I turned on my heel and moved towards one of two doors. The kitchen door opened to my touch. Like the front, the rear of the house was in darkness, and as I called Evie, I fumbled around the walls searching for a light switch. I noticed how hot the house felt after coming in from the cold.
“Evie? Are you there?”
Still no answer. I wondered what the devil she was playing at. I wanted to find my sister, sit down and have a good heart to heart with her. I was tired of all this. Up until then, I had been depressed because I thought she would never forgive me. Now she wanted to talk, and I was anxious and impatient to get it all settled. Life was too short for silly quarrels.
I found more switches on the walls and the large square hallway flooded with light once I flipped them on. I moved towards the bottom of the stairs, and it was then I noticed the smell. At first it was faint, indeterminate, and then as I sniffed more deeply, it filled my nostrils, and I likened it to a smithy that was filled with raw iron and earth. It was metallic, coppery, like old wet metal with a hint of citrus.
Blood.
My heart pounded in my chest. My pulse throbbed in my neck. I thought I could hear the sound of running water. I placed my foot on the first step and softly called Evie’s name. Naively, I was hoping she would appear, laughing like she used to, her head wrapped in a towel, saying she had taken a shower or washed her hair because it felt so yucky. But before I could even drag my feet into the bathroom, I knew what I would find.
My sister. My beautiful sister was lying in the bath, the hot water tap running slowly, curdling the blood-filled waters of her coffin. Her green eyes were open, but as I gaped at her glassy, lifeless stare, I knew she was dead. My throat felt constricted as I fought for breath. I know I screamed.
She was naked. A scalpel rested on the rim of the bathtub, blood had run down the side and pooled on the floor. Incongruously, I noticed a pervading scent of bath oil above the rust. I found I was shaking. My essential oil. I gave Evie some for her last birthday, and she chose to repay me by using it in her suicide. But why?
The scalpel I understood. She was a nurse and could have easily laid her hands on one. Numbly, I reached over and turned the tap off. Somewhere deep inside, I remembered reading that if you wanted to commit suicide by slicing open your veins, hot water would keep the veins open, and bath oil would relax you while you bled your life away. Oh Evie…so much blood…on her face, smeared along the top of the bath, the floor. From what I noticed, she looked skeletally thin, from her chest down to her skinny thighs and bruised arms. I felt my stomach heave, and I turned away, fighting to keep my breathing under control.
In one corner, I saw a pile of clothing and recognised them as Evie’s. Slightly off to one side, a pair of cartoon-themed slippers lay discarded just inside the doorway, and hardly aware of what I was doing, I picked them up. The slippers, I remembered, were a present to Evie from Darcy. Cheeky rabbit faces peered up at me, but they would never make Evie smile again. I fondled the soft floppy ears, drawing back in horror when I realised they were splattered with blood and then, turning the slippers over, found more blood on the soles. Even these innocent-looking things, given in a gesture of love, hadn’t been spared. Oh Evie, Evie.
I couldn’t understand. She was in love. She wanted to marry Martyn so badly. So why had there been so much pain and suffering in her life to make her want to end it all this way? My brain kicked in. I felt for a pulse and found nothing but cold, lifeless flesh. With trembling fingers, I jabbed at buttons on my phone.
“Help,” I screamed. “Please help. My sister’s cut her wrists. Please, please, what shall I do? Please, come quickly.”
The calm female voice at the other end asked questions to which I garbled the answers. All the time I found I couldn’t take my eyes from Evie. My sister, Evie, alone, naked and vulnerable.
The voice asked me to stay at the house. “The emergency services will be with you as soon as possible.”
“Please hurry,” I whispered as tears slid over my nose.
Despite the horrendous scene before me, I couldn’t leave Evie all by herself. It was bad enough that she was miserable enough to take her own life: worse that she left it completely on her own. My mind started playing tricks; I fought to keep myself under control, pushing aside the jumble which threatened to take over. I had to stay sane for Evie’s sake. I don’t know why I thought that, and I doubt I ever will.
I realised I was shivering and took a moment to compose myself by going over to the window. I opened it and drew in deep lungfuls of fresh air. I wanted to rid the dreadful taste in my throat. In the distance, across the fields and through light woodland, I could see the lights of our town. On a warm, sunny day, the twenty-minute walk would have been very pleasant.
I turned away from the window and approached the appalling scene once more. I knew I ought to call Mum and Angela and let them know of the unspeakable thing I had discovered. But as I knelt down next to the bath, I asked myself, how would I put it to them? Dimly, I supposed Martyn needed to be told, too. In a minute. I would do it all in a minute.
As I swayed on my knees, I suddenly realised I might have prevented this. If only I had left home as soon as Evie rang, instead of acting awkward and wasting precious minutes checking how much money I had in my accounts.
Was this all my fault? Could I have prevented this tragedy?
***
I stayed with Evie as long as I could before the authorities arrived and gently moved me out of the way. I spent the short time observing Evie, wondering how she had the strength to do what she had done. I came to the conclusion she must have had strong reasons for wanting to end her life in such a shocking manner.
She had slit her wrists from about four inches from her elbows. How she had the courage, I would never know, to slash down along the vein towards the wrists, not across the veins as seen in TV dramas or big-screen movies. Horrifically enough, both wrists had been cut equally as well as the other. As I stared, I wondered what concentration of character it had taken to perform such a dreadful act so precisely.
