We Were Sisters: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller

by Wendy Clarke

  In different ways, they are living the same life.

  It’s like time has turned back. She is eight and Freya is ten. They are both lonely. Sliding her hand across the bed until their little fingers touch, she waits. Neither of them speaks. After what seems like an age, she feels her foster-sister’s fingers wrap around her own and, when they do, Kelly knows, just as she did all those years before, that things are going to be all right.

  28

  Kelly Now

  ‘Mum! Mum! Charlie’s been sick.’ Isabella’s voice carries up the stairs, a mixture of fascination and revulsion. ‘It’s all over the floor and his bed and it’s yucky. That’s not all. Come and see.’

  I quickly pull the tabs of Noah’s disposable nappy across and stick them down. Picking him up from the change mat on the floor, I put him back into his cot and hurry out of the bedroom, not caring that he’s started to cry again.

  ‘Don’t touch anything, Izzy,’ I say, running down the stairs. ‘I’m coming. Where is he?’

  ‘He’s under the table,’ she calls back. ‘Sophie’s with him.’

  When I get to the kitchen, I stop. The smell is atrocious. ‘Come away from there.’

  Next to Charlie’s bed is a pool of vomit and by the back door is a puddle of urine. I must have been so tired that I didn’t hear him bark. On the floor, next to the worktop, are the remains of the box of chocolate truffles I bought for Maddie.

  I feel the blood drain from my head, leaving me light-headed, and I can’t think what to do. Charlie is under the table as Isabella had said. He’s lying on his side, panting loudly and Sophie is next to him, her arm around his belly.

  My phone is on charge on the worktop and I snatch it up, punching in Mitch’s number. He left early, without even saying goodbye and wouldn’t have been into the kitchen.

  ‘Yes?’ He sounds off with me.

  ‘It’s Charlie,’ I say, knowing my voice is rising hysterically. ‘He’s eaten the chocolates I bought for Saturday. He’s been sick. Oh, God. What if he dies?’

  ‘Calm down, Kelly. I can’t hear what you’re saying properly. There’s a frigging bulldozer working right outside the office.’

  From under the table, I hear a whimper and Sophie throws her arms around the dog’s neck. I’ve got to keep myself together for the children’s sake. Taking a deep breath, I repeat what I told him.

  ‘Shit. Have you phoned the vet?’

  ‘No,’ I say, realising how stupid I’ve been. ‘I phoned you straightaway.’

  ‘I’ll get off the phone and you can call them. They’re bound to have some sort of out of hours emergency cover.’

  From under the table, I can hear Sophie crying, the sound muffled by Charlie’s fur. Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with panic – as helpless as a child. ‘I can’t cope with this,’ I say, my voice cracking. ‘Not as well as the baby and the kids.’

  I can hear Mitch moving around the Portakabin. ‘Ring the vet. I’ll come straight home.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Pulling myself together, I make the phone call. The emergency vet asks me some questions: how much chocolate Charlie’s eaten and what his symptoms are. He says he’ll open up the practice, and as soon as Mitch gets home, he can take him in.

  Crouching down, I reach under the table to stroke Charlie’s head. He doesn’t move, just lies looking at me, his dark eyes sad.

  Isabella has left her vigil of the dog’s basket and is tugging at my dressing gown.

  ‘Is Charlie going to die?’

  ‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘Of course he isn’t.’

  ‘But that’s what you said would happen if we left our chocolate out.’

  It’s true. When Isabella had left her chocolate egg on the coffee table last Easter, from the way I’d reacted you’d have thought she’d committed a crime worse than murder.

  ‘I know I did but… well, the vet’s going to make him better.’ I pray that it’s true.

  From under the table, Sophie looks at me with eyes filled with tears. ‘Why did you leave the chocolates out, Mummy?’

  It’s a question I haven’t considered. I remember thinking I must put the box of truffles in the cupboard where we keep the cereal, making a mental note to remember to take them when we left for Maddie’s at the weekend. But thinking it is the only part I remember.

