‘It often happens. Clients get to a point they feel they don’t need therapy and medication any more but don’t seem to recognize it could be because of the therapy and medication that they are feeling better. Anyway. Moving forwards. Have you seen him again?’
‘No.’
‘That’s a good sign, Leah.’
I don’t answer, instead I unscrew the lid from my water bottle and take a sip.
‘And the letters?’
I hesitate. I’d lied to George but I need to talk to someone. ‘Yes. I’ve had another. So has Carly.’
‘And Marie?’
Again, I stall for time, looking out of the window. Weighing up the benefits of being honest; I want to feel better – against the negatives; if my mental capacity is called into question again I want my notes to show that I’m rational. But the police already know about Marie and I’m horribly worried about her.
‘Marie is missing.’
‘Missing?’
‘Yes. She… I don’t know. After the first letter arrived me and Carly went to see if Marie had one but she was… gone.’
‘When you say gone—’
‘Her flat was exactly as we’d left it two days before. Our drinks and biscuits still on the table.’
‘I assume you called her.’
‘Yes, but she isn’t answering.’
‘And you’ve no idea where she is?’
‘She’d scribbled something on a notepad about a tour but… I don’t know. She’s done this before but, with the anniversary and the notes and me thinking I saw him outside of her flat, it feels… wrong. The police aren’t worried. There’s no sign of a struggle. But… I don’t know what to think. George says Marie is resourceful and not to worry.’
‘I’m sure he’s right,’ Francesca says. ‘And…’ She glances down at her notes, her pen scratches against paper. ‘How are things with George?’
I search for the word. ‘Strained.’ A pang of sadness spears my chest. ‘He’s upset I’m wearing these again’ – I waggle my gloved hands – ‘and he’s… scared, I suppose, that I’m going to spiral back to the stage where I won’t let Archie out of my sight. But he’s trying to understand. He brought me home a bouquet of flowers and we’ve been talking… or trying to. It isn’t easy. Perhaps I should bring him here for a couples session?’
‘I don’t think it’s the right time for that. Let’s get you feeling more in control first, shall we?’
‘Yes. Please.’ In control is exactly how I want to feel.
After I’ve left Francesca’s with a clutch of CBT exercises to try at home, I drive to Marie’s, letting myself in with the spare key. Nothing has changed. She hasn’t been back. I conduct a more thorough search this time and find some old flyers for productions she has been in. I google the companies that produced them but most are no longer performing. I call the ones that are but no one has heard from her. I lock up as I leave but before I go I knock on her neighbour’s door. It cracks open and an elderly woman peers out.
‘Hello.’ I smile brightly. ‘I’m Marie’s sister, Leah.’
She looks blank.
‘Marie? Your next-door neighbour.’
‘Her wiv the hair that changes colour all the time?’
‘Yes. I was wondering when you’d last seen her?’
‘I mind me own business, luvvie. I ain’t seen her, not for a few days.’
‘Have you noticed any visitors?’
‘As I said, me duck, I keep meself to meself. Noticed you the other day, though. And there was a blonde girl.’
‘That’s Carly, my other sister. Anyone else?’
‘There were a man. Later that day. But like I said—’
‘A man?’ A chill feathers its way down my spine. ‘What did he look like?’
‘Couldn’t tell you, duckie. I don’t take much notice. He were tall though, with dark hair, and he hadn’t bothered to shave. In my day a suitor—’
Him. She has described him.
‘And have you seen Marie? After the man came here?’
‘No. But then, I’m not one for being in other people’s business.’
Don’t overreact.
There’s no evidence that Marie left her flat unwillingly. Lots of men are tall with dark hair, George included. He could have been anyone. A delivery driver. A salesman. It could have been anyone.
But I know it wasn’t.
He’s back.
At home I am desperate to tell Carly what Marie’s neighbour has said but she looks terrible: bloodshot eyes and her voice is hoarse.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says as soon as I walk into the kitchen.
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘I’m not… I don’t know what I’m doing.’ She’s making a sandwich for Archie but she stares at the butter as though she’s never seen it before. I slip the knife from her hand. ‘You look awful. Get yourself home and tucked up in bed.’
