by Nicole Trope
She is a young woman with dusty-brown hair and deep brown eyes just like I have. She has a heart-shaped face and she is slim and tall just like I am.
I feel my whole body sag because it cannot be possible, and yet, it is. I know it to be the truth with absolute certainty. I feel that truth ricochet around my body.
Everything I have known, everything I have thought for the last thirty-two years is wrong because here she is.
Here she stands.
My sister.
Forty-One
Molly
* * *
She shivers as she feels the temperature drop in preparation for a cold night, but she also feels sweat under her arms. Her mouth is dry and she swallows, hoping to get rid of the feeling.
‘Coming,’ she hears from somewhere inside the house. The voice has a slight echo. The house must be larger than it looks.
‘Come on, come on,’ whispers Molly. She can feel her feet turning ever so slightly and she knows if she has to stand here for much longer, her courage will fail her and she will simply walk away.
But finally, the door swings open.
Molly studies the woman’s dusty-brown hair and dark brown eyes. She notes her heart-shaped face and her slim build and the dimple on her chin. Her mouth is too dry for her to speak. You’re imagining this, she inwardly tells herself but she knows she’s not. Her own face looks back at her, older, more lined and paler, but she feels that if she reached forward and touched the woman’s cheek, she would feel it on her own skin. It has not been her imagination. She has only been remembering. She has been remembering a life before, a different life, a different child. She lifts her hand to reach out and touch the woman for fear that she’s not real, but then she drops it again. Her stomach churns and her heart races. She has no idea what to do or say. She can smell smoke from a wood-burning fire, hear the call of cockatoos in the trees, feel the sharpness of the wind whipping up dry fallen leaves. Every sense captures this moment.
There she is.
There she stands.
Her sister.
The woman looks directly at her, stares at her for a moment, and then she covers her mouth with her hand. Molly cannot find any words as she watches the woman’s eyes.
‘Oh… oh,’ she says, ‘you shouldn’t have come. You shouldn’t have come, Lilly.’
Her voice is warm, deep with a tremor that Molly is sure is not usually there. Molly has heard this voice when she, herself, speaks. They look like each other and sound like each other.
Here they stand: sisters.
Forty-Two
Alice
* * *
‘I’m not Lilly,’ says the young woman, and I feel like I am hearing myself speak. Her voice is deep like mine, like our mother’s was before age and alcohol deformed it. ‘My name is Molly Khan.’
‘I know,’ I whisper, ‘I know who you are.’ I shouldn’t have used her name. I shouldn’t have said it out loud. I feel like I might be going mad. How can this be? I thought she was gone. I thought she was dead and it was all my fault and yet here she is.
On any other day, at any other time, I would not be able to prevent myself from flinging my arms around her, but not today. I have put her in danger. I have put her in danger again.
‘You’re Alice, aren’t you? You’re Meredith from the blog but your real name is Alice.’
‘My real name is Alice.’ I can do nothing but repeat her words. I had a plan. I was going to scream and I was going to run but I hadn’t thought about who might be at the door. I hadn’t considered that. How could I have ever considered this?
‘Hello, Molly,’ I say loudly, hoping that he has not heard me call her Lilly. ‘This is not a good time for me, I’m afraid. You can’t be here.’
I wonder if she can see that something’s wrong. If we had grown up together, we might be able to communicate without speaking. But we didn’t. Will she still know what I’m trying to tell her? I twist my body a little even as the knife digs in deeper. If I scream, will she turn and run with me? Will we both be able to get away?
‘I should go,’ she says, and I watch her face fall, her eyes shine with tears. This is not what she expected. I can see that. She doesn’t understand what I’m doing, why I look so strange. She doesn’t understand.
‘You should go,’ I say quickly. ‘You should go,’ I repeat, even as I realise that she is my last hope for saving myself. If I scream, she will know, but if I scream, he will hurt her. I tried to save her once and thought I’d failed. I won’t make that mistake again.
