The Sister's Secret

by Penny Kline

  ‘Ollie.’ He lurched towards her and she took a step back. ‘I . . . I think he may be . . . The wind’s so cold. He only took a few clothes and it’s always cold by the sea.’

  ‘The sea? You know where he is. He’s staying near the coast? Why didn’t you tell me before? Come on then.’ She started walking, willing him to accompany her. ‘When was the last time you were in touch with him?’

  ‘His phone’s switched off. He may not be there any longer.’

  ‘You can explain on the way.’ She had spotted her car. ‘Has he got any money?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘He’s been there ever since he disappeared? That was weeks ago. Why didn’t you say? He could be in a bad way. He could be ill.’

  They stared at each other but neither of them spoke. Then Hoshi gave a choking sob. ‘I should have gone there but . . . Supposing something’s happened, what if he’s dead?’

  Chapter 32

  Erin drove and Hoshi gave directions. ‘We cross the suspension bridge. It’ll be the quickest way. Then we have to get onto the motorway, the M5.’

  ‘Sure you know where we’re going.’

  ‘I can check on my phone. Last time we went on the train. Took our bikes.’

  ‘You and Ollie?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Did you go with him this time?

  ‘He wouldn’t let me. I wanted him to stay in Bristol. He could have stayed with me, slept on the floor, but . . .’

  ‘Can you find a pound?’ She pointed to the glove compartment. ‘For the bridge.’

  He pulled off his gloves and unzipped his hoodie. Underneath he was wearing a white T-shirt with something written on the front in curly black letters. He was breathing hard. ‘He may not be there.’

  ‘I know. You said.’

  ‘A bungalow. It’s being done up. It belongs to someone at the university but he’s in California. On sabbatical. Last April. We saw it last April. When we walked on Brean Down.’

  ‘With this person from the university.’

  ‘No. We met him in a café. Ollie knew him. Sort of. James – he’s called James. He said he was doing up the bungalow as a holiday let. Everything will be turned off now, electricity, water. Ollie knew but he didn’t care. He just wanted to escape.’

  Ahead of them, she could see the lights on the bridge. ‘Money, Hoshi.’

  ‘Oh. Yes.’ He opened the glove compartment and, along with Erin’s box of loose change, a jumble of other stuff fell out; painkillers, maps, and an old photo of her and Declan on a day out at Southend. Who had taken it? A stranger, must have been. Do me a favour, mate? Come on then, Erin, big grin.

  Hoshi handed her a pound, and began returning the rest of the things. ‘Ollie thinks . . .’ His head was turned away and she was afraid he might be crying.

  ‘Ollie thinks?’

  ‘It was my fault.’

  ‘What was? Come on, Hoshi, you need to tell me everything.’

  ‘The day before it happened . . .’ He sat up straight and stared through the dusty windscreen. ‘He and Claudia had an argument. A bad one. He thought you heard them. He thinks you think he killed her.’

  ‘That’s crazy.’ But where had Ollie been that afternoon? Claudia had mentioned something about a meltdown and how she was going to cook him a special meal to make up for it. Ollie, a meltdown? Erin had thought it so unlikely that Claudia must be exaggerating as usual.

  Hoshi had read her thoughts. ‘He was walking in Leigh Woods.’

  ‘That’s what he told you?’

  ‘I wanted to go with him but he wouldn’t let me. He was so angry.’ He swung round to face her. ‘Ollie never got angry. I’d never seen him like that before.’

  It had started to rain, a fine drizzle that meant the wipers squeaked, but if she turned them off the screen soon became obscured. Driving in the dark, in the rain, to a place she knew nothing about, with a man she barely knew. As they crossed over, she glanced down at the trickle of river, moving between slabs of thick mud, and illuminated by the lights on the bridge.

  ‘Where are you from, Hoshi?’

  ‘Manchester.’

  ‘Really?’ What had she been expecting? Tokyo? Yokohama? ‘What did you come to Bristol to study?’

  ‘Physics. My father’s an engineer.’

  ‘But you dropped out of your course and found a job in a clothes shop? No, before that you worked at Ava’s Place.’

