We Were Sisters: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller

by Wendy Clarke

  He looks up at me. ‘You’re back late. Isabella didn’t play up, did she?’

  ‘No. Nothing like that.’

  I want to tell him about the pram. About finding the locket… but I can’t. What could I say? He doesn’t know anything about Freya or even that I once had a sister. He’d say I was imagining things – that the locket could have belonged to anyone. He’d tell me I was exhausted. Hormonal. That I’d simply forgotten where I’d put the pram.

  Noah’s cries are getting louder. Mitch puts down his fork and holds out his arms for the baby, but I ignore him. Pulling out a chair, I sit and undo my blouse so Noah can feed. As he latches on, I close my eyes and try to enjoy the sensation of giving sustenance to my child. It’s hard to believe that my mother would have done this once, held me in her arms and whispered special things only a mother would say to her child.

  ‘You look done in.’

  I open my eyes again. ‘You would too if you were up all night.’

  Mitch pulls another slice of bread from the packet in front of him, there’s a smear of ketchup on the bristles of his chin. ‘If you gave him a bottle, I’d be able to do some of the night shift.’

  I look away. ‘I told you. I don’t want that. The midwife said—’

  ‘I know what the bloody midwife said, but I’m worried about you, Kel. Surely your health is as important as the baby’s. If you’d just let me do my bit, it would make life easier for you.’

  I feel the pull of Noah’s little mouth on my breast and tell myself that this is what being a mother is all about. Nurturing. Being there whenever your child needs you. Keeping them safe. Without realising it, my fingers have strayed to my locket. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’

  He doesn’t reply but gives a look that tells me exactly what he’s thinking. Popping the last piece of egg-soaked bread into his mouth, he looks at his watch.

  ‘I have to be on-site today, but I can leave early. At least let me collect the kids from school.’

  It’s as though he hasn’t been listening to a word I’ve just said.

  ‘I told you I don’t need you to help.’

  It’s said too quickly, and his eyes register his hurt.

  ‘For just once in your life, Kelly, can’t you think about what I might need?’

  Mitch looks so dejected that I feel my guilt rise. It’s easy to forget he’s a parent too. I force myself to say the words.

  ‘I’m sorry. Of course, you can collect the girls if you want to.’

  Taking his hand with my free one, I link my fingers with his. It’s a practical hand, the pads of his fingers roughened and the nails short. At the moment, they’re crusted white with whatever he’s been working with these last few days and he hasn’t done a very good job of cleaning them.

  I don’t mind really. It’s proof of how hard he works. Five days a week plus Saturday morning and it’s all for us. For his family. One day, he likes to say, we’ll have a big house with a garden with enough space for the children to play on the trampoline they so desperately want – not a scrap of grass with a high brick wall and a tiny shed like we have now. He doesn’t realise that I’m not bothered. That it’s my family’s love I care about. Nothing else.

  As I stroke his hand with my thumb, I wonder what I would have done if Mitch hadn’t found me that night in the bar. Hadn’t fallen in love with me. This house was Mitch’s before I married him and there’s no way I would have afforded a house of my own. I could barely afford the rent on my grotty bedsit by the station. We’ve done little to the house since then. The white patch on the back of the door, where a dartboard used to hang, has never been painted over and the oversized plasma TV is the same one that was there the first night I stayed. It’s never bothered me.

  He beams. ‘That’s great. I’ll take the baby too. That way, you can go for a run. You haven’t been since you found out you were expecting. It will do you the world of good.’

  I know he doesn’t mean to sound patronising and force a smile. He’s right. I used to run every evening and I miss it.

  ‘All right, but make sure you don’t leave him. Take him with you if you go into the classroom.’

  Mitch frowns. ‘What do you think I am? An idiot? He’s only three months old, of course I wouldn’t leave him.’

  But I did. Just for those few minutes. I left my baby and someone moved him. Holding Noah closer to me, I feel the weight of my guilt. It was my job to keep him safe and I didn’t.

