We Were Sisters: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller

by Wendy Clarke

  The woman steps forward and holds out her hand to her mum. Her smile’s apologetic. ‘I’m sorry it’s such short notice. Sometimes these things are tricky under a Section Twenty.’

  ‘There’s no need to apologise.’ Her mum takes her extended hand between her own plump ones. ‘I understand. Really, it’s no problem.’

  The woman looks down at the girl. ‘Freya, this is Karen. And you must be Kelly.’

  Kelly says nothing. She doesn’t like the woman in her trouser suit and shiny black shoes. Has never liked any of them. They smile and ask her questions they already know the answers to, but even as they write the things she’s said in their notebooks, she knows it’s not really her they’re interested in. But that’s not the worst of it. What she hates most, now this woman is here, is that everyone will start acting differently. Even her.

  The girl doesn’t move. Just stares at Kelly with an ice-cool gaze before covering her eyes with her arms. Kelly can’t drag her own eyes away from the blue veins beneath the skin of her forearms. Pale skin. Pale eyes. Pale hair. She’s never seen anyone so colourless. Even her T-shirt is pale pink.

  ‘Don’t stare, Kelly. Say hello.’ Her mum’s fingers are digging into her shoulder.

  ‘Hello.’

  The girl doesn’t answer, just stands where she is beside the lady, her jeans hanging from her thin frame. Her white arms raised like a shield.

  ‘It will take time.’ The woman turns away from Freya and lowers her voice. ‘It’s been a difficult time, but I’m sure it won’t take long for her to settle in. And with your experience…’

  ‘Of course.’

  Kelly stands in her white blouse and too-tight tartan skirt watching her mum’s face soften in a way it never does when she looks at her. A deep well of despair opens up as her mother kneels in front of the girl and places tender hands on either side of her arms.

  ‘Take your time, Freya. There’s no hurry. One day at a time, eh?’

  Still the girl says nothing.

  Kelly is wracked with disappointment. This is not how it was meant to be. She wants to take Freya by the hand and show her Ben… the games cupboard… the garden. Most of all, she wants to show her the photographs of all the children who’ve come before her and tell her that she knows she will be different. But she doesn’t. Instead, she waits for a signal from the girl. A smile. Anything.

  When none comes, she ignores her mum’s scornful look and leaves them to it, going into the living room where Ben is waiting. Lying next to him, she drapes an arm across his warm body and pushes her face into his fur, not caring that her mum will think it’s disgusting. As she flips his ear around her finger, she feels his heart beating against her chest. Soon they will all come inside and Mummy will offer the lady tea in a delicate cup decorated with pink roses, its rim and handle edged in gold. She learnt a long time ago that a new sibling and their social worker deserve nothing less than the best china. They’ll sit at the polished table and, instead of the chocolate birthday cake, there will be forms passed between them.

  ‘I suppose you’ve told her.’ They are in the hall now and Kelly can hear their voices clearly.

  ‘Of course.’

  It can’t be Kelly they’re talking about. They never tell her anything.

  ‘Because it’s always best to familiarise.’ It’s the lady’s voice again.

  ‘Please don’t worry,’ her mum says. ‘We have it all in hand.’

  They don’t come into the living room as she’d thought they would but stay in the hallway. She hates how Freya didn’t even look at her, even though she’s going to be her sister. It’s Kelly who’ll be looking out for Freya in the school playground, the one who’ll be sharing the books from the shelf above her bed and showing her the secret hiding places she has in the garden. Doesn’t she know that?

  When the door opens, Kelly thinks it will be her mum and the lady with the briefcase, but it isn’t. It’s Freya. Dropping Ben’s ear, she sits up and folds her arms around her knees. She expects the girl to say something, but she doesn’t, just stands inside the room, her arms wrapped around her body, her pale blue gaze fixed on her.