‘But it’s your parents’ evening tonight. I’m so sorry.’
‘You can’t help it.’ Her eyes fill with tears and I know she feels she’s let me down. ‘I’ll ask Tash to babysit.’ I usher her to the door.
‘Two days, Leah.’ Her voice cracks. ‘In two days it will have been twenty years since… since…’
‘Carly, it will be okay.’ I offer my sister a reassurance I don’t feel but I know when you’re feeling unwell everything is magnified and why shouldn’t I be the strong one for once? The one to look after her. ‘Go home.’
She looks so small as she climbs into her car. I watch her drive away before I head back into the kitchen and disinfect everything before throwing away the loaf of bread she had touched, giving Archie cream crackers for lunch instead.
I slick confidence over my lips and paint my cheeks happy before zipping up my red skirt. I’d heard that the colours you wear can reflect your mood. I can at least look brave, even if I don’t feel it. Coming out of the bedroom I hear Archie shriek with delight. Then the slosh of water.
I poke my head around the bathroom door. Archie has smeared a foamy bubble-bath beard over his chin. The scent of apple shampoo lingers in the air. ‘We need to leave in about twenty minutes.’
‘Can I come?’ Archie asks for the hundredth time.
‘Sorry. It’s just for grown-ups.’
‘But it’s my nursery.’ His expression changes in a millisecond. He’s tired and on the brink of tears.
‘I know, and your teachers will tell us how brilliant you are and then at the weekend we’ll get you a treat.’
‘A puppy!’ Archie lifts his hands in the air. Bubbles drift to the ground and pop.
‘Not a puppy, no.’ I can’t bear to look at his disappointed face.
‘Parents’ evening.’ George shakes his head. ‘At four years old.’
‘It’s to talk about his transition to school,’ I say although I feel there’s nothing that can prepare me for that.
‘But I—’ Archie begins and I cut him off with ‘Tash is coming to read you a story – that will be much more fun.’ Tash always gives the characters accents.
‘Tash is coming here to babysit?’ George frowns.
‘Yes. She’ll be fine.’ George used to say Tash was so much fun but irresponsible. But I wouldn’t trust her with Archie if I thought she couldn’t cope.
‘I thought Carly was coming?’
‘She’s unwell.’
Before George can respond the doorbell peals. I run down the stairs, checking out of the lounge window to make sure it is Tash before I answer the door.
‘Hey, Leah.’ She hugs me hello.
‘Thanks for coming. Have you had a good day off? Done anything nice?’
Her cheeks flush as she shrugs off her coat and I make a mental note to turn down the heating before we leave. ‘No. Nothing. You look fab! If I didn’t know any better I’d think you guys were sneaking off on a romantic date night.’ She raises her eyebrows.
‘Just the nursery. I thought I’d make an effort, though.’ It’s silly,
I love Archie more than anything, but there is a part of me that feels everyone is judging me. Seeing me as the imposter I feel I am. How can I possibly be a good mum when I can’t always look after myself?
‘Where’s your gorgeous husband?’ Tash asks next.
‘He’s getting Archie ready for bed.’
‘He’s so good with him. You don’t know how lucky you are.’ Tash trails me into the kitchen.
‘Now, you will be okay, won’t you? If there’s any problems call me. Or George. Or the nursery—’
‘I’ll be too busy snorting cocaine off your coffee table to notice anything wrong.’ She catches my stricken expression. ‘Relax.’
I try to smile, flick on the kettle. ‘Coffee?’
‘I thought if I shared a vodka with Archie he’d sleep better—’
‘Tash.’ My tone is sharper than I intended.
‘Sorry, Leah. You know I’m only joking but it’s probably the last thing you feel like with the anniversary. It’s my defence mechanism.’
‘Defence against what?’
‘I don’t know. Ignore me. My moods are all over the place at the moment. Archie!’ Tash crouches down as a damp Archie snowballs into her open arms.
