We Were Sisters: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller

by Wendy Clarke

  I might not have been scared then, but I am now. Things are happening which I can’t explain, and Freya is no longer a child but an adult. One with a grudge.

  I’m just wondering what I should do, when the sun moves from behind the cloud, flooding the living room with light. I hear voices from the girls’ room, a burst of laughter, and my shoulders relax a little. I’ve got to keep a grasp on reality. Isabella will be telling Sophie about the trick she’s played on me. How she’d tiptoed into my room, pulled up a chair and wound up Noah’s mobile. Pretending to be asleep when I looked in on them. I’m just jittery from my disturbed night and my worry over Mitch. I’ve got to stop overreacting.

  Leaning an arm over the banister, I call up the stairs. ‘Isabella. Sophie. Time to get up.’

  When I hear the thump that means they’ve got out of bed, I go back into the kitchen to make their breakfast. By the time they come downstairs, their hair messed and their cheeks pink with sleep, I’ve almost persuaded myself that the things that happened in the last few hours are the products of an imagination running overtime.

  I’m just pouring milk onto the girls’ cereal, when my phone rings. If I’d expected it to be Mitch, I’m disappointed. It’s a number I don’t recognise. The ringing stops, then starts again. I stare at it, too scared to answer. What if it’s my mother calling me? Before I’d left her house, I’d given her my number, telling her she must call me if Freya tried to get back in contact. But after this morning, I’ve decided that if anything’s happened, I don’t want to know.

  ‘Who is it?’ Isabella asks, milk dripping from her spoon.

  ‘Nobody. Just a wrong number.’

  Trying to put everything that’s happened in the last few hours to the back of my mind, I let the girls finish their breakfast, then take them upstairs to get dressed. As I pass my bedroom, I see Mitch’s dressing gown slung on the back of the chair. I swallow down the lump that’s formed in my throat. I’ve got to carry on as normal for the children. I close the door, thankful that his early starts at the building site mean they’re used to not seeing him in the mornings.

  We’re just leaving the house when my phone vibrates in my pocket to let me know I have a message. I’m scared it’s going to be from the unknown number, but it’s not. It’s a reminder to take Isabella for her ear appointment at the hospital. With a jolt, I realise I’d forgotten.

  I bump the pushchair down the step and close the front door. When I turn back, I see someone standing at the gate. It’s Mitch, and at the sight of him, a wave of mixed emotions floods through me: relief, love and anger at having put me through a night of worry. He looks tired and dishevelled, his clothes rumpled, and as the children run to him, I study his face for traces of guilt.

  The girls fling their arms around his legs, asking why he’s come home, but I hold back, waiting for him to speak. To apologise. But instead, he runs his hand over his head.

  ‘Was it you who phoned Maddie?’ he asks bluntly.

  My face flushes with embarrassment as I remember my 3 a.m. call to her house phone. I want to deny it, but I’ve paused too long. It’s all he needs to know it was me.

  ‘I didn’t know where you were.’

  ‘So you presumed I was at Maddie’s, even though I’d already told you there’s nothing between us. Never has been. When she rang this morning to see if Sophie was all right after last night, she told me about the phone call. I guessed it was you.’ He shoves his hands into his pockets. ‘Why couldn’t you have trusted me?’

  ‘Because you didn’t come home, Mitch. I was worried sick. Where were you?’ There’s a heartbeat’s pause and I see him struggling with himself. I feel sick. My voice drops to a whisper. ‘It wasn’t Maddie, but you were with someone, weren’t you? Christ, you smell of drink.’

  Mitch looks meaningfully at the twins who are staring at us. ‘This isn’t the place to talk about it, Kelly.’

  ‘Then where is?’ I can’t help the sarcasm creeping into my voice.

  Mitch blanches. ‘Don’t be like that. I was with someone, but you’ve got the wrong idea. I was drunk and angry and there was this girl in the pub with her mates. She saw I was a bit down and asked what was wrong. She was interested in me, Kel – not some goddamn person from her past.’