I bite down on my lip as a single tear traces its way down her cheek, and I feel her heartbreak as my own. She thinks I’m rejecting her, that I’m abandoning her just as I did all those years ago. I cannot explain that I’m saving her. I couldn’t explain it then and I cannot explain it now.
She turns to go and then she turns back to me. ‘You don’t even want to—’
I shake my head. ‘Just go,’ I say.
She starts to move off and then she stops, as though she has realised something, as though she has understood.
‘Are you okay?’ she asks. ‘Because you don’t look okay.’
I blink rapidly. ‘I’m fine.’ Please understand me. It’s not safe. It’s not safe. Run, Lilly, run.
She nods as though she has heard what I’ve said and then she turns to go, but once more she turns back around, making me want to scream with frustration.
‘Look,’ she says, ‘are you okay? You don’t seem well at all. Shall I call someone? Shall I call an ambulance?’
I feel him move, the knife releasing its sting from my neck, and then he is out in the open, looking at her.
‘Oh, I didn’t…’ she begins and then she sees the knife he is holding and I watch as her lips pale to white.
‘Maybe you could just fucking come in, eh?’ says Vernon and he lifts the knife, this time to the front of my throat.
‘Run,’ I rasp.
Vernon peers at her. His face blanches as he recognises the woman standing there. ‘You’re her. You’re her! You were, I thought… Well, you could knock me over with a feather. I thought you were gone. I thought you were dead but there you are, there you are, my little girl.’ I can hear joy in his voice and for a moment I think it might be okay. He can see it’s Lilly. He is as shocked as I was but now that he can see her, it might be okay. He might be so happy he will forget what he’s here for. I want to believe that but I can’t take that chance. Vernon cannot be capable of a happy family reunion.
‘Run,’ I say to her again.
‘If you do, your big sister won’t last another five minutes. Now step inside before I fucking slice her up.’ And just like that there is no more joy or happiness in his voice. He is not overwhelmed to see his long-lost daughter. He is hell-bent on revenge.
I watch her hands fly to her stomach, a protective gesture that I recognise, and I remember that she’s pregnant. She told me in her message. I close my eyes, vowing that I will not let him hurt her and her child. Whatever he does, whatever happens now, this time I will keep her safe.
Forty-Three
Molly
* * *
Molly cannot quite believe this is happening. The skinny man with the bedraggled beard is smiling at her with yellow teeth that disgust her but somehow look familiar. She bites down hard on her lip because the urge to vomit is suddenly overwhelming. She should never have come here. She has no idea who these people are and what they’re capable of. This woman is her biological sister, that much is clear, but why is this man calling her his little girl? She cannot help touching her stomach. She needs to keep the baby safe. She cannot let anything happen to the baby. But the man is holding a knife. She could turn and run right now but he says he will hurt Alice. She could run. She owes Alice nothing but she can’t seem to abandon the woman. She has no choice but to step inside.
It is warmer inside the house than outside with only a fraction of light coming in through the leadlight windows at the side of the do
or. The pattern of coloured triangles throws shapes on the tile floor. Molly cannot help looking around, noting the wood panelling on the walls and the ornate carved timber sideboard with a large multicoloured glass vase in the centre.
Alice told her to run. She should have run. She shouldn’t have run. She could have run.
The man shuffles around, closing the door behind her. He pushes the knife against the back of Alice’s neck, and even through her hair, Molly can see a small trickle of blood snake its way down her back, staining the white shirt she is wearing.
Alice is terrified, frozen, ghost-white.
Molly struggles to find words, to do anything. The man with the knife feels surreal. Alice’s face and the blood trailing down the back of her neck are a scene in a movie. This cannot be happening and yet it is. Molly can think only of the baby, of protecting the baby, and she feels a sense of what motherhood must be like. Thoughts tumble through her mind and she cannot form a coherent plan because all she can feel is a terrible fear for her child. She will not let this child get hurt. She will not. She will not.