‘George.’ Tash raises her face and meets his eyes. There’s a beat before he says, ‘Tash.’ He pats his pocket for his car keys. ‘Come on, Leah. We’re going to be late.’
We perch on too-small grey chairs, our feet resting in patches of glitter that I know are impossible to clear up. The smell of Play-Doh is mingled with glue and something sweet. Biscuits, perhaps. George’s knees are bunched to his chest as Rebecca heaps praise on Archie. We are obviously doing something right. Despite my fears and rituals, we are told he is happy and sociable. There are no concerns at all about how he might settle at school. I will be the one who has trouble adjusting.
‘If you want to go through his tray while I clear up?’ Rebecca says.
For the first time in days I feel something close to relaxed as I head into the familiar space, confident my boy is doing well.
George folds himself onto a wooden bench, head craned forward to avoid the coat hooks that dot the wall behind him.
I reach for Archie’s tray, pull it towards me.
When I see what’s inside I can’t stop screaming.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Carly
Then
‘I’ve brought something that will help you,’ Doc said as he stepped into the room. He lifted up a carrier bag. ‘Magazines to pass the time. I’m not sure what you girls like. There’s a Beano, and a fashion one and…’ he wrinkled his nose. ‘Has someone been sick? Is everything okay?’
‘No.’ Carly’s voice cracked under the weight of her tears. ‘Everything is not okay.’ She raised her head, met his gaze. ‘Marie needs a doctor, please. She’s really ill, I… I don’t know what to do. I’ve nothing to clean her up with. Please. You have to fetch help.’
‘I can’t—’
‘Can’t or won’t?’
‘Kids get sick all the time.’ Doc sounded uncertain, as if he’s not used to children.
‘Marie doesn’t. This place is filthy, it’s not even fit for animals. If she dies, it’s on you.’ Carly heard Leah take a sharp intake of breath but Carly couldn’t reassure her. She didn’t believe Marie had anything serious, she was already looking much better but… You twist me around your little finger. She had to have one more try. The atmosphere was heavy with Carly’s expectation, Doc’s silent deliberations. She remained quiet. A game of chess – it was his move.
‘I’m sure… No one’s going to die.’
‘Are you positive?’ Carly’s gaze didn’t waver. ‘If you can’t let us all go, take Marie to a hospital, please. Can you really live with yourself if she doesn’t make it out of here alive?’
‘No… I… This isn’t what…’ Doc stepped forwards and then backwards. ‘Look, it’s not up to me. I’ll go and ask.’ He rushed from the room.
Carly heard the door slam behind him. The sound of Doc’s boots drumming against the concrete corridor, growing fainter and fainter. But the bolts? She hadn’t heard the bolts.
For a split second she was frozen in indecision before the blood roared in her ears. This could be their only chance.
‘Get up.’ She stood, tugging at Marie’s arm.
‘But I’m tired—’
‘Get up. We’re getting out of here, but we have to go. Now!’
‘Away from the germs?’ Leah rose to her feet, taking Marie’s other hand and pulling. ‘Come on, Marie.’
Carly felt a pang of guilt. Marie was washing-powder white. Angry violet bags were carved under her eyes. Vomit crusted down her school shirt. But if they didn’t go now, go quickly…
Tap-tap-tap, said the tree on the bars.
Hurry-hurry-hurry.
She rushed the twins over to the door. The handle was cool and hard in Carly’s hand; it creaked as she twisted it. Her eyes met the clown’s in panic.
Let us out, she silently implored.
You’ll be back, he grinned.
Slowly, slowly she cracked opened the door. Her breath hitching in her throat each time the hinges squeaked. Her heart felt as though it might burst out of her chest as she spotted Doc at the bottom of the corridor, leaning against the front door frame, smoke pluming from his cigarette. He had his back to them as he spoke on the phone, his voice low and urgent. Carly knew he must be asking Moustache if he could take Marie to a doctor. It wouldn’t take him long to say no – he was obviously in charge – but Doc’s voice was insistent. It was almost, almost as though he was on their side.