  Upstairs, I can hear Noah crying and my head starts to pound. Instead of going straight to him, I flop down onto one of the kitchen chairs and massage my temples. Did I? Did I put them in the cupboard? I’m usually so careful about things like this. Reminding the children not to leave sweets around in case Charlie spots an opportunity. It’s not like me at all.

  I stare at Charlie in dismay, trying to replay my actions.

  I’d thought I’d put the truffles away, but now, I’m not so sure.

  29

  Kelly Before

  It’s another mild day and Kelly and Freya are sitting on the playing field. They’ve finished reading their horoscopes in the copy of Cosmopolitan Freya bought and are now eating the lunch her mum has made them. Coronation chicken and salad on thick, fluffy bread from the bakery at the end of their road. She knows people are looking, wondering who the strange new girl is, but she doesn’t care. For once she’s not on her own. She has someone to talk to.

  Kelly takes a bite of her sandwich. ‘So how did it go?’

  ‘How did what go?’

  ‘Your first morning.’

  Freya shrugs. ‘It was okay. Why wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘I don’t know. Because you’re new.’ She remembers back to her first day at Millcroft Comprehensive. The sea of faces she couldn’t distinguish between, the confusing corridors, the teachers who all seemed to expect her to know more than she did.

  ‘So I’m new. So what?’

  Kelly unwraps a chocolate bar. ‘I don’t know. I just thought it might be hard. Some of the boys can get a bit stupid around new girls.’

  ‘Acting like pricks, you mean? Yeh, I’ve had a lot of that.’ She sounds amused.

  ‘And you don’t mind?’

  ‘If I don’t like it, I just tell them to piss off.’ Freya leans back on her elbows, stretching her long legs out in front of her. The skirt her mum bought for her is too short, but either she doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Kelly studies her. She’s pulled her fine blonde hair into a tiny tight bun at the back of her head and, in profile, could be a ballerina or Gwyneth Paltrow at the Oscars. Since Kelly last saw her at the age of ten, she’s certainly blossomed from an ugly duckling into a swan. In contrast, Kelly feels babyish and frumpy.

  Over by the football post she can see Ethan and his friends. They’re taking it in turns to see who can keep the football off the ground the longest. He hasn’t spoken to her since the day Mr Seymore called her out to the front of the maths class, and she’s disappointed. Not that she was expecting him to. After all, why would he when she’s in a class two years below him?

  Freya shields her eyes from the sun. ‘What are you looking at?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Kelly lowers her eyes and pulls a daisy from the grass.

  ‘It didn’t look like nothing to me.’ Sitting up, she wraps her arms around her knees and studies Kelly. ‘Your eyes were nearly popping out on stalks. Which one do you like?’

  Kelly feels her cheeks begin to burn. ‘I don’t like any of them.’

  ‘Could have fooled me.’ Freya lies back down and closes her eyes, blocking out the sun. ‘Not that I’d say no to the cute fair one given half a chance. He’s in my English class.’

  Praying that there are other boys with fair hair, Kelly glances over at them. They’ve formed two lines and are taking it in turns to get the ball past the goalkeeper. It’s as she knew it would be: they are all dark-haired except for Ethan and one other boy.

  Her heart sinks and she turns back to Freya. ‘Have you ever… you know?’

  Freya opens one eye. ‘Have I what?’

  Kelly blushes furiously, wishing she hadn’t asked.
<
br />   ‘Are you asking me if I’ve had sex? Gone all the way? Fucked?’ She raises her arms above her head and arches her back. ‘No, but I shall… very soon. I wanted to do it before I was legal, but I never found anyone who I could imagine sticking their dick in me. They were either too ugly or too boring.’

  Kelly’s hand shoots to her mouth. Although Carly and her old friends are always on about boys, she’s never heard any of them talking in the way that Freya just has. She’s appalled, but at the same time, doesn’t want her to stop.

  ‘What about you?’ Freya folds her slim arms across her eyes. ‘Got a boyfriend?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Want one?’

  ‘Not really.’ She hopes Freya can’t see she’s lying.

  ‘That’s the way to be. They’ll only leave when they can’t take the heat. My dad left my mum. Did you know that?’