‘I think you should just leave,’ she says, in what she hopes is a firm voice. ‘Put the knife down and leave and no one has to know you were here. I have some money in my purse. Take it and leave and we’ll keep quiet about this. We won’t tell anyone.’
The man laughs and shoves Alice forward. ‘Let’s all have a cup of tea, shall we? There are things you need to know, Lilly.’
‘Why are you calling me Lilly?’
The man laughs again and then he hacks and coughs for a minute. He stinks of cigarettes. Molly swallows the bile that rises in her throat.
‘As plain as day it is,’ he says as he marches Alice to the kitchen at the back of the house. He shoves her hard down into a chair and she sags weakly.
‘Please,’ says Alice, ‘please don’t hurt her.’
‘Please don’t hurt her,’ the man mimics. ‘She’s my kid. I’ll do what I want.’
My kid, Molly thinks. He seems to be referring to her. Her hand flies up to her mouth. ‘I’m going to be sick,’ she says.
‘Take deep breaths,’ says Alice, ‘just deep breaths.’ Molly does as she’s told. She takes in a huge gulp of air and locks eyes with her sister, who shakes her head and mouths, ‘I’m sorry.’ The nausea abates.
‘You,’ says the man, gesturing at Molly with the knife, ‘put the kettle on.’
Molly looks slowly around the kitchen until she locates the kettle on the counter. She goes over to it and pushes the button to start it. Scenarios run through her head. If I grab the knife and she pushes him, if I scream and distract him, if I can find a knife on the counter, if my phone rings and I scream help into it, if I can text Peter somehow, if I can call the police. Her heartbeat feels as rapid as the little flutter she had seen on the ultrasound. I’m sorry, baby, she thinks. She should never have done this. She should never have put her child in danger.
‘She looks just like Maggie, doesn’t she?’ says the man to Alice.
Molly watches as her sister nods weakly, as though her head is too heavy for her neck.
‘I bet you’re wondering what this is all about, aren’t you, love?’ says the man to Molly, his tone liquid and sweet.
Molly nods but doesn’t say anything.
‘You’re my little girl. I would have known you anywhere. I mean, you’re not little anymore but you’re my girl all right. You look just like your useless mother and like your big sister here.’
‘I don’t understand,’ says Molly, buying time to think. She is sure that keeping him talking is a good idea. If he is talking, then he is not hurting them. Is he her father? It’s a hideous thought and she feels a desperate rush of desire to turn back time so she can remain ignorant of who she really is.
‘Tell her,’ says the man to Alice, pressing the knife against her cheek.
‘Don’t,’ says Molly, her heartbeat a runaway horse.
‘Alice and I used to have some fine times together, didn’t we? You liked what we did, didn’t you? You missed out on the fun, Lilly. We were going to have so much fun, me and you, but you didn’t get to be a good daughter to me because Alice here made sure you disappeared.’
‘Please,’ whimpers Alice, ‘just let her go.’
The man laughs. He plays with the knife, occasionally running his fingers up and down the smooth blade. ‘You coming here today, Lilly, is such a wonderful coincidence.’
‘My name is not Lilly. It’s Molly. I’m Molly Khan. You need to let me leave now. My husband will be looking for me. He’ll be worrying about me. He knows where I am. I told him I was coming here and I told him to come looking for me if I didn’t come back in an hour.’ Molly tries to convince herself that what she’s saying is the truth.
‘You may be whoever now, but you were my kid once, my little girl until this bitch took you away from me,’ he says. ‘I thought you were dead, gone. I would have looked for you if I’d known. I promise.’ He smiles and Molly feels the horror of that idea churn inside her. Imagine being found by this man.
She looks at him, at his sunken eyes and grey skin, and she wants to cry. How can this awful human being be her father?
‘Tell her it’s the truth. Tell her what you did,’ says the man to Alice, and he grabs her ear, pushes the knife down on top of it, ‘or I’ll slice your fucking ear off.’ Molly watches Alice wince as the knife makes contact with her skin. ‘Tell her,’ he growls.
