Sister to Sister

by Olivia Hayfield

  Will’s hand shook as he fumbled with his keys and let them in.

  Kit was lying on the living room floor in a pool of blood. A knife was embedded in his neck. His eyes were closed.

  Eliza gave a strangled cry as her hands flew to her mouth.

  Oh god – no. Not Kit.

  Will stood stock still, staring at him.

  Eliza crouched down and put her fingers to Kit’s wrist. She wouldn’t allow herself to look at the knife.

  ‘There’s a faint pulse.’ She gently touched his face. ‘Kit? It’s Eliza.’

  Don’t let him die. Please don’t let him die.

  Will finally spoke. ‘Call an ambulance. And the police.’ He knelt down and stroked Kit’s hair. ‘We’re here, Kit. It’s going to be OK.’

  Eliza took out her phone.

  How do I call an ambulance?

  What’s the number?

  Please, Kit. Don’t leave me. Please, please don’t leave me.

  His eyes flickered open; he stared at the ceiling.

  ‘Help’s on the way, Kit,’ she said.

  But as his eyes met hers, and then Will’s, she saw their light fading.

  ‘No, Kit! Please – don’t leave us!’

  He managed a faint smile, then the fire went out.

  ‘No, Kit! No-no-no.’ She grabbed his hand, kissing it, bathing it in hot tears.

  For a while they sat either side of him, watching over him, crying quietly. Then Eliza lowered her wet cheek to his chest, resting on him, closing her eyes.

  His heart was silent. Her own broke into a million pieces as her tears mingled with the blood soaking his T-shirt.

  ‘He’s dead because of me. Beautiful Kit. He’s dead because of me.’ Darkness filled her soul. ‘How can I live with that? How can I live without him? I can’t bear it.’

  ‘He wanted to help you, Eliza. He’d have done anything for you.’

  She sobbed, holding Kit’s empty body. With a shaking hand she grasped a handful of his hair and buried her face in it, trying to burn his smell into her memory.

  ‘Come here. Let him go,’ said Will gently. ‘We want his killer caught; you need to stop touching him.’

  ‘No!’

  This can’t be happening. How can a life so precious suddenly end?

  Then, all at once, their conversation beneath that ancient oak came back to her.

  How do you know these things?

  I just do. Like I know I’ll die young.

  She let him go, even as her world caved in.

  The police arrived, and after some initial questions asked them to leave the room. Eliza began to cry again, not wanting to abandon Kit to these people who didn’t know him, didn’t love him.

  Will gently propelled her towards the door, and for the first time she registered the disarray. A small table lay on its side, and the Lalique glass cat she’d given the boys as a housewarming present lay in smithereens on the floor.

  ‘Perhaps we could all have a cup of tea,’ said a policewoman.

  Two officers questioned them. Eliza answered while Will stared into space, saying nothing.

  The officers’ eyes widened when Eliza mentioned the name of Kit’s Russian billionaire father. ‘Andre tried to stop Kit sending evidence of a crime to a reporter,’ she said. ‘But he failed. The evidence is already with Terri Robbins-More at Rose HQ.’

  The officer scribbled in a notebook. ‘And what crime would that be, Ms Rose?’

  ‘The murder of my mother, Ana Rose, in 2002.’

  The other officer spoke. ‘So you’re alleging Mr Marley’s father—’

  ‘ . . . killed my mother, yes. And Kit’s mother. And Kit. His own son.’

  Will finally paid attention. ‘But . . . Andre wanted a reconciliation. He wouldn’t have had Kit killed.’

  ‘It looks like there was a brawl, Mr Bardington.’

  Eliza squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block the image of Kit fighting a knife-wielding attacker.

  ‘We’ll send someone over to Rose HQ right away,’ said one of the officers.

  ‘And you should contact my uncle – Charles Lisle.’ Eliza scrolled through her contacts. ‘He has a dossier of incriminating evidence regarding Sokolov’s financial history. Money laundering, fraud, all those things. Here’s his number.’

  ‘Right. I think we’re done here,’ said the officer. ‘We’ll need you to vacate this property until the crime scene investigation is completed, and we’ll need to know where you both are. Is there somewhere Mr Bardington can stay?’