  ‘I want to be a fashion designer.’ He was fiddling with his phone. ‘You have to go to Art College. I’ve been saving up. The shop and other jobs as well. That’s why I agreed to paint Claudia’s loft. But when I’d finished it she got mad with me.’

  ‘Why?

  He hesitated. ‘If Ollie’s still there—’

  ‘Why did Claudia get mad at you?’

  ‘She wanted me to stay.’

  ‘Stay? Oh, you mean . . .’ Erin gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘You mean stay the night. But you turned her down. Did she pay you for the decorating you’d done?’

  He shook his head. ‘It was my fault. I was the one who introduced them. We were at a club and Claudia came in with some friends. I thought she’d cut me dead but she sat down with us and started talking to Ollie.’

  The headlights reflected what could be the eyes of a cat. Or a fox. If you saw an animal on the road, you were supposed to brake, not swerve. Erin swerved, and the car went perilously close to the hedge, and Hoshi caught his breath.

  ‘When he moved in with her I thought . . . But they were so happy together and she wanted them to have a baby. I didn’t know.’

  ‘What didn’t you know?’ But she had guessed what was coming next. ‘She was pregnant already. So who’s the baby’s father?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Oh, come on Hoshi, if Ollie said something I need to know.’

  The rain had stopped. She switched off the wipers and rubbed at the misted up windscreen with the side of her hand.

  ‘Ava knows,’ he said. ‘I overheard her when I was working at the café. She was in the storeroom, talking on her phone.’

  ‘Who to?’ But she was asking too many questions when she ought to be encouraging him to tell her at his own pace.

  ‘I don’t know.’ He pushed a lock of hair behind his ear. ‘Ollie would never have hurt her. If you knew him—’

  ‘If you want the truth, Hoshi, I thought you might be the baby’s father. No, don’t worry, I know you’re not. Is that everything then?’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll still be at the bungalow.’

  ‘But he could be so we have to check. If he’s not, where else might he be?’

  A car was overtaking them on a bend. Erin swore under her breath, but the stupid show off had got away with it.

  ‘Fucking idiot,’ Hoshi said, and they both laughed, nervous laughter but it dissipated some the tension between them.

  ‘He cycled there,’ he said.

  ‘All the way from Bristol? So he can’t have taken much with him. I checked his clothes but it was impossible to tell, although I think he may have taken Claudia’s phone. Why would he do that?’

  She was thinking about the rolls of banknotes in Claudia’s desk. Perhaps there had been more. Perhaps Ollie had helped himself and who could blame him? The day after the accident, when she thought he was going to the university, he must have talked to Hoshi. But not about whether the baby should be given a chance to be born. He had made up his mind about that as soon as he knew Claudia was not going to recover.

  They had reached a roundabout and she took the first exit onto the motorway, going west towards Devon and Cornwall. She was thinking about Claudia’s attempt to seduce Hoshi, luring him into the loft on the pretext of wanting him to paint the walls then . . . Had it been like that, or was it a spur of the moment thing? What did it matter? But it mattered that Claudia had felt rejected, humiliated, and lost no time in adding Ollie to her collection. When they reached the bungalow what would they find? If the owner was in Amer
ica that meant no one else would have been near the place. Were there other houses close by? Or caravans. But even if there were they were probably unoccupied during the winter and no one would have noticed Ollie camping out in the derelict bungalow.

  For the rest of their time on the motorway, neither of them spoke. A truck in front kept slowing down, then speeding up. Traffic was heavier in the opposite direction and the oncoming lights dazzled. At the best of times, motorways had a hypnotic effect, and distances were harder to judge. Erin was aware it was only adrenalin keeping her from falling asleep.

  After her visit to the mortuary, she had convinced herself Ollie was still alive. But the fact that the poor boy who had hanged himself, had not been Ollie meant nothing. If Ollie was dead, it would be her fault. For overruling his wish to let Claudia and the baby die in peace. Except, if he knew he was not the baby’s father, it was not his decision to make.

  ‘Next exit,’ Hoshi said, ‘in half a mile.’