  Mitch gets up and takes his plate to the sink and Charlie follows him, hoping to get a treat. Leaving the plate on the draining board, he goes over to the calendar on the wall and looks at it.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he says casually, rubbing his hand over the top of his stubbled head. ‘Next weekend, we should do something different for a change. Invite some people over for the afternoon.’

  I stare at him as though he’s mad, but he carries on.

  ‘I could fire up the barbeque, buy a cake – we never have cake. Maybe we could invite your family.’

  The last words are said breezily. He has no idea of the effect they’ll have on me. My throat tightens and, as if sensing a shift in atmosphere, Noah bats at my breast with his outstretched hand and begins to squirm. There’s so much I want to say, but I can’t.

  Instead, I burst into tears.

  3

  Kelly Before

  Kelly sits at the polished table at the far end of the living room and waits. In front of her is her birthday cake with its eight mismatched candles, and three small plates – one for her mum, one for herself and one for her dad when he comes home. There are no holders on the candles. They’ve been pressed haphazardly into the cake and the wax has dripped down, leaving pools of colour on the fudge icing that she’d watched her mum spoon from a plastic tub.

  She hates the cake. She hates chocolate. What she’d wanted was one from the supermarket like the one her friend Carly Freeman had, with smooth pink icing and a unicorn on the top. She’d also wanted a party in the village hall with a Disney princess to do the party games, but she hadn’t been allowed to have that either. Parties were for spoilt girls her mum had said.

  ‘Mummy?’ When she doesn’t answer, she climbs down from the chair and goes to get her comfort blanket, which she’s stuffed down the side of the settee. She knows it’s babyish, but she can’t sleep at night without it.

  Kelly stands in the doorway and listens. The house feels different – as if it’s waiting for something. Even Ben, their dog, is lying with his eyes glued to the door that leads into the hall, as though expecting something exciting to happen. Kelly calls to him and clicks her fingers like her dad does if he wants Ben’s attention, but he ignores her, rubbing his nose with one of his paws and letting out a little whimper. It’s past his supper time. She hasn’t seen her mum since the phone call that sent her running from the room. Where is she?

  ‘Mum?’ she calls again.

  The big hand of the clock on the mantelpiece has crept to the top and the little hand is on the eight. Eight o’clock. It will soon be time for bed, but her mum has said that as it’s her birthday, she can play one of the games from the high shelf in the cupboard in the playroom. It’s what she’s been waiting for all day. She could get a game out ready, but that would mean standing on a chair, which will get her into trouble. Anyway, she isn’t allowed to touch these games without asking first and she doesn’t want to make her mum cross. Not after she took the time to ice the cake.

  On the table is a box of matches, a used one mixing with the crumbs on her mum’s plate. She’d left the room so quickly, Kelly hadn’t had the chance to tell her what she’d wished for. But she’s heard that telling someone your wish will stop it from coming true, so it’s probably a good thing. This wish is one she wants to come true more than anything.

  Thinking she should do something, Kelly goes into the hall, dragging her blanket behind her, and stands at the bottom of the stairs. After a few minutes, she climbs halfway up and sits on the t
hreadbare carpet worrying at her wobbly front tooth. She can hear her mum now through her closed bedroom door. She must still be on the phone.

  Should she go and knock?

  From their cheap brass frames on the wall of the staircase, the faces of her brothers and sisters look down at her. Her mum doesn’t like her calling them that, telling her that foster children are not the same as real brothers and sisters, but she does it anyway.

  Some of the faces Kelly doesn’t know, because they lived in her house when she was too young to remember, but even these children feel like they belong to her. She’d asked her mum once why she never talked about them once their stay had ended, but all she’d said was it wasn’t good to get too attached. Then she’d pressed her lips together and that had been an end to it. Kelly had known better than to ask again.