  ‘With me,’ said Eliza. She stood and hugged Will where he sat.

  He rested his head against her and she held him tight.

  ‘I don’t know how we’ll get through this, Will.’

  Chapter 50

  Eliza

  An officer drove them home. Once inside, Eliza poured them each a glass of brandy, then curled up beside Will on the sofa, her head on his shoulder.

  She was exhausted, all cried out, her mind numb. ‘It’s like a terrible dream,’ she said.

  ‘He was everything to me,’ said Will. ‘But he belonged to no one.’

  ‘He told me he knew he’d die young. Will, how could you live with that knowledge? And knowing that your father killed your mother.’

  ‘Exactly like he did. Not giving a fuck.’

  ‘Oh, he gave a fuck,’ said Eliza. ‘For you, Will. For me.’

  In the early hours of the morning, unable to sleep, her pillow soaked with tears, Eliza lay trying to unsee Kit with a knife in his neck, the pool of blood, the light leaving his eyes. Instead she pictured him singing with his guitar on May Morning; inviting her to embrace Bacchus; lying hand in hand as lightning flashed around them. Dancing in the moonlight on their last night at Oxford; playing truant at Greenwich, stopping time at Queen Elizabeth’s Oak: You got that too?

  I did. What was it? Ancient oaks?

  A bit more than that.

  What had he meant? What had he known?

  The next morning, Eliza’s phone buzzed with notifications as word of Kit’s murder quickly spread. She checked online to see what information the police had released. News websites reported the death of RoseGold’s creative genius Kit Marley, co-writer of Most Human of Saints and close friend of Eliza Rose. In a sensational twist, Russian billionaire Andre Sokolov was being questioned in connection with the murder, and the more switched-on journalists had spotted the link between Sokolov and the conspiracy theories about the death of Eliza’s mother, Ana.

  Eliza ignored all the calls and messages, apart from Mac’s. She’d been with the police, she said, giving evidence against Hamish, who’d been arrested on fraud charges courtesy of Uncle Charles’s dossier. And it seemed he’d had a hand in Kit’s murder.

  ‘Thank you, Mac, I appreciate your help.’

  Then Rob’s image flashed up. She answered.

  ‘Lizzie, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. Is Will with you?’

  ‘Yes. Where are you?’

  ‘At work, but I’m staying at Gil’s. What happened? The papers are saying Andre Sokolov killed Kit. None of this makes any sense to me.’

  ‘I can tell you now, it’s not a secret any more.’

  ‘What isn’t?’

  ‘I never told you this, Rob, but Mum didn’t die of natural causes. She was murdered. I’ve known who did it since I was eighteen, when I started working for Terri. She told me. Andre Sokolov had Mum killed when she threatened to ruin Dad during their divorce. He did it without Dad’s knowledge.’

  As Eliza said the words, she knew she believed them. One hundred per cent.

  ‘Holy fuck. Why did you never tell me?’

  ‘It was unproveable, and Dad hated talking about it, so I kind of buried it. Rob . . . Andre Sokolov is Kit’s father. And he killed Kit’s mum too. Kit was helping me with Dad’s last-wish thing, which was to make Andre pay. But yesterday . . . well, you know what happened. He was killed by one of Andre’s hitmen.’

  Rob was silent. ‘My
god. I can’t take this in. How are you doing?’

  ‘Terribly. You know what Kit meant to me. And then there’s Will . . . ’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Lizzie. And for those things I said about you and him. I was a jealous prick. He made me feel so . . . I don’t know. Boring?’

  ‘Boring?’ Eliza managed a small laugh. ‘Rob, you could never be boring. I want us to be close again. Can we? Please?’

  ‘Always and for ever, Lizzie. Look, call me if you need anything. Anything at all. You know I’m here for you.’

  ‘I do. Goodbye, Rob. And . . . I love you.’

  ‘Likewise.’

  She realized she was smiling, for the first time in how long?

  ‘Are you hungry, Will?’ she said. ‘I’ll make us some toast.’

  But as she headed for the kitchen, she remembered Kit making her Marmite toast and it all came crashing down again. She burst into tears, and made for Will instead.