  ‘Sure you know where we’re going?’

  ‘I’m just checking.’

  ‘What does it say on your T-shirt?’

  ‘Sorry? Oh. The perfect square lacks corners.’

  ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s a Taoist saying.’

  She glanced at him. He was so startlingly good-looking he ought to be a model. But that was not what he wanted. He wanted to be a designer.

  ‘You’re a Taoist?’

  ‘No.’

  After they left the motorway, one roundabout led to another. Then another. Third exit. Second exit. Second exit. First. She should have bought a sat nav . . . But once, when she borrowed one from a friend, it had instructed her to turn up a cul-de-sac in the centre of Guildford and the disembodied voiced had ordered her to – make a u-turn. make a u-turn.

  Another roundabout, and she was certain they must be lost.

  ‘Carry on.’ Hoshi opened his window and leaned forward. ‘No, slow down, we’ve gone too far. Turn when you can. From here to the end there are only caravans. The bungalow – it’s back from the beach. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have told him. He didn’t believe me, thought Ava had got it wrong, but when he asked her—’

  ‘Asked Claudia?’

  ‘The day before the accident. When you heard them shouting.’

  ‘Actually, I didn’t. I expect they were in the kitchen, with the door shut, and I was up in the loft.’

  ‘Claudia lied. At first she did. Then she said . . . She thought it didn’t matter. She said it made no difference, it was just a baby. I suppose she knew he was going to find out.’

  ‘He might not have done.’ Are you sure your sister got her dates right. Obviously, the larger the foetus and the better developed . . . . She thought she could smell the sea. Was this where Ollie had taken the photo, the one Claudia had hung in the loft? ‘When you came here in the spring did Ollie bring his camera? There’s a photograph in the loft.’

  ‘No, I took that. Ollie was teaching me. Later we saw this bird of prey. On top of Brean Down. A falcon. I think it was a falcon. There are falcons in Leigh Woods but they’re difficult to see. And goats. No, I mean the goats are on Brean Down.’ He broke off. ‘Oh, Yes, I know where we are. Next on the left.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Certain. Look! Over by those trees.’

  ‘If he is there, how would he have got in?’

  ‘Pull up behind that skip.’

  ‘Wait! We need to plan what we’re going to . . .’ But, even before the car had come to a standstill, he had jumped out and started running.

  Erin stayed where she was. If Ollie was there he was less likely to run off if only Hoshi had come. She could see him peering through the windows at the front. Then he moved out of sight and she climbed slowly out of the car and opened the boot, searching among rugs and maps and a pair of boots, until she found the flashlight she kept for emergencies. It was months, years, since she had used it but, miraculously, it still worked, lighting up the branches of the trees and the white walls of the bungalow.

  Hoshi reappeared. ‘He’s not here. He could have left weeks ago. I should have come before. I wanted to, but his phone was switched off and I thought—’

  ‘Where else could he be? Think!’ The flashlight flickered and she was afraid it was going to go out. Something moved in the trees, but it was only a bird. Now she was close up to the building she could see moss growing on the roof tiles, and ivy sprawled over a lean-to shed alongside it. Pulling open the rickety shed door she shone the flashlight inside. ‘No bike. That means he must have left. Or never been here in the first place. ‘Is there a window at back?

  Hoshi picked up a stone.

  ‘No, hang on. There’s no point breaking the glass if he’s not here. The police checked with his mother but she hadn’t seen him for months.’

  ‘She’s not well. Her nerves, Ollie said.’

  ‘And his father died. How much has he told—’ Erin broke off in mid-sentence. A sound, close to the shed, had made her swing round and the searchlight had picked up the dark shape of a man, dressed in filthy jeans and a thick roll neck sweater. His hair hung over his eyes and his rough beard made him look like a tramp. But there was no doubt who it was.

  ‘No, wait!’ She stepped forward and grabbed hold of his arm. ‘We only wanted to make sure you were all right.’

  ‘I had to tell her where you were.’ Hoshi had moved closer, blocking Ollie’s escape although he was making no attempt to break free. ‘I was afraid you might have—’

  ‘Topped myself?’ Ollie pushed his hair out of his eyes.

