me today in Education, along with Kurt and some new faces. There’s a banker – he’s keen to tell me this as if wanting to differentiate himself from the others. He particularly keeps his distance from Stefan, who’s looking scruffier than the last time I saw him: hair unkempt and the shadow of a beard on his cheeks.

Despite my earlier determination to stand up for myself, I cannot stop shaking all through my class.

‘You are ill, I think,’ Stefan says.

‘It’s nothing,’ I retort dismissively.

What if I find another message? By lunchtime, I have decided to ask Angela’s advice. Out of everyone here, she’s the one person I trust the most. I haven’t seen her for the last few days – maybe I’ll catch her in the canteen today.