The Sister's Secret

by Penny Kline

  If Ollie was still missing, the baby would be her responsibility and she was determined no social worker was going to take her into care. Why would they, when she had a blood relative? But no sooner had she convinced herself she should be allowed to keep her than she started to wonder if it was what she wanted. Bringing up a child with Declan would have been one thing but, like Ollie, she had misgivings about being a single parent.

  The once beautiful church, with its Gothic door, had been turned into a public hall. Erin had never visited that part of the city before and the street had a faintly menacing feel, mainly due to insufficient lighting. No one was about. Had she come to the right place? Had Ava got the date wrong? There was nothing to indicate a play was going to be performed.

  She had left home in good time, but had trouble finding the place, and now she was afraid she might not be able to get a seat. Worse, she might be an audience of one. Perhaps she should give it a miss. She would find out what Kent looked like, but it was unlikely there would be an opportunity to meet him.

  A young man came through the Gothic door and asked if she had come to the performance. ‘Everyone else has gone in.’ He hitched up the jeans that had slid down over his skinny hips. ‘Follow me.’

  After climbing the stone steps, they entered a dusty room where wooden chairs, with backs that had once held hymn books, had been placed in a semi-circle. Theatre in the round, but only half a round.

  ‘I haven’t got a ticket.’

  The young man stared at her, and she thought he was going to let her in for free, but he was waiting for her to find her purse. ‘Seven pounds,’ he said.

  Erin handed him a note and two coins, and chose a seat at the end of a row, next to an elderly lady with a fox fur round her neck. She smelled of mothballs, thinly disguised by a musky perfume, but when she gave her a welcoming smile Erin forgave her for the dead fox.

  ‘I’ve never been here before,’ she said.

  ‘Same here.’ The woman rubbed her bony hands together. ‘Bit draughty so let’s hope the antics on stage warm us up.’

  ‘Yes.’ Erin noticed that people were keeping their coats on. Eight o’clock. Time for the curtain to go up. Not that there was a curtain, apart from the one that partially covered a door where she assumed the actors would make their entrances and exits.

  The background music was turned down and a man came “on stage”, dressed in old-fashioned trousers and a velvet dinner jacket. The fox fur woman had a programme, a single sheet of paper, and glancing at it surreptitiously, Erin gave an inward groan when she saw Polonius and Ophelia were the only characters in the play, apart from someone called “the magician”.

  As soon as the man spoke, it was clear he was Polonius. Behind an arras I conveyed myself. And Polonius was played by Kent Blaney.

  What had she expected? A young man, newly out of drama school and trying to keep his hand in by performing his own play. Kent looked well into his fifties with white hair, a substantial paunch and a deep theatrical voice. Ophelia, when she appeared, was young and pretty, but not a great actress. And the play bore little resemblance to the original. Telling herself to be more open minded, Erin concentrated on Kent, who had a stage presence all right, although it was difficult to believe he and Claudia had been close friends. Had the theatre been one of her interests? If so, it was something she had kept to herself. As Erin recalled, she had preferred the cinema.

  Like Hamlet, the play was not a load of laughs, and when it came to the end Erin was relieved, only to discover that had been the first act and after a short interval there was more to come. Ava had said Kent was an expert on Shakespeare. If that was true, why not stick to the original text, but perhaps his play was so clever it had gone over her head.

  The second half was more entertaining than the first. The magician did some tricks. But it could have done with being cut by a third. Gazing round the room, Erin tried to work out what each of the audience did for a living. Her neighbour was listening with rapt attention and could be a relative of Kent’s. His wife?

  The guy who had sold her the ticket was there too. A drama student? And next to her, a waif-like girl kept crossing one painfully thin leg over the other. Maybe she was studying Hamlet at school. Erin had done the same herself. Hamlet, the ditherer, unable to make up his mind. To do nothing or “to take arms against a sea of troubles?” Was she like Hamlet, whereas her sister had been assertive and decisive? Claudia had wanted Ollie, and she had wanted a baby, and, except for a tragic accident, both her wishes would have come true.