  She was almost asleep when Will gently nudged her. ‘Clare’s calling,’ he said, picking up her phone.

  She answered.

  ‘Eliza, it’s Harry. He’s waking up.’

  It took a moment for the words to sink in.

  ‘I’m at the hospital. He’s come round twice, just for a minute or so. He’s confused, but the doctor says it looks like there’s no brain damage. He’s going to be OK.’

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ asked Will.

  ‘It’s Dad. He’s coming round.’

  ‘Because of Kit.’

  ‘Yes. This is Kit’s doing.’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘I’ll call you from the hospital.’

  Clare and Eddie were sitting at Harry’s bedside. He was still asleep, but Eliza could tell – he was back. He wasn’t a shell any more. Some of the tubes had been removed; he was breathing by himself.

  ‘I’m so sorry about Kit,’ said Clare, hugging her. ‘He was remarkable. So gifted.’

  Immediately, her tears were back. ‘He was.’ She swiped them away. ‘I can’t imagine life without him.’

  She took Harry’s hand. ‘How long did Dad wake up for? Did he say anything?’

  ‘He woke twice, the first time when the nurse was checking on him. The doctors decided he was coming out of the coma.’

  ‘Thank god.’

  ‘And then when we arrived . . . I saw it, Eliza. He opened his eyes again.’

  ‘Did he recognize you?’

  ‘No.’ She paused. ‘He said, “Ana”.’

  Eliza could hardly speak. ‘Kit. That’s because of Kit.’

  ‘No, Harry can’t possibly know about Andre’s arrest yet,’ said Clare. ‘Nobody’s told him.’

  ‘He knows,’ said Eliza.

  Then she felt it. Harry squeezed her hand.

  Eliza gasped.

  His eyelids flickered open, and his blue eyes fixed on her. ‘Lizzie.’

  ‘I’ll fetch the doctor,’ said Eddie.

  Harry’s eyes were confused, moving between Eliza and Clare.

  ‘Harry,’ Clare said gently, leaning over him. ‘The operation went well. You’re going to be fine. You’ll feel strange for a while, it’s the medication, and . . . you took a little longer to come round than anyone expected.’

  ‘Dad,’ said Eliza, her voice unsteady. ‘I don’t know if you can understand. Andre’s been arrested. He confessed to Mum’s murder. It’s over, Dad.’

  He squeezed her hand again. ‘Andre’s . . . confessed?’

  ‘He has. Yes.’

  Harry smiled. ‘Bit tired. Talk later.’

  The three of them stayed until the evening, and Harry woke again, this time for half an hour or so. He was still disorientated, but began to make sense of what they were telling him, about how long he’d been asleep, and about how Will and Kit had recorded Andre’s confession.

  Eliza didn’t mention Kit’s death.

  ‘Kit,’ he said. ‘Sokolov’s son. Hard to believe. I think I might even have met him when he was a boy, at Andre’s mansion.’

  ‘You did. He liked you . . . ’ She burst into tears again.

  ‘Sh, it’s OK, Lizzie. I’m back now. What I told you before – remember? It happened again. They let me live.’

  And they took Kit. Why?

  The police and MI5 acted swiftly, before the Russians had time to regroup. Andre and Hamish were remanded in custody and Kit’s murderer was arrested after Hamish turned informer. According to Mac, he’d done a deal, spilling the beans about Andre in return for leniency in his sentencing.

  Kit’s funeral was held a few days later, and Will’s eulogy was the most beautiful piece of prose Eliza had ever heard. He finished, of course, with a quote:

  Grief fills the room up of my absent child.

  Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me.

  Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words.

  Remembers me of all his gracious parts.

  Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form.

  Then, have I reason to be fond of grief ?

  Rob sought out Eliza, afterwards. ‘Probably a stupid question, but how’re you doing?’

  ‘Dead inside.’

  ‘Would you like some company?’

  ‘That’d be nice. Leigh’s taking Will home now the cordon’s been lifted.’

  Back at the apartment, as he made them a sandwich, Rob asked, ‘Were they a couple? I was never sure.’

  ‘As close to a couple as Kit got with anyone, I think,’ said Eliza, pouring two cups of tea. ‘As you know, he didn’t do fidelity. But he loved Will in his own way.’