  ‘Go on.’ With sickening certainty, I know where this is leading.

  ‘We had a couple more drinks, and I’m not proud to admit it, but there was a moment when I was tempted by her offer to go back to her flat.’

  His words are a blow to my heart. ‘You were tempted?’

  ‘Look. I didn’t go, all right? When it came to it, I couldn’t do it. I knew what it would do to you and the kids. It’s you I want to be with, Kelly, but at the moment, you make it so bloody hard.’ He rubs the small of his back. ‘I slept in the site office and I think I’ve done my back in lying on those chairs. So you see, Kel, it wasn’t what you were thinking.’

  I don’t want to hear any more. My heart is already breaking into a million pieces. ‘You don’t know what I’m thinking, Mitch. You never do, because you never ask.’

  I push past him, the wheels of Noah’s pushchair scraping against the gatepost in my haste to get away. ‘Come on, girls, we’re going to be late.’

  ‘Wait, Kelly. Let’s at least talk about it.’

  Ignoring him, I carry on walking. There’s nothing he can say that I want to hear.

  53

  Kelly Now

  I don’t look behind me but walk as quickly as I can, staring straight ahead to stop the tears from falling. A numbness has crept over me and I don’t want it to go. Scared of what I will feel if it does.

  Isabella’s running alongside the buggy, complaining that her legs are aching, but Sophie has her hand on the white pram handle, as she always does. As she walks, she’s reciting something under her breath. A rhyme, I think. I don’t take much notice at first, too caught up in my own thoughts, but then the words filter into my consciousness.

  I don’t realise I’ve stopped walking until Isabella pulls on my sleeve. ‘Why have we stopped?’

  I collect myself, inhaling deeply, then bend down to Sophie. ‘Where did you learn that rhyme, Sophie?’

  She looks up at me, startled. Wondering if she’s done something wrong.

  ‘I know it too,’ Isabella shouts, not wanting to be left out. ‘Here’s a tree in summer. Here’s a tree in winter. Here’s a bunch of flowers. Here’s—’

  I turn on her. ‘Shut up!’

  Isabella stops, shocked, and tears form in her eyes. Immediately, I hug her to me. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. It’s just that I need to know where you’ve heard that rhyme.’

  She looks up at me, her eyelashes wet with tears. ‘Sophie taught it to me, and Miss King taught it to her.’

  ‘Miss King?’ I turn to Sophie. ‘Wasn’t it Mrs Allen you were with when you lost Daddy last night?’

  Isabella answers for her. ‘No, it was stupid Miss King.’

  ‘Is that true, Soph? Did you leave Daddy to talk to her?’

  Sophie nods miserably. ‘She waved to me and I went to see her. You told us not to talk to strangers, but she’s not a stranger. She’s my teacher.’

  It’s with me again, the feeling of unease. ‘It’s all right, darling, I’m not cross, but I’d like to meet Miss King.’

  Her face lights up. ‘She helps me in the classroom. I like her.’

  ‘I know you do, sweetie. Mrs Allen told me. But I’ve never met her. Maybe I’ll pop in and have a chat with her when I drop you off. Find out how she thinks you’re doing.’

  Sophie nods her head vigorously. ‘She’s the best teacher in the school.’

  Isabella looks at her in disgust. ‘That’s because you’re a teacher’s pet.’

  ‘That’s enough, Izzy.’ We’re nearing the school now and I’m thankful that we don’t live too far away. There are usually cars parked outside in the street, but most of these are gone. We must be really late. Running the last of the wa
y, we cross the playground and reach the classroom, breathless.

  I push open the door and see that the children are all mostly in their seats. Leaving Noah directly under the window where I can see him, I usher the children in.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Allen. It isn’t the girls’ fault we’re late. We’ve had a few problems at home.’

  Mrs Allen puts down the register and gives me a sympathetic smile. ‘Please don’t worry, Mrs Thirsk. These things happen. Is it anything I can help you with?’