  ‘The baby’s been born,’ Erin said. ‘I know it’s not yours.’

  ‘Is Claudia dead?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Was there a funeral?’

  ‘Yes.’ She took out her phone to show him a picture of Phoebe, then thought better of it. ‘Hoshi told me what happened. I’m so sorry.’

  He closed his eyes and, for a brief moment, she recalled the face of the poor dead boy at the mortuary. Ollie’s face was similar – small features, fair hair – but the boy in the mortuary had looked peaceful. Ollie looked done in. ‘How’s Maeve?’ he said.

  ‘Maeve?’ The fact that he had asked about her gave Erin hope. ‘She’s fine. She misses you, worries about you. Remember how the two of you used to play with Miss Havisham?’

  Somewhere close by, a dog had started to bark. A woman shouted and the barking stopped for a few seconds, then started again. Hoshi shouted above the noise. ‘Come back with us, Ol, please. You can sleep in my bed, I don’t care.’

  ‘We’ll collect your stuff,’ Erin said. ‘How did you get in?’

  ‘There’s a spare key in the shed, it opens the door at the back. I locked it at night in case . . .’

  ‘The neighbours. Didn’t anyone—’

  ‘I said I was doing repairs. I found some tools.’ He turned and they followed him round the back of the bungalow and into a large empty room, empty apart for a pile of what looked like old curtains, and some fast food containers. And a bike with a flat tyre. And a hammer and a rusty saw.

  Ollie muttered something she had to ask him to repeat.

  ‘She didn’t give a toss.’

  ‘Who? You mean Claudia. I’m so sorry. If you’d told me. No, it’s all right. Even so, I have to ask you. Who is the baby’s father?’

  ‘She wouldn’t tell me. I don’t think she knew.’ He stared into the darkness. ‘When Hoshi told me, I didn’t believe it. And Claudia said it wasn’t true. But then I saw her face. She thought I wouldn’t mind, said it didn’t matter, it was just a baby. I lost my temper. I was shouting. You must have heard. I said I’d kill her. They think it was me. The police think—’

  ‘No, Ollie, it was an accident. I’m certain it was. I thought they might bring a case against the scaffolders, but it would never have stuck because no one saw what happened and most of the protesters had run off before the police arrived.’

  But in the silence t
hat followed, Erin knew what the two of them were thinking. Since there were no witnesses, how could she be so sure it was accident?

  Chapter 33

  Time to leave. Stella stuffed her clothes into two zip-up bags and stared round the wretched basement, wondering how she had endured it for so long. Did she feel better – or worse? But it was something she had needed to do and regret was pointless.

  Checking the bathroom, with its dripping tap, she moved on to the kitchen, the bedroom, the living room. Nothing in any of the cupboards. Nothing under the bed or down the sides of the battered sofa, no incriminating slips of paper, receipts, addresses. If the landlady came nosing about, it would be as though no one had been living in the place. She would leave the city without trace and it was unlikely she would ever return. Her stomach churned, but she had prepared herself. She could handle it. When tears threatened, she blinked them away and got a grip on herself.

  As she was zipping up the second bag, she heard a sound. The postman? At this time of day, after lunch? Since no one knew where she was staying it would be another load of junk mail, flyers advertising pizza, and Thai takeaways. Who would move in after she left? If the landlady had a conscience, she would have the whole place ripped out and refurbished, but most likely she would let it to a couple of students, unconcerned about the state it was in. Maybe the illustrator woman needed somewhere to live. She had an air of desperation – it took one to spot one – and it was possible the basement could be turned into a studio if she was one of those artists that preferred artificial light.

  Paid up to the end of the month, it felt like a waste to be leaving. She could stay one more day, drive up the road one more time . . . But she was unlikely to see anyone at this time of day. Back in London, she would slot into her old routine and concentrate on building up the business, and it would be a relief to sleep in a decent bed, and cook in a well-equipped kitchen. The anguish she felt was deserved and there was something clean, clear-cut, about it, a punishment that fitted a crime.