  Kelly stands up, unsure of whether to go to her or not. There’s something about the girl’s paleness that both attracts and repels her. She wants to ask so many things. Why are you here? Where are your mum and dad? What have you done? Are you scared? But she doesn’t ask any of these things as her mum has made it clear that if she asks too many questions when a new child arrives, she’ll scare them off. Instead, she takes in the twig-like fingers that clutch the sides of her pale pink T-shirt and the jeans that are too big for her and way too hot for the time of year. She’s never known anything about the children who have joined their family.

  The voices in the hall murmur on. Mostly, she can’t hear what they’re saying, as they’ve deliberately lowered their voices, but occasionally some of the conversation drifts through.

  ‘You have the number,’ she hears the woman say. ‘Ring any time if there’s a problem. Though I’m sure there won’t be. Despite the obvious, Freya appears to have adjusted well.’

  Although Freya’s eyes don’t leave Kelly’s, her head turns fractionally towards the door and the grip on her T-shirt whitens her knuckles. What’s she thinking?

  ‘Considering…’ From the way her mum says it, it’s like she and the lady are sharing a secret.

  ‘Yes, of course. Considering.’

  The voices dip again and Freya’s fingers release their hold on the T-shirt. Her eyes are shining and Kelly wonders if she’s going to cry. She hopes not. Feeling sorry for her, she takes a step towards her and then another, fearful of what this strange, pale girl will do when she reaches her. Ben is behind her and she’s thankful, the thought of his soft brown eyes and the warm bulk of his golden-furred body giving her courage. Kelly covers the rest of the distance quickly and then they are face-to-face.

  Close up, the girl’s eyes are even more unusual, watery-pale like the eyes of a ghost. Kelly blinks and swallows. Now she’s in front of the girl, her courage has run out and she doesn’t know what to do. But while she stands in a fug of indecision, something happens. Something that shifts the balance. For she feels Freya’s hand creep into hers, her thin fingers curling around her own.

  Kelly looks down at their linked hands. ‘Do you want to play?’ she asks uncertainly.

  When she sees Freya nod, the movement so tiny she nearly misses it, she thinks her heart will burst.

  8

  June 7th

  You don’t know me and I know I probably shouldn’t be doing this, but I want you to know that I understand how you must be feeling. The pain of losing a child must be the same pain a child feels when they lose their mother. I want to tell you about the girls. In some strange way, I’m hoping that by getting in contact, it might make the loss more bearable – that it might make up for everything. I’ve included photos of them when they were much younger so you can see how beautiful they were. I think you’ll agree, they’re very different.

  All the best

  9

  Kelly Now

  Freya is taking me by the hand, leading me through the woods. It’s cold and dark and she’s wearing just a thin nightdress while I am dressed in my navy anorak with the fur trim around the hood. Aren’t you cold? I ask, but she just laughs. How can I be cold when I’m dead? I ask where we’re going but she doesn’t answer and I realise she doesn’t need to, as I know already. I don’t want to go there, but she’s pulling harder, tugging at my hand to make me go faster. I see my father through the trees. He’s wearing his work suit. Please don’t make me go! I scream, but he just shakes his head sadly.

  I think I’m still screaming as I wake, but as I force my eyes to open, I realise I’m not. Mitch is there beside me in the bed, snoring gently. Other than that, the room is quiet. I lie on my back, sweat cooling on my face and chest, trying to calm my racing heart. It was only a dream, I tell myself. Dreams can’t hurt you.

  On
the other side of the room is Noah’s cot. Mitch had wanted to move him into his own room, but I’d put my foot down. The health visitor has said we should keep him with us for at least the first six months and, as far as I’m concerned, her word is law. We did the same thing with the girls. Even though it was hard.

  As I lie awake, I can hear his little sighs and mewls. Sounds I’ve come to recognise as the prelude to him waking. Closing my eyes tightly, I breathe from my diaphragm, counting back from a hundred. If I manage to get to twenty before he cries, he’ll go back to sleep straight after his feed. Tonight, though, it’s not working. Instead of feeling calmer, by the time I’ve reached my goal, my anxiety has escalated as thoughts crowd into my head: What if he won’t feed properly like last night? What if he won’t stop crying? What if, God forbid, I drop him? Thoughts I’d never had with the twins even though they were my first. Maybe it was because, with two, I never had time to think, let alone worry.