  ‘Not really, but I’d like to have a word with Miss King, if that’s possible.’

  She shakes her head. ‘I’m afraid not. She’s part-time and isn’t in this morning. Is there something you’d like to ask me instead? Is it about Sophie?’

  I feel a mixture of frustration and relief. ‘No, don’t worry. I can talk to her another time.’

  ‘She’s in this afternoon. You could come a little earlier and see her when you pick up Isabella later.’ She flicks through her desk diary. ‘I’ve got it down that you’ll be picking her up at two. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Marvellous. I’ll make sure she’s ready.’

  Blowing a kiss to the girls, I close the classroom door and go back to Noah. Before we leave, I check my phone. There are several missed calls from the number I saw earlier. I stand in the playground and stare at the screen, wondering whether I should ring back or not. Then, as if possessed, my finger presses the number.

  My instincts were right. My mother answers straightaway and immediately she speaks, I can tell she’s not well. She sounds strange. Breathless.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  I hear her forcing the breath into her lungs. ‘I don’t know. I’m finding it hard to breathe.’

  ‘How long have you been like this?’

  ‘Since last night.’

  I look around me, wondering what I should do. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I’m at the school. Have you phoned the doctor?’

  ‘I don’t want to waste the doctor’s time,’ she gasps.

  I press the phone to my ear, feeling the plastic case dig into my skin. Why has she rung me? Surely there’s someone else she could have contacted. Friends. Neighbours. With a jolt, I remember Mrs Ringrose and her papery skin. The smell of roses. I don’t even know if she’s still alive.

  My mother’s coughing and I feel a pang of guilt. I make a snap decision.

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  I end the call and text Mitch.

  Please can you take Izzy to her appointment? My mother’s not well and I think I should go and check on her.

  The reply comes back quickly.

  Of course.

  I put my phone away and wheel Noah through the empty playground. I’ll go to my mother’s house, but it’s not just because I need to know she’s okay. It’s because I know now what it is that’s been bothering me. Something I should have asked her before.

  54

  Kelly Now

  The door opens on my first knock. My mother’s standing in the hall. She has her outdoor coat on, and the buttons are straining over her stomach.

  ‘What are you doing here? You’re lucky to catch me as I’ve only just got in. Still, I suppose it’s good of you to come. You haven’t brought the baby today then?’

  I shake my head. I’m not going to tell her how difficult it was for me to leave him. ‘No, he’s with my neighbour. I wasn’t sure what I was going to find when I got here.’

  She looks puzzled. ‘What you were going to find?’

  Stepping into the hallway, I close the door behind me. ‘You’re obviously feeling better, but I wish you’d let me know. It would have saved me a journey.’

  My mother takes her coat off. She hangs it in the hall cupboard, then stands with her swollen hands on her hips.

  ‘What was it you said you wanted?’

  I feel my nails digging into my palms. ‘It was you, Mum. You called me. You said you weren’t well so, idiot that I am, I came to check on you. Though you look pretty okay to me.’

  ‘Well, you’re here now. I suppose you’ll be expecting me to make you lunch or something.’

  ‘I don’t want lunch, Mum. I want to know what’s going on. Why did you call me this morning if there’s nothing wrong?’

  My mother sighs. ‘I didn’t call you, Kelly.’

  ‘You did.’ Clicking the green phone symbol on my mobile, I find my recent calls and shove the phone under her nose. ‘See, there it is.’

  She takes the phone and looks at it. ‘What time was this sent? I can’t see without my reading glasses.’

  ‘Earlier this morning and then again just after nine.’

  She hands me back the phone. ‘That would have been when I was having my bath and then, as I told you, I’ve been out.’

  ‘And your phone. Where would that have been?’

  ‘In my bag, I suppose.’ Her brows draw together. ‘Oh, no, I remember now. I left it downstairs to charge. Why are you asking me all these questions?’

  ‘Because if it wasn’t you who phoned me, it was someone else.’

  My mother walks over to the window and looks out. ‘That’s not possible.’

