Blood Sisters(57)

There should be some warning before your life cracks into little pieces. Maybe it wasn’t happening at all. Perhaps, in just a second, Kitty was going to stand up. Dab the blood off that navy blue school uniform. Clean up her shoes. And say, with a cheeky grin, ‘Had you fooled then, didn’t I, Ali? It’s OK. I won’t tell Mum. Your secret’s safe with me.’

But instead, she was just lying there. Silent.

The only consolation was that her chest was still rising and falling.

I daren’t touch her in case I did more damage.

But she was alive. Thank God!

I sat on the verge with tears of relief pouring down my cheeks. Life without my sister – however difficult she’d been – was unthinkable.

As for Vanessa, I dared not look.





44


May 2017


Alison


There’s an atmosphere in the prison the next day. I can smell it. Taste it. Something is going to happen. You sense it when you’ve been here a while. There are times when I can hardly believe how much has happened since I came inside. Or how I have changed.

It’s chilly. I wrap my cardigan around me, a rather lovely hyacinth blue which I haven’t worn for a while. As I get closer to the building, I notice a man waiting outside.

My heart lifts.

Martin. Probably my most promising student. A courteous one too. It’s been a revelation to me, since starting here, that there is so much talent in prison. The music teacher says the same. She has one man who has learned to play the saxophone during his fifteen-year stint. And the writer in residence, some years ago, apparently put an ex-con in touch with his publisher. The man in question is now on the best-seller list. At times, I wonder if I might help Martin hit the headlines too.

‘How are you doing?’

Unlike most of the other men in my group, Martin doesn’t call me ‘miss’. It’s as though he knows I don’t care for it.

‘Fine, thanks,’ I say in reply to his question. ‘You sound as if you’ve got a bit of a cold.’

‘I don’t feel great but I didn’t want to miss class.’ He shrugs. ‘It’s what keeps me going.’

I’m flattered. But also concerned in case I catch something. We have to be careful not to go near Kitty if we’re not well, says Mum. Her injuries make her prone to chest infections. She is ‘frail’, although you would not think it to see her body – growing even more huge in pregnancy – taking up the entire width of the wheelchair. I have to say it for my sister: she keeps on smiling with that crooked grin and saliva dribbling out of her mouth. At times, her determination to keep going amazes me. At other times, it terrifies me.

‘Where’s everyone else?’ I ask.

Martin sneezes. ‘Got this virus, haven’t they?’

‘OK,’ I say, looking around. I’m sure I’ll be all right with Martin. ‘Let’s go in, shall we?’

I allow him to draw what he wants today. Free sketching, I call it. In fact, it’s a bit of a cop-out. My mind won’t focus for so many reasons. Kitty. Stefan. And I keep thinking of Lead Man. Or rather Clive. Though I’m almost scared to recall the memories of our night together in case they disappear.

Concentrate, I tell myself. Get your mind back on the job. I glance at the clock on the wall. If I’m not careful, we’ll run out of time.

‘Need any help?’ I ask Martin.

He is cupping his arm protectively round the sheet of paper I’ve given him. I’ve noticed that quite a lot of my men do that: it’s almost like they’re back at school and don’t want anyone to see what they’re writing in case it’s not good enough.

I respect that. So I doodle myself; my mind still elsewhere. Then I stare down at my page.

The clock is ticking. I stand up, pushing my chair back. It’s time.

But Martin is already standing up.

‘I’m a bit stuck,’ he says. ‘Can you come over here and help me?’

‘Sure.’

My throat tightens. Martin has drawn three figures. They are unmistakably schoolgirls. Each one wears her hair in plaits. They are crossing a road. And a car is coming towards them.





45


July 2001


Ali


‘Are you all right?’ It was a woman’s voice. ‘What happened?’

I tried to speak. But nothing came out.

‘Ambulance.’ The woman had a mobile phone. Kitty wanted one. David was going to ‘treat’ her on her next birthday.

‘Just past the bus stop. A schoolgirl’s been hit. Badly. No, wait. Looks like two.’

It was only then that I made myself glance at the body to my right. Blonde plaits splayed. Violin case by her side.

Vanessa.

‘And a car. No one has got out. There’s a lot of smoke. Should I go and see or wait here? There’s a third girl too. She’s hurt her face but she’s right next to me, in shock. Stay here? Right.’

‘Put my jumper around you,’ said the voice. ‘It might stop you shaking.’

‘Please,’ I coughed, gagging on the blood which was running into my mouth. ‘Help them.’

Mum wouldn’t be able to cope if Kitty died. Nor would David. Nor would I.