  When the play finally came to an end, the small audience clapped enthusiastically and the three actors returned twice and stood, hand in hand, lapping up the applause. Erin hung back, waiting for the rest of the audience to leave. Was there a side door? It could be some time before the actors came out, and when they did they would be tired and Kent would not relish Claudia’s sister confronting him with a barrage of awkward questions. If he knew anything important, surely he would have told Ava. Or would he? Was Ollie being protected by someone, and if so, why did he need protection?

  When Kent came through the Gothic door, it took her a few seconds to realise who he was. The thick white hair was the same, but for the purposes of the play he had worn padding. The real Kent was slim and distinguished looking – no beard – and, with a jolt, she recognised the man in the photograph she had given to the police, the one with his arm round Ollie.

  Stepping forward, her foot slid on a pile of wet leaves, and she almost fell.

  ‘Allow me.’ He came to her aid with a steadying arm and, as she turned to thank him, she thought, you know who I am, Ava forewarned you.

  ‘I’m Erin Barnes,’ she said, ‘Claudia’s sister.’

  ‘My dear.’ He sounded convincingly taken aback, but then he was an actor. ‘Allow me to offer my condolences. Were you at the performance? How sweet of you. I do hope you enjoyed it.’

  Nothing about his manner gave the impression he thought she had only come in the hope of meeting him, although that must have been fairly obvious.

  ‘It was very interesting,’ she said, and he laughed, tossing back his mane of hair.

  ‘Would you do me the honour of allowing me to buy you a drink? There’s a pub round the corner, not a particularly inviting one, but at least we’ll be out of the rain. Un moment, si vous plait.’ He turned to the actor who had played Ophelia, and Erin feared he was going to ask her to join them. ‘Perfect, darling, I’ll be in touch again soon.’

  He was right about the pub. The carpet was black and green, with burn marks from the days when smoking was allowed. In a dark corner at the back, a couple of old men sat, staring into their beer. Had they been at the play? No, the audience was so small, she would have remembered them. While Kent was buying the drinks, she started to plan what she was going to say. Best to encourage him to talk about himself – his plays, his acting career – and hope he got around to Claudia, and told her more than he intended.

  The girl behind the bar had been joined by a burly man with a bulbous nose, who was treating Kent as though he was a celebrity. They chatted for several minutes then the burly man said something that made Kent laugh, and when he joined her, he was still smiling. When it faded, Erin expected more condolences, but the performance was still uppermost in his mind.

  ‘As I’m sure you were aware the piece can be appreciated on several levels. As a modern day metaphor or a comment on the state of the individual in a global community. No doubt you noticed how I combined Shakespeare’s text with a Chaucerian element.’

  ‘Have you written many plays?’

  ‘Quite a few, quite a few. This evening’s suffered from being a little under rehearsed but these days you’re lucky if you can raise the cash for a couple of rehearsals and a performance or two. I’m hoping to put on a new production in May. Will you still be around?’

  ‘I’m living in Claudia’s house. In the loft. I moved there in the summer.’

  ‘So you are, so you are. How re
miss of me to forget. I’m surprised we haven’t met before.’ He pretended to be counting back over the months. ‘Such a tragedy. I was devastated. A wonderful person. So warm. So full of life.’ He broke off, but not because his choice of words had been inappropriate. He was frowning, then one of his gnarled hands came down on the table. ‘You’re hoping I’ll have news of Ollie. I know him, of course, but it was Claudia I knew best.’

  ‘It was Ava who told me about your play.’

  ‘Did she indeed? Poor Ollie, such a sweet boy, but suffers from a somewhat narrow education as far as the arts are concerned. Claudia and I were trying to make up for it. I gave him a reading list but I’m not sure it was such a good idea. Could have put him off the classics for life.’

  ‘The photograph I gave to the police had been taken in a club, by Claudia I expect. You were in it.’