  But I’m becoming more certain that it is. The thing that’s been worrying me – I have to ask her about it.

  ‘That day you found Freya sitting in your living room. How did she get in?’

  She turns to look at me. ‘I don’t know. I never thought to ask her.’

  ‘Christ, Mum. Someone breaks into your house and you don’t think to ask them how they did it?’

  ‘She didn’t break in. There was no forced entry.’

  ‘Then how—?’ But I know the answer already. So many times, when Freya and I were teenagers and my mother was knocked out on sleeping tablets, we’d have to let ourselves in using the spare key. ‘Where do you keep it, Mum? The spare key. Is it still in the shed?’

  ‘There was never any need to move it. It’s useful if I go out and forget my handbag.’

  ‘Freya knew where that key was. She’d used it enough times to let herself in after she climbed out of the window at night. But of course, you wouldn’t have known that, would you? You were too busy thinking of her as the perfect daughter. Except, you forget, she wasn’t your daughter, was she, Mum? I was.’

  Mum’s phone is on the side. A white charging cable lies beside it, one end plugged into the socket. The other end is no longer in the phone. ‘It was Freya who rang me this morning. She let herself in, then made out she was you.’ I remember the coughs and the rasping breathy voice she’d used to disguise her own. ‘She wanted me to come here… but why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ My mother moves away from the window. It’s the first time I’ve seen her look troubled. ‘There is something, though. It’s upstairs in the meadow room.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’

  She blinks. ‘It’s easier if I show you.’

  Gesturing me to follow her, she leads me to the staircase. It’s years since I’ve climbed these stairs and I’m not sure I want to. But I have to know. Maybe it will be a clue to where Freya is and what she’s doing.

  My mother pushes open the door to the room that used to belong to my foster-siblings. It looks the same as it did the last time I saw it, as though Freya has just popped out. It’s as if my mother’s kept it as a shrine and I shiver.

  ‘It’s this.’ My mum points to the window. ‘I came in to look for something and I noticed it.’

  I look where my mum is pointing. Just like our windows at home, the glass is dappled with condensation and, in the middle of it, someone has drawn what looks like a letter M. ‘You think Freya did this?’

  She looks down at her hands. ‘I think she might have.’

  ‘But why a letter M?’ I look at it again. On the right-hand side of the letter, an extra loop curls in on itself. I’ve seen this somewhere before, and as I remember where, the small hairs on my arms rise.

  ‘I know wh
at this is, Mum. It’s the astrological sign for Virgo.’

  She moves closer to see. ‘Why would she draw that on the window?’

  ‘Because she wanted me to see it. She drew something like it in my house and she knows I’ll know what it is.’ My fingers reach out to touch it, then jerk back again. The image is fresh. Freya must have been in this house recently, but if my fears are correct, she won’t be here now.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  I don’t answer her. My thoughts are running wild. My twins are Virgos and it’s a message to me. Freya knows about them and she wants me to know it.

  55

  Kelly Now

  ‘She saw the photos of the girls Mitch sent to you, Mum, and read the letters too, I expect. I need to see them again.’

  Leaving my mother standing in the empty bedroom, I run downstairs and into the living room. I pull the drawer completely out of the sideboard and empty the contents onto the floor, then kneeling beside it, spread them out until I find the ones I’m looking for. There is the photograph of the twins in their school uniform, the name of the school clearly written on the badge of their sweatshirt. Another shows them on the Palace Pier and there’s even one of them on their scooters that’s been taken outside our house. The number 27 almost, but not completely, obscured by the pyracantha that’s growing beside the window.

  A deep-rooted fear is taking hold. ‘Oh, Mitch. What have you done?’

  It wouldn’t take an idiot to work out where we lived. What school the children went to. With heart-stopping clarity, I see myself taking the spare key from the top of the door frame in my garden shed. Why hadn’t I chosen a different place to hide it? I know now I haven’t been imagining it all. It isn’t just my mother’s house Freya’s let herself into… it’s mine.