  It’s the first real piece of information Freya’s told Kelly since she told her her secret. ‘No.’

  ‘Well, he did. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about him. He’s a piece of shit. What’s your dad like? I don’t remember much about him from when I was here before, but he seems okay.’

  ‘He’s not there much. He works all the time and I hardly see him.’ She realises she’s not mentioned the word love. It’s hard to love someone who hardly looks at you.

  ‘Well, last night, after he got home, he helped me with my maths homework, so he can’t be that bad.’

  A kernel of jealousy lodges in Kelly’s stomach. ‘He did?’

  ‘Yeh. I came down after you were in bed and he was in the kitchen. He looked… I don’t know… bored and fed up. I asked him if he’d help with my homework and he seemed pleased.’

  ‘Where was my mum?’

  ‘She’d gone to bed with a headache.’

  A bell rings from somewhere inside the school. All around them, people are getting up, dusting grass off their clothes and lifting bags onto their shoulders. No one hurries. Everyone would rather be out here in the sunshine.

  ‘What have you got next?’ Kelly puts her lunch box in her bag and zips it up.

  ‘Maths, I think.’

  Kelly pulls a face. ‘Good luck. Mr Seymore’s a bastard.’

  ‘A bastard?’ Freya’s eyes widen, the mascara she’s put on her lashes making them seem even paler than usual. Like glass. ‘Sounds interesting.’

  ‘It’s really not. You’ll be in there.’ She points to one of the prefab huts at the edge of the field.

  ‘Thanks.’ Picking up her bag, Freya walks away, her long legs in the short skirt making heads turn. The boys might like it, but Kelly knows the girls won’t. She’s already overheard some of their bitchy comments.

  Her next lesson is in the main building and she joins the queue of others waiting to go in the main doors. As she waits, she looks to see if Freya has gone to the right hut. Mr Seymore is leaning against the open classroom door, his back against the frosted glass windows. At first, she thinks he has a cigarette in his hand, but it’s only a board marker. With his black shirt and tie he looks more like a bouncer in a nightclub than a maths teacher.

  Freya’s got to the hut now and Kelly wonders if she’ll be the next one to do the walk of shame. Being new won’t make her an exception. She’s walking past Mr Seymore now and he stops her. All around her, girls and boys are pushing their way inside, but Kelly wants to watch. Will he give Freya that supercilious look of his? Will he lay down the law before she even gets inside?

  She waits with bated breath but none of these things happen. Instead, Mr Seymore says something to her and she hears Freya laugh in reply. He says something else and then they turn and go into the hut. The door closes behind them.

  ‘Decided not to bother with afternoon lessons then?’

  Kelly turns to see Ethan and her heart skips a beat. He’s waiting to get by. ‘Oh, no, sorry. I was miles away.’

  ‘Looks like it. I meant to tell you, I’m thinking of joining the athletics club. I’ve always liked running and fancy giving it a go. What days do you train?’

  Her heart gives another jolt and she feels her mouth dry, but it’s not the time to get tongue-tied. ‘It’s Tuesdays and Thursdays. Five until seven. Once the evenings get darker, we train at weekends instead.’

  ‘Will you be there tomorrow?’

  She tries to keep her voice neutral when what she really wants to do is shout Yes! Yes! Of course I’ll be there! Instead, she says, ‘I expect so.’

  ‘Great. Maybe see you there then.’

  She moves aside to let him go by, then leans against the wall, wondering if it’s possible to expire with happiness.

  30

  Kelly Now

  ‘How’s Charlie today?’ Mrs Allen asks as I go into the classroom to collect Sophie. For the last few days my daughter has refused to line up with the others and I’m relieved that Mrs Allen isn’t forcing her to.

  ‘He’s much better, thank you. He came home yesterday.’

  I still feel sick at the thought that we might have lost him. The vet had kept him in for monitoring and fluid therapy and thankfully he’d recovered well.

  ‘What about Sophie? Has she been any better?’ The girls are in the reading corner and I see that, as usual, it’s Isabella who is choosing what books Sophie will read.