  ‘And you gave it to the cops?’ He feigned horror. ‘A club? Ah, yes, I remember, we’d gone to hear a stand-up comedian but unfortunately he wasn’t funny. Old jokes in the main and most of them relying on the filth factor. As I recall, Ollie became bored, wanted to go home, but good old Claudia stuck it out to the bitter end.’

  The old men had started talking in loud voices and Kent flinched with distaste. ‘Your sister would never have tolerated drinking in a place like this. She had standards and heaven help the rest of us if we failed to live up to them.’

  ‘You know she was expecting a baby?’

  ‘And they’re keeping her on life support, the poor love. If you want my opinion . . . Terrible business. Anyway, if I hear anything you’ll be the first to know. I have Claudia’s number. Would I be able to contact—’

  ‘Her landline. I can’t find her mobile. It was in her pocket when . . . I think Ollie may have it.’

  ‘Poor boy. Gone away to lick his wounds. I suppose there’ve been ends to tie up. The scaffolding people, although there’s little doubt it was one of those irresponsible protesters. Ollie’s a sensitive soul. Young for his age but brilliant at Maths and statistics and all that kind of thing. I admire those people, don’t you? Not my line of country but each to his own. Your sister – such a breath of fresh air. One of a kind.’

  The more he talked the better. He had thought Ollie was not good enough for Claudia, that much was clear, and it had put his nose out of joint when he moved in with her.

  ‘How are you, my dear? You were close, I expect. So sad. Such a tragedy.’

  ‘Do you know any of her other friends?’

  He turned to smile at the girl behind the bar. ‘Have you tried the market?’

  ‘She’d given up her jewellery stall.’

  ‘Had she indeed?’

  Now, what was he playing at? He knew about the jewellery, and there was plenty more he knew, but nothing he was prepared to tell her. ‘She used to go out most days, as though she was on her way to the market. Now I’m wondering where she actually went.’ Erin paused, but Kent failed to take the bait so she changed the subject. ‘I expect you know Ben who lives down her road. Ben and Jennie.’

  ‘We’ve met, of course, but Ben’s more interested in television, and I believe he’s done a little radio. Between you and me, I doubt he’s much of a stage actor. The voice. You need a voice you can project.’ He drained his glass, making it clear he wanted to leave. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, I’m afraid I haven’t been much help. If I hear from Ollie, I’ll let you know but I think it unlikely.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Erin stood up, abandoning the drink she had not wanted in the first place. ‘Ava’s been very helpful but—’

  ‘Ah, dear Ava, what we do without her? Life and soul of the party and that café of hers is popular, mainly with young mothers but there’s nothing wrong with that.’ He touched the smooth skin that, in the play, had been hidden by a beard. ‘We need more Ava’s in the world. So good to meet you, my dear, and as I said before, do accept my condolences, and I’m so glad you enjoyed the play.’

  Erin nodded and smiled, but she was thinking how, if he knew Ava so well, he must know more of Claudia’s friends. Something had happened. Something nobody wanted to talk about. Kent had claimed Claudia was someone he loved and admired, but he had not given the impression he was devastated by her death.

  Chapter 15

  January the sixteenth and the baby was twenty-six weeks old. By twenty-eight weeks, the lungs would be reaching maturity. That was important. It must be. Erin thought about her all the time. At first it had been accompanied by how Claudia would have been feeling, but recently she had started to think of the baby as her own.

  So far, she had avoided going into Claudia and Ollie’s bedroom, but if she searched through Claudia’s things she might find another roll of bank notes. She felt guilty, as though Claudia was watching her, opening drawers and rifling through her bras and knickers and sweaters, checking the clothes hanging in the wardrobe, and a box containing a pair of tweezers and false eyelashes.

  After their parents died, she and Claudia had done the same in the family home, at least Claudia had stood by as Erin worked out which clothes she could take to a charity shop. That’s too good to throw out, Erin. Perhaps we could sell Dad’s suits. Had she really been that callous? On the face of it, Claudia was the emotional one, easily losing her temper, or bursting into tears. Greeting near strangers with hugs and kisses. But nothing was that simple. Underneath, she could have suffered agonies. The effusiveness and exaggerated anecdotes could have been a way of disguising her true feelings.