  ‘Poor Will. He looks like a ghost.’

  They took their tea and sandwiches over to the couch.

  ‘Rob. Dark Soul. Promise me you’ll produce it as is. Kit’s words, nobody else’s.’

  ‘It’ll offend a lot of people.’

  ‘Which is—’

  ‘ . . . exactly as Kit intended. Yes, I promise.’

  ‘Thanks. That means a lot.’

  He held her gaze, then suddenly leaned across and kissed her.

  For a moment she shut her eyes, feeling that sense of relief, of coming home.

  But then she pulled back. ‘Rob! We only buried Kit this morning.’

  He reached for a curl, wound it round his finger. ‘Your Kit was never one for acceptable behaviour, wouldn’t you say?’

  Eliza smiled. It was a sad smile, but it grew wider.

  Act like a Marley. Be with him, but don’t commit. Ever.

  ‘You have a point, Roberto. Honouring his memory with tea and sandwiches? What was I thinking?’

  Chapter 51

  Eliza

  TWO MONTHS LATER

  She’d intended to find a bench overlooking the river, but the biting wind barrelling down the Thames had her ducking into Caffé Uno.

  She bought a hot chocolate and sat at their usual table, tucked away in the corner, picturing him in the seat opposite, feeling his absence. She slit open the envelope and started to read.

  Dear Lizzie

  Bit rad, writing an actual letter! It feels more personal though. Plus sometimes I’d swear people are reading my emails.

  How are you doing? I mean, how are you REALLY doing, Snow White? Yes, I love your chirpy emails but it’s me, Rob. You can tell me when you’re sad, or pissed off, or exhausted.

  So I just thought I’d tell you. God, this is hard. I wish I had your way with words. I’m writing like this, all serious, because I wanted to say that I understand why you sent me away.

  I know you want me to keep Mac in line, forge ahead with RG here in the US because this is where it’s at, but I’m here mostly because you needed space after losing Kit, to think on things and work out what you want – from life, from me.

  Lizzie, I want to be part of your future, you know that. As in, the main part. As in, can we get back together? I’ll never love anyone like I love you. I get that you don’t want to marry, that you’re not convinced about having kids. But I k
now it’s worth saving – us. Please, Lizzie. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it. Don’t give up on us?

  I probably don’t need to say more, you get the picture. Sorry I’m not a Bardington (how’s he doing, by the way?). But you already know my heart, even if I’m crap at putting my feelings into words.

  Can we meet up, maybe? Somewhere far away from work? Talk it through? You could come over, we could go to Hawaii or take a road trip? That holiday we never had. What do you reckon?

  Sending all my love and enormous hugs from my desolate, lonely flat, and love to Harry, Clare and Eddie.

  And, Lizzie, you’ll see pics of me, like you did before, with others. It’s all part of the game. I see pics of you too and I hope to god it’s just you having a bit of fun before you maybe settle down again – with me?

  Your ridiculously devoted and ever hopeful

  Rob xxxxx

  ONE WEEK LATER

  Dear Rob

  Picture me in Caffé Uno (coffee hasn’t improved), reading your letter and having a little cry.

  I miss you so much, and I loved every word you said and Bard couldn’t have said it better. (He’s getting there BTW, but slowly.)

  Sorry it’s taken me a while to respond, aside from my usual ‘chirpy’ emails. I’ve been trying to find the words too. So so hard, but here goes . . .

  Yes, I sent you to the US because I needed space, not just because of Kit but also because of what happened to you and me.

  When we had that horrible row, I had a kind of epiphany. It wasn’t so much about you cheating on me (although after Dad’s example, that was always going to be a big deal), it was more that I realized we want different things out of life.

  You want a family, Rob. A wife. I don’t want to be a wife and mum, I’m sure of that now. I just can’t see myself as one of those superwomen who has it all – the beautiful kids and the successful career and the devoted husband and somehow juggling it all and making it work. Many do, but that’s not for me.

  The time we spent looking for a house, planning our future, showed me how much I would have to change to make that work. I felt guilty every time I put work first, which I have to do in this job. So I had to make a choice. Rose, or you.