Carly raised her index finger to her lips, warning her sisters to be quiet as she led them out of the room, turning away from the front door. Carly first, Marie’s fingers tightly around hers, Leah third, one hand holding her twin’s, the other clutching the bear in the red jumper. Ducks in a row, waiting for the hunt. To the left and right were rooms. If they hid in one of these they could be trapped, easy to find. At the other end of the corridor, the stairs. There was a chance Doc could turn around and spot them before they made it there. But even if they reached them, the wood could be rotten, the stairwell collapsing before they had climbed to the top – and if they did reach the second floor, what then?
She only had a split second to make a decision.
Think.
Carly led her sisters through the doorway to the room next door to theirs, the terror in her throat growing with every step. The room was smaller than theirs; the graffiti on the walls here was oddly beautiful. A woman riding a unicorn, long pink hair flowing behind her. The floor was littered with empty aerosol bottles, crumpled foil, syringes. A crumpled sleeping bag in the corner. Outside the wind howled, the rain blew through the empty window frame, puddling on the floor. Here, there were no bars.
The girls crunched over broken glass as they hurried across the room.
Carly linked her fingers together, her hands forming a step. She nodded at Leah, praying she didn’t protest it was too high, she was too scared, she didn’t want to be first. With a quick glance at Marie, Leah placed her foot in Carly’s hands, and allowed herself to be hefted upright, until she could scramble through the gap, dropping to the outside with a thud. She reached back through the open space and quickly helped Marie out.
The front door slammed. Doc’s footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Hurry-hurry-hurry.
Carly’s pulse accelerated. They had minutes, perhaps only seconds, before he discovered they had gone. She threw a leg over the window and hurled herself outside. Grabbing the twins’ hands she dragged them away from the building. It was stupid to stay out in the open. They’d be spotted almost straight away. The nearest building, the one with the NORWOOD ARMY CAMP sign was only a few metres away.
‘Oi!’ Doc roared.
Hurry-hurry-hurry.
They sprinted to the building. Pounded up the five steps leading to the entrance.
Carly wonder
ed how many soldiers had felt as terrified as she was as they were summoned into the main building to receive their orders, hear their fate. Despite their uniforms, their weapons, they were only flesh and bone, just like her. Everyone was fallible. Expendable.
Not everyone got out alive.
You’re going to die.
The space was vast. A curved wooden reception desk directly opposite the entrance. Welcome spray-painted in thick black letters, alongside a coarse skull and crossbones. Carly briefly considered the stairs before ushering the girls to their left. They rushed through the corridor into a larger room. Clouds of dust rose around their ankles. In here was a large cinema screen, miraculously still suspended from the wall. Multiple wooden benches were upended, their legs broken off. In the centre of the room was a pile of ash and soot. This was where the briefings were held. Carly shuddered. The soldiers would have felt the same fear as her. Neither knowing if they’d ever see their families again.
There was nowhere to hide.
Hurry-hurry-hurry.
‘Come on.’
But Marie was swaying on her feet, drained and wan.
‘Just a bit further.’ Carly half-dragged her sister through the next corridor, which opened up into something Carly recognized from Mr Webster’s class.
The ballroom.
There were three large holes in the ceiling where the chandeliers had been yanked down. Glittering shards of glass blanketed the floor. She remembered feet dancing across plush carpet that now lay in shreds, some of it burned, the red pattern dull, the cream part filthy.
In the middle of the room, a huge pile of empty boxes, wooden pallets, faded floral curtains, as though someone had gathered the rubbish for a bonfire.
Outside, the sound of an engine, squealing tyres, brakes, a slamming door.
‘Where the fuck are they?’
Moustache had arrived.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Leah
Now
Beetles.
Archie’s tray is crawling with beetles.
Instantly I am back in the cold and the damp and the dark. Insects in my hair, my mouth. Sharp feet scuttling over my skin. One plummeting down my throat, meeting the scream that rose.
The Stolen Sisters: from the bestselling author of The Date and The Sister comes one of the most thrilling, terrifying and shocking psychological thrillers of 2020 Page 15