  Gazing round the bedroom, with its pale green walls and William Morris curtains, Erin found herself speculating how many lovers had spent the night there? And if they all been beautiful young men in their early twenties? Perhaps Claudia had needed to prove to herself how attractive she was? For the first time, it occurred to Erin that her sister might have resented her career as an artist, not that she sold many paintings or prints, but she made a living, more or less, with her illustrations. How had Claudia managed for money? Surely the jewellery making had not brought in enough.

  Jon had promised to come round but he must have thought better of it. It was nearly seven and by now he would be home, eating his evening meal. Had he been planning to tell her whatever it was he kept starting to say? At first, she had thought it must be something about Maeve, some mild disability she had failed to notice, or something that might affect her when she was older. Now, she had decided it was more likely to be about Claudia. How well had he known her? Better than he was letting on?

  The bed was unmade. Erin started to make it then decided she ought to wash the sheet and duvet cover. Ready for when Ollie returned? The cover had blue and yellow flowers – Claudia’s choice – although Ollie was unlikely to have objected. Except, was he really the person she thought he was, gentle, compliant, happy to fit in? Lifting a pillow, to remove its case, she felt something small and hard. Claudia’s phone? But it was only the remote control for the television. She pictured the two of them, sitting in the king-size bed, watching an old film. Claudia had liked romantic ones – Sleepless in Seattle was one of her favourites – and Ollie would have gone along with her choice. Or would he? She knew so little about him and it was possible he would have insisted on a Tarantino or a Guy Ritchie. Or perhaps they liked soft porn. Claudia had been such a large person, in every sense of the word, and Ollie was so slight. But speculating about other people’s sex lives was never a good idea.

  No phone. Ollie must have returned to the house and taken it, or perhaps he had had it in his pocket when he ran out of the hospital.

  It was while she was making sure the window was firmly closed, that she spotted him. A dark figure in the graveyard beyond the garden wall. Dropping the bundle of bedding, she raced down the stairs and out through the back door, just in time to see him disappear behind the trees. Had he been watching the house? What other reason could there be to lurk in a dark graveyard?

  ‘Ollie? Is that you, Ollie?

  Climbing over the wall for the first time, she stood still, liste
ning. One morning, when she was attempting to tidy up Claudia’s garden, she had studied the churchyard with its grey gravestones, ancient oak trees and a holly bushes. The church itself had long narrow windows, with criss-cross panes, all except a stained glass one, depicting three figures and a crucifix. Long grass obscured any paths there once might have been, and ivy sprawled over everything, including a large stone coffin-like grave covered in dead leaves, the spot where the figure could be crouching now.

  ‘Ollie?’ But why would he have hidden in the churchyard? Because he was uncertain whether or not to return to the house? Because he felt bad about wanting Claudia and the baby to be allowed to die?

  No footsteps, dragging through the brambles, or stepping on broken twigs. It could be the angry man who had phoned, demanding to speak to Claudia. Or someone planning a break-in? Something moved in the grass. A squirrel? Did squirrels come out at night? A cat? It jumped onto a moss-covered tree stump and perched there, and Erin froze. A rat, with darting eyes and a long stringy tail.

  A sudden sound, close to the church, made it cock its head on one side, listening, and, with the dark figure forgotten, Erin raced back to the relative safety of Claudia’s house.

  The following morning, rain streamed down the dormer window, adding to her general feeling of doom and gloom that was only relieved by the thought that later on Maeve would be coming for her lesson. She could tell her about the rat and Maeve would laugh, and pretend there was nothing to be frightened of, then admit she would have been scared stiff, and tell Erin she should never have investigated the graveyard in the dark.

  When the phone rang, it was Jon, telling her Maeve would not be coming.

  ‘Only a sore throat but Diana thinks it’s best if she stays at home.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry about that.’ Was she right, when she suspected Diana disapproved of Maeve’s lessons? ‘Tell her I hope she’ll feel better soon.’