  As the mewls become cries, I feel the tears gather. Looking at the clock, I see it’s only three fifteen. Just two hours since Noah’s last feed. The cries are getting louder, more insistent, and I put my hands over my ears, wishing for one treacherous moment that everything could go back to how it was before I had him. A time when it was just me, Mitch and the girls and I still thought I was a good mother.

  Mitch turns to me sleepily. He pushes himself up onto one elbow and looks over at the cot.

  ‘Kelly, are you awake? He’ll disturb the twins.’

  I want to pretend that I’m not, bury my head in the pillow and go back to sleep, but it will only be putting off the inevitable.

  ‘Just give me a minute.’

  I continue my count then, when I’ve reached twenty, I push the duvet back and slide out of bed, my lack of sleep making me stumble like a drunk across the carpet. Between the wooden bars of the cot, I can see Noah’s little fists waving in the air. I know that when I bend to pick him up, his face will be red and scrunched. Reaching down, I pick him out of his cover, feeling his tiny body stiffen as I lift him onto my shoulder.

  ‘Hush,’ I say, as I place my hand against the back of his head, holding him close and rocking him from side to side. ‘You can’t still be hungry.’

  But already, he’s searching for my breast through the nightdress, soaking the jersey material with his tears. Taking him back to the bed, I prop up the pillow and pray that he’ll feed properly and not fight me. I’m lucky this time. As I feel the pull of his lips, it’s a struggle to stay awake. I’m scared I might fall asleep and roll on him, but that’s not the only reason I force my eyes to stay open.

  I’m afraid of what else I might find in my dreams.

  10

  Kelly Before

  The lady is leaving. From their hiding place, in the cool darkness of the laurel hedge in the back garden, Kelly hears the slam of the door and the sound of a car’s engine.

  Parting the leaves, Kelly peers out, wondering why the woman didn’t come out to say goodbye. It seems strange. She looks behind her at Freya. She’s sitting cross-legged in the leafy shadows, her head bowed. Her lap is covered with the detritus you find in such a shadowed spot: leaf mulch, twigs and dry earth.

  ‘Mummy won’t like it if you get dirty,’ Kelly says.

  The girl only stares back, her arms slack at her sides. Beside her, Ben dozes, letting out little whimpers every now and again as he chases rabbits in his dream.

  Kelly sits down again. ‘I’ve got some of my birthday cake. Do you want a piece?’ Reaching behind her, she feels beneath the shrubbery for the Tupperware and pulls off the plastic lid. She holds it out to Freya. Freya takes a piece and Ben, a sixth sense telling him food is near, opens his eyes.

  When Freya offers it to him, Kelly bats it out of her hand, horrified. ‘Are you stupid? Dogs aren’t allowed to eat chocolate. They could die!’ She scrabbles to pick up the pieces from the ground before Ben can reach it.

  The girl flinches and Kelly’s immediately sorry she shouted. She’s probably never had a dog. Putting the lid on the box, she tries to make her voice friendly. ‘Now you know, you won’t do it again.’

  It’s nice out here, just the two of them, but Kelly knows that soon her mum will come out and ruin it as she always does. She’ll call to them and she and Freya will have to crawl out of their hiding place. The smile her mum will put on won’t quite reach her eyes and she’ll take Freya’s hand and pull her away from her, fussing over her and asking annoying questions.

  But for the moment, Kelly has Freya to herself. She still hasn’t said anything but has followed her meekly around as she’s shown her things. Squatting next to her to look at the millipedes in the woodpile, eating the early blackberry Kelly handed her from the bramble that’s made its way over the top of their fence and turning Kelly’s shell collection over in her hand. Showing Freya her special things makes her feel warm inside.

  ‘I’m happy you came,’ she says, watching the pattern of leaves flicker across Freya’s face. ‘I really, truly am.’

  ‘Kelly? Freya? Where are you?’ Her mum’s at the French windows and the mood is shattered. ‘Come inside. I want to show Freya her room.’