  Despite her mum’s words, Kelly likes to imagine that she’s linked with invisible threads to these children who have taken it in turns to occupy the bedroom at the back of the house. The shortest and tightest thread being reserved for Mason. He’d stayed from Christmas until March and, after he’d gone, she’d cried herself to sleep, her sobs muffled by her pillow so that they wouldn’t be heard. She’d never asked why he’d left and they’d never told her.

  There’s the sound of a key in the lock and Kelly glues her eyes to the front door, her heart thumping. Her dad’s home! As he pushes the door open and steps through it, turning to shake out his umbrella, Kelly thinks, as she always does, how handsome he is, with his blond hair combed back from his face and his smart grey suit. She wants to rush to him, have him bend down to kiss her or spin her around like she’s seen on the telly, but she doesn’t. It’s not what they do in this house.

  ‘I’m going to have a shower,’ is all he says to her.

  Edging past her on the stairs, he goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. Soon Kelly hears the shower running. He hasn’t even said happy birthday to her.

  ‘Andrew?’ Her mum is at the top of the stairs and, although it’s her father’s name she’s said, it’s Kelly she’s frowning at as if she’s somehow made him disappear.

  Kelly sees the phone in her mum’s hand. ‘I wasn’t listening,’ she says quickly, in case that’s why she’s cross.

  Twisting her blanket around her finger, she searches her mum’s face for a clue to her mood and is surprised when, instead of shouting at her, she joins her on the step. Reaching an arm around her, she pulls her close and Kelly can smell the sickly fragrance of her perfume. This unexpected attention should feel good, but all it does is make her rigid with anticipation.

  ‘I have some good news, Kelly. Great news, in fact.’ Her eyes flicker to the faces of the children in their brass frames. Her cheeks are unnaturally flushed. Her eyes shining.

  ‘What is it, Mummy?’ Kelly holds her breath.

  The bathroom door unlocks and Kelly’s dad stands there, a towel around his middle. Her mum turns to him, her smile too bright.

  ‘Great news,’ she repeats, but her dad just shakes his head.

  ‘Jesus. Not again, Karen.’

  Kelly looks from one to the other, wondering how he knows what her mum’s about to say.

  ‘Why don’t you tell her, Andrew?’

  Ignoring her, Kelly’s father strides into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him, and when her mum looks back at her, her smile isn’t as bright as it had been.

  ‘Well, we won’t let him spoil things.’

  ‘What is it, Mummy? Tell me, please.’

  Kelly’s mum takes her hand and places it on her chest. ‘Feel how my heart’s racing.’ It’s true. Her mum’s heart is fluttering in her chest like a trapped bird and Kelly feels as if she too might burst with excitement.

  ‘Is it true?’ she asks, as she’s guessed what it might be.

  Her mum nods. ‘Tomorrow,’ she says, ‘another girl is coming. Her name is Freya and she’s ten years old.’

  Kelly puts her fingers in her mouth to stop from shouting out; the tips are sweet with the chocolate icing she hates so much. She doesn’t care, though, as she’s just had the best news in the world. The candle fairy had been listening after all. Her wish has come true.

  Tomorrow she will have another sister.

  And maybe, this time, she’ll stay forever.

  4

  Kelly Now

  As I run, trainers slapping on the wet concrete, I fall into a natural rhythm and start to relax. I’ve missed this. The sound of the waves breaking on the stones and the cry of the seagulls.

  I carry on until my sleep-deprived body tells me it’s had enough, then slow to a walk and steer a path to the seafront railings. They’ve been newly painted, their geometric patterns gleaming with raindrops. I watch one, as it trickles down the painted surface, and wonder how many breaths it will take before it drops onto the ground. Five? Six? If it does it in less, my family will be safe. If more…

  I can’t bear to think of this possibility and start to count. One… two…

  Come on, Kelly. Get a grip. Balling my hand into a fist, I rub the drips away, weariness enveloping me. The girls will be home from school now. Safe at home with Mitch. What’s wrong with me?