  Mrs Allen leans against her desk. ‘Sophie’s better when our classroom assistant, Miss King, is here. She’s new to the school but is utterly brilliant and Sophie adores her.’

  I have a momentary pang of jealousy at the possibility that Sophie might like someone as much as me but force it away. ‘I’m pleased.’

  ‘She sits with your daughter and encourages her to engage,’ Mrs Allen continues. ‘She’s a bright little girl and is doing some good work. We’re working on the alphabet and high frequency words and she recognises most of the ones we’ve covered so far.’

  My spirits lift a little. ‘And is she speaking yet?’

  A picture comes into my head of Freya, standing on our doorstep the day she arrived. Pale and silent. I don’t want my daughter to be like this.

  Mrs Allen shakes her head. ‘Only to Isabella or Miss King. We try to encourage her to join in during show and tell time, but she prefers to just listen. The other thing is, this past week, Isabella’s been complaining that she can’t hear me properly. It could be why she gets a little distracted. I’ve moved her to a table closer to the front, but it might be worth getting the doctor to have her hearing checked.’

  I press a finger to the skin of my forehead between my eyes, willing myself to concentrate on what she’s saying, but it’s near impossible. Mitch and I have been tiptoeing around each other, finding reasons not to be in the same room, and I can’t remember the last time I had an unbroken night’s sleep. But that’s not the real reason my nerves are jangling. Whatever I’m doing, wherever I am, I can’t stop thinking about the unsettling things that have been happening recently… or push away the feeling that something worse will follow.

  ‘Are you feeling all right, Mrs Thirsk?’ Mrs Allen’s voice is concerned.

  ‘Yes. Sorry.’ I stand straighter in the hope that it will make me feel better. ‘I’m just tired, that’s all. Noah still wakes a lot at night and Sophie’s taken to coming into our bed.’

  I’d hoped it would be a one-off, but ever since she started school, Mitch and I have woken to find Sophie sandwiched between us, her thumb in her mouth and her skin clammy. At first, I wondered if she was coming down with something, but now I realise she’s just scared. Scared of the noisy classroom, scared of the playground with its play equipment, scared of being away from me.

  ‘So what do you think,’ Mrs Allen continues, ‘about taking Isabella to have her hearing checked?’

  For a minute I’d lost track of what we were talking about. ‘Oh, yes. Of course. If you think it might be affecting her work.’

  I look over at Sophie who’s sitting in the reading corner, a picture book on her lap. Despite what Mrs Allen’s said about Isabe
lla’s hearing, it’s still her I worry about. It can’t be right for a child to look so anxious all the time.

  ‘Do you think I should be concerned about Sophie?’

  ‘It’s early days. I didn’t mean to worry you. Sophie, do you want to show Mummy the picture you drew today? I put it in your book bag.’

  I pick up the blue bag from the table and am about to open it when I see Sophie shake her head. She’s never liked sharing things in public.

  ‘You can see mine.’ Isabella thrusts a rather creased picture into my hand. ‘It’s a spider eating a zombie. It’s better than Sophie’s boring one.’

  I hold out Isabella’s coat to her. ‘I shall be the judge of that. Now come on both of you. I’m sure Mrs Allen has better things to do than talk to us.’

  ‘Not at all.’ She pushes herself off the desk. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, girls. Oh, and there’s just one other thing, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but it’s something the head wants parents to be aware of. The notice is in the girls’ book bags.’

  ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘It’s about Stranger Danger. The local community officer has been in this morning to advise us that there have been reports of someone acting suspiciously around one of the local schools in the Whitehawk area. He wants parents and teachers to be extra vigilant and talk to their children about not talking to strangers.’

  My hand flies to my mouth. ‘Oh, my goodness. Is it a man or a woman?’

  ‘They’re not sure. A van’s been spotted a few times, parked in the same place near St Joseph’s Primary. It doesn’t appear to belong to one of the parents. No one thought to take the number, but now the police are aware, it shouldn’t be long before they find out who owns it. We just need to be observant until that happens.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll read the notice and talk to the children. They know not to speak to anyone they don’t know, but it doesn’t hurt to tell them again.’