  Kelly turns to Freya. ‘Do you want to go?’

  Freya is holding a snail in the palm of her hand, tracing the spirals with her finger. She looks up at Kelly, her eyes squinting as the leaves move in the breeze and a camera-flash of sunlight breaks through the gloom. Slowly, she shakes her white head.

  Gratified, Kelly turns and peers through the leaves once more, seeing her mum step back into the house. But it isn’t long before her fear of displeasing her mum overrides her desire to keep Freya to herself a little longer.

  She backs out of her hiding place into the sunlight. ‘Come on.’

  At first, Kelly’s scared Freya won’t come out, but then there’s a rustle of leaves and she appears, the snail still cupped in her hand. She drops it onto one of the squares of crazy paving that winds its way down to the end of the garden, then hovers her trainer over it.

  Kelly stares, appalled and fascinated in equal measures. Surely, she’s not going to step on it? With her eyes fixed on Kelly’s, Freya lowers her foot a centimetre until it makes contact with the delicate shell. It’s as if she’s waiting for her to give her permission.

  Kelly’s stomach does a flip. Miss Dunlop has taught them to respect all living things and the snail is as much a living thing as Ben. As if reading her thoughts, Ben pushes his nose into her hand. It’s cold and wet. She worries at the edge of her white blouse with her free hand, rolling it between her fingers, exposing a narrow strip of squashed flesh above the too-tight skirt. Freya is still looking at her, the eyes, with their pale, unblinking lashes, watching her with interest. Before she can stop herself, Kelly nods and Freya’s foot comes down with a nauseating crunch.

  Kelly steps back, her hand across her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. She doesn’t look when Freya lifts her foot, but the image is in her head, nonetheless. The soft, viscous body of the creature smeared on the paving, mixed with fragments of its broken shell. Water rushes into her mouth and she thinks she might be sick, but Freya has stepped off the path and is standing next to her on the grass. For the second time since she arrived, Kelly feels Freya’s hand creep into hers. It’s as if the untimely death of the snail has been an offering, a present to cement their friendship.

  Hand in hand, they walk towards the open French windows, their arms swinging. When finally, Kelly looks behind at the shining jelly-like mass on the concrete, she feels like she’s passed a test.

  11

  Kelly Now

  ‘Where are we going?’

  Lifting Noah from his car seat, I hold him under the arms and dangle his legs over the holes in the baby sling that Mitch is holding out.

  ‘Want me to have him?’ he asks.

  ‘No. I’ll have to get used to it sometime.’ Holding Noah firmly to my chest, I slip one arm and then the other through the straps and then wait while Mitch snaps the c
lasp closed round the back. I close my eyes and sway a little, drunk with tiredness after my sleepless night.

  The additional weight at my front reminds me of my pregnancy. One that was full of problems: morning sickness that lasted into the fifth month, a couple of scares with my blood pressure and sacroiliac pain that sent shooting pains down my hip.

  ‘Okay?’

  I nod, taking some of Noah’s weight with my hand under his striped canvas bottom.

  Mitch releases the girls from their seats, and they climb out, Sophie immediately comes to my side and tucks her hand inside my free one. The thumb of her other slips into her mouth. Since starting school, she’s been quieter than ever. I make a mental note to go and see Mrs Allen on Monday.

  ‘Take it out, Soph. You’re a big girl now. You don’t need to suck your thumb.’ Even as I say it, I realise the hypocrisy of my words. Remembering when the warmth and softness of my old blanket was the only comfort I had in that house devoid of love.

  During the drive here, I hadn’t taken much notice of where we were going, too busy checking off the things we may have left behind: the baby wipes, nappy sacks, extra drinks for the children. So many things to remember. So much responsibility. At least we haven’t brought Charlie with us – it’s enough having the children to worry about. I’ll make sure Mitch gives him an extra walk later.

  ‘I’ve got the picnic bag,’ Mitch says. ‘I had a look online and up there is the perfect spot for a picnic. There’s plenty of shade and a view to die for. There’s even a pub in the village if we fancy it later. What more could you ask for on a day out?’