  I lean my arms on the rail and look down. Today the sea looks mean, the broiling waves rolling one after the other onto the shore. The tide is on its way in and the beach is empty except for a woman with an Alsatian that’s digging at the glistening shingle with its paws. When I look more closely, I see the woman isn’t on her own. There’s a child with her. I hadn’t noticed him as he was crouched in the shelter of one of the wooden groynes, studying the pebbles. He runs towards the sea in his blue wellingtons, a stone clutched in his fist then, drawing back his arm, he throws the stone as hard as he can. When it doesn’t make the foaming water, he stamps his foot and I can’t help smiling.

  A wave washes over the child’s feet, threatening to send a spray of foam over the top of his boots, but the woman has got there just in time, sweeping him up and carrying him back up the beach, his little arms wrapped tightly around her neck. I’d thought she was his mother, but now she’s turned, I see that she’s too old. Possibly, it’s his grandmother. The child’s face is buried in her neck and I turn away, not wanting to see. Knowing that my own children will never know this special type of love. Noah will never run from the waves and into the safety of his grandmother’s arms and the girls will never get to show her their special things.

  I remember my meltdown when Mitch suggested inviting my family at the weekend. How he’d apologised and said he realised it was thoughtless of him. He knows I won’t talk about them – have never talked about them. My mother doesn’t deserve to feel the weight of my baby in her arms.

  At the thought of the children, I feel a sudden tingling in my breasts and a telltale warmth spreads through my running shirt. Unzipping my sweatshirt, I shove my hand inside and feel the warm, wet dampness where my milk has leaked. Damn. I shouldn’t have stayed out for so long. Pushing myself off from the railings, I start to jog again. If I run all the way, I’ll be home in fifteen minutes.

  Heading back along the esplanade, the rain, that had stopped earlier, starts to fall again. Cursing myself for not having brought a waterproof, I pull up the hood of my sweatshirt and run faster. At least the rain that’s soaking my top will hide the embarrassing damp circles I can feel spreading.

  I stop at the crossing as I did this morning, jogging on the spot and waiting for the lights to change. I’ve counted twenty before the green man appears to tell me I can cross, and I should feel relieved, but I don’t. I’m looking at the Mini that’s first in the queue and however much I want to tear my eyes away from the driver, I can’t. There’s something about her white hair and narrow face. The pale eyes raised to the red light in front of her, waiting for it to change. As I stand mesmerised by the windscreen wipers that sweep arcs across the glass, a sense of inevitability floods through me.

  It’s Freya. I know it.

  5

  Kelly Beforer />
  When Kelly wakes the next morning, she doesn’t jump out of bed as she normally does but keeps her head still on the pillow, her comfort blanket draped over her face and her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

  Please don’t let it have all been a dream.

  She turns the events of the previous evening over in her mind: the vile chocolate cake with its dripping candles, the game from the forbidden shelf that had never been played and the conversation she’d had with her mum on the stairs.

  It must be true. It must.

  And even as she pushes herself up onto her elbow, letting the blanket slide down her face onto the covers, she can tell that the house has already changed. There’s the whine of a hoover in the bedroom across the landing and the rasp of furniture being moved across the polished wooden floor.

  Sunlight’s creeping through the blinds, slanting tiger-stripes across her duvet. She hates these blinds and wishes she had proper curtains like Carly Freeman’s, pink ones with stars.

  Slipping out of bed, she goes to the window and parts the blind with her finger and thumb. She’d tried to open them once, using the white cord that hung down at the side, but instead of the gaps between the slats widening, the whole blind had moved, pulling up at one side. She hadn’t been able to get it down again and knowing no one would be bothered to fix it, had got used to sleeping in pools of light from the street lamp.

  Outside, there’s nothing to be seen except the lane full of potholes, the hedgerow and some telegraph wires, but at least from here she’ll be able to see when her new sister arrives. Kelly’s tummy fizzes with anticipation. Sometime today, a car will pull up outside their house and a woman, or maybe a man, will get out. With them, will be Freya.