Blood Sisters(48)

My history file had gone missing. I looked everywhere but it had simply vanished.

I tore down the stairs in a haze of disbelief and sheer panic.

‘What would I want with that boring old stuff?’ my sister sniffed when I demanded to know if she’d seen it.

But she said it with a distinctly guilty look on her face. The day after offering me her lucky charm, she’d gone back to her usual difficult self. Knew it was too good to last.

‘Tell me the truth!’ I demanded.

‘I am – get off me.’

I was tugging at her arms without even knowing it.

‘Ali,’ said David, looking up in fury from the cooker. ‘Stop that now. Behave yourself.’

I was almost hysterical. ‘But I know it was in my room earlier today.’

‘Then you should be a bit tidier. There are books all over your floor. Now leave your poor sister alone and go and have another look while I get on with making supper. Your mother’s taking an evening class.’

If he was my real father, he’d understand, I told myself.

When Mum eventually got back, rubbing her eyes with exhaustion and fending off David’s complaint of ‘You’re later than you said,’ she didn’t know either.

‘That’s your sister’s,’ she said when she saw me picking up Kitty’s English exercise book.

‘Just checking,’ I replied.

Later that night, I heard her talking to Kitty through my sister’s bedroom door. ‘Of course I love you, darling. There’s something very special about the youngest. You know that.’

The next day I had to sit my final exam without having done the revision I’d been banking on. The words blurred in front of my eyes. My mind went blank. I was going to fail.

But the worst thing was knowing that I wasn’t special, in my mother’s eyes, after all.

There was just one consolation. That night, I woke with aching cramps. My period had arrived.





3 July 2001


We’re reading this book about sisters at school. They’re best friends.

But then one of them does something bad.

And the other blackmails her.

It’s given me this really good idea.

I’m not sure how to do it yet.

But I will.





36


May 2017


Alison


What exactly do you pack for a prison sleepover? Cells are cold. The men are always complaining about that. Will there be a loo in my room or will it be communal? ‘Ours is crap,’ one of my men is always saying, seemingly oblivious to the pun. ‘Never gets rid of the shit properly.’ Surely they wouldn’t make me share with the men? Or is that part of the experience?

My heart is beginning to pound as I put an extra warm jumper and some clean undies in a case. What have I let myself in for?

But the fear is balanced by an edgy excitement. Perhaps this is where fate has been leading me all along.

I barely sleep. When I do, I dream of violin cases and plaits and a voice. ‘Hurry up – we’re late.’

Then the alarm goes. 6 a.m. I wake with a jolt. Today I am going into prison. And staying the night.

‘In here, miss,’ says one of the officers. We’re walking down a narrow corridor past men who don’t bother to disguise their stares. The ‘hut’ I’m staying in is more like a rambling bungalow with rooms going off at either side. There’s a musky smell in the air. Damp. Dark stains on the walls.

‘This is your room.’ His voice implies Rather you than me.

There’s a metal frame bed with a cardboard box underneath, and a chamber pot. ‘For your clothes, miss, the box. And the other to go to the bathroom. Though I’d recommend waiting till the morning.’ I shudder. The pot has brown stains inside.

I push it back under quickly.

Slightly surprisingly, a smallish desk sits on one side of the room next to a barred window with a pair of flimsy curtains.

‘What happens now?’ I ask.

‘Social time.’ He’s leaving the door open. ‘You can go into the lounge now if you like. Play cards. Talk. Watch a bit of telly.’

‘On my own?’

‘I’ve got to stay with you until you go to your pad. Governor’s orders.’

That’s a relief.

His eyes fall on my materials. There’s a curious look in his eyes. ‘I don’t mind if you want to draw me.’

I sense he’d actually like me to do this. In fact, it’s a great idea. I make a quick sketch and then follow him into the lounge.

Sprawled on sofas and frayed chairs are several men. I recognize some from my classes, but instead of their usual friendly approach, they glare as if I’ve just wandered into a men-only club. Which I have.

‘For those of you what don’t know,’ says the officer, ‘this is Alison, our artist in residence. She’s going to be drawing what she sees here.’

‘Want to come into the shower with me, pet?’ grins a large man I haven’t seen before. ‘You’ll get some inspiration there, all right.’

‘In your dreams, mate,’ scoffs another.

Nervous sweat trickles down my back.

‘None of that,’ snaps the officer. ‘Mind your manners.’