‘You’re my little sister, Lilly,’ Alice whispers. ‘That was your name – Lilly.’
‘But you said your sister was dead,’ says Molly. ‘I asked you and you said she was dead.’
‘I thought…’ says Alice. ‘I thought you were killed in the accident… the car accident. I saw the car on television… the red car. It said the accident happened in Mount Colah, where we lived. A toddler was killed. It was on the same day I… on the same day…’
‘But I wasn’t found in Mount Colah,’ says Molly. ‘I was found in Asquith, that’s one… Yes, one suburb over.’
‘I thought…’ says Alice, ‘I didn’t realise I’d walked to the next suburb. I thought you died in the car accident… but I was wrong.’
Forty-Four
Alice
* * *
I watch her face as she leans against the kitchen counter for support. It is silent in my kitchen except for the whooshing sound of the kettle boiling. I see confusion, fear, disgust and horror march across her features as she tries to comprehend what I’m saying. She came here looking for her sister but she never had any idea of the terrible truth she would find. I curse my blog and myself. I have done this. I have made this happen.
‘I don’t understand,’ she says.
I don’t know how to explain it to her. The story would take too long so all I can say is, ‘I wanted to keep you safe.’
I flick my eyes towards Vernon. ‘This is the man I wrote about,’ I say, and I watch as she remembers, as she makes the connection.
‘Oh,’ she gasps.
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ says Vernon, and the knife slices further into my skin. The pain is agonising. My body begins to shake. I have to do something.
I lock eyes with my sister before focusing quickly on the boiled kettle and then back at Lilly, looking between the two.
‘What are you doing, bitch?’ says Vernon. ‘What’s going on here? Why were you writing about me?’
I hunch my shoulders as the knife pierces my skin further. I can feel blood running down the side of my face.
I flick my eyes at the kettle again.
‘We should have tea,’ says Lilly. I can’t think of her as Molly. She is Lilly, so clearly Lilly. Her voice is weirdly cheerful. ‘Wouldn’t you like some tea… Dad?’ she asks.
Vernon looks up at her and grins; the knife releases its pressure.
Lilly steps towards the kettle.
‘Where are you going?’ shouts Vernon.
‘Tea,’ she says brightly, ‘you said you w
anted tea, Dad. We can all have a cup and talk. You can catch me up on your life.’ The use of the word ‘dad’ disarms Vernon again and he nods.
She lifts the heavy kettle and holds it. Her wrist bends a little with the weight but she doesn’t put it down.
‘So, make tea,’ he replies.
‘I don’t know where anything is,’ she says, and she makes a big show of looking around the kitchen in a confused manner.
‘Tell her,’ says Vernon to me.
‘Behind you, in the cupboard,’ I respond.
Lilly holds the kettle in one hand and opens the cupboard behind her. She rifles through the boxes I have there. ‘You don’t have any hot chocolate, do you?’ she asks.
I nod. ‘I do, it’s—’
‘Can’t you just show me?’ she says.
Vernon steps away from me to point out the tin of hot chocolate that is obviously on the counter. ‘You can see it—’
My body springs into action. I leap out of the chair and shove him hard, forcing him to take a few steps back, his arms outstretched to prevent him from falling. I dart over to where Lilly is standing and grab the cordless kettle out of her hands, holding it tight around its boiling steel body. I gasp as the heat instantly burns my hands but I don’t let go. I won’t let go. Vernon recovers his balance and starts towards us, a low growl vibrating in his throat, his yellow teeth bared. The boiling water is the only weapon I have, but before I can use it, Vernon is almost upon us and I don’t have time to do more than lift the kettle up, my muscles straining at the weight of it, my hands on fire, and I throw it towards him, hoping it hits its mark.
It hits him in the chest and he screams and rears back. The kettle bounces onto the kitchen floor, spraying water everywhere. Vernon holds his knife in front of him and steps forward but he slips on the water, going down with a thump.