Chapter 23
I gradually became aware I wasn’t alone any more. Strangers arrived, wearing a green uniform with personal protective tabards covering their overalls. There was so much blood.
I felt as if I was viewing everything through cracked, imperfect glass. Nothing seemed normal. I thought if I reached out, I wouldn’t be able to touch or feel anything. I was so numb inside.
The paramedics scurried around, making me sit down in the living room, while upstairs I could hear urgent footsteps as they raced from the stairs to the bathroom. After a few minutes there was a lull and it became quiet.
A police car arrived at almost the same time as the ambulance, and I was aware of a policewoman handing me a mug of tea. It was sweet and hot, but the smell of it made me want to vomit as I remembered that other cloying smell…in my nostrils, my hair, under my fingernails.
“Have you phoned anyone?” The policewoman asked in a soft voice. She looked about twenty-three, and I wondered if Evie was the first dead body she had dealt with. How was she feeling? Did professionals ever get over the sight of a dead body? I shook my head in answer to her question.
“I must phone my mum…our mum,” I said in a tight little voice.
She nodded. “If you want me to do it for you, please just say.” She withdrew to stand in the hallway, and I heard her muttering into her telephone to someone back at the station.
I drew my phone from my pocket and took a huge breath. I had rehearsed a little speech in my head; it had gone round and round until I had it word perfect. In the end, I managed to speak calmly and clearly. I said that I had some dreadful news and that Evie was dead. I remember there was no response, and I wondered if Mum had heard me. Then I heard a strangled sort of half gasp half sob.
“Dead? I don’t understand.” She muttered something else, and I asked her to come round to the house and get Angela to accompany her. I didn’t think she ought
to drive.
My phone lay in my lap. I knew Martyn should have been told, but I just couldn’t. The thought of him and her—it was as I said before. He destroyed everything he came into contact with.
The policewoman returned. She was pretty; her hair was a pale shade of auburn, and she had smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She gave me an encouraging smile.
“Okay? You spoke to your mum?” I nodded and said she was on her way.
She sat down next to me on the settee and got out her notebook. “I have to ask you some questions, take details, as you found her first.”
I nodded. Again I thought what a dreadful job she had. Being called out to suicides or even murders…having to witness such horrors and then interview the relatives and friends.
“Evie has a husband…had. He needs to be contacted, too. I don’t want to be the one—”
“It’s fine. Would you like me to?” She laid down her notepad. I gave her the number and walked over to the window while she tried. “Engaged,” she said finally. “I’ll try again in a minute.”
I swayed before the window, my head fuzzy. I turned around and tottered back to my seat. I think it had really just sunk in. I was never going to see or hear Evie again.
Memories arose from the murk. My big sister, Evie, on her way to school. She was walking a few feet ahead of me with her friends and ignoring me because she had ‘sent me to Coventry’, for stealing her eye make-up again. Evie half turned and then, on catching sight of my pleading looks, tossed her head and carried on walking. I remembered Evie trying on dress after dress in Chelsea Girl, with me sitting on the floor, chewing gum and giving my qualified opinion. Evie’s boyfriends—few and far between, because, as always, she was so fussy.
I recalled how pleased Mum and Dad were when she passed her exams to become a registered nurse, and I was proud my big sister had chosen a career I could never have had. Evie was bighearted, even if she didn’t always show it. She watched out for me, advised me, often against my will, and had always been there when my latest love affair died an inglorious death. Yes, she was often a pain, but we would never laugh about any of this together again. There was no more me and my big sister.
The policewoman moved next to me and handed over a box of tissues. It was all my fault. I wondered if they all guessed that as I sobbed in to my hands. I cried as she sat helplessly by, not moving or saying anything, just letting me get it all out. When I eventually stopped, save for a few gulps and sniffs, she placed a hand on my wrist and giving it a squeeze asked if I would like anything…another cup of tea, perhaps?
“No thanks. I’m okay now.” I snuffled into my soggy tissues.
“I’m Natalie Soames, by the way, and my colleague here is Detective Inspector Gary Mitchell. He needs to ask you some more questions. I’ll just try ringing Mr Cousins again for you.”
I glanced up at the tall suited officer who had just entered the room. I had seen him but hadn’t really taken any notice of him. We hadn’t spoken as he had been on his phone outside or upstairs.
He took a seat opposite me and began by asking me how I came to find Evie. I explained how she telephoned me and asked me round so we could talk. The policewoman took down notes in her book.
“She asked you to come round? Was there anything in particular she wanted to talk about?” he asked in a low modulated voice.
I shrugged. “Sister stuff.”
He said nothing but waited.
I elaborated. “Evie and I hadn’t been getting on too well, and I think she wanted us to be friends again. At least that’s the impression she gave me.”
“I see. Can you think of any reason why she might have taken her own life?”
“No. She recently got married. As far as I know she was happy. Who wouldn’t be? A new bride and a brand-new expensive house.”
“We haven’t found a suicide note. Maybe there’s one for her husband, which we haven’t yet found. But normally, suicide letters are left in a conspicuous place.”
“Do…do people who take their own life usually leave a note?”
He frowned. “No. Only about twenty-five to thirty-five per cent, actually. It’s strange that she asked you to visit her and then did this.”
I didn’t understand either, but I couldn’t get my mind round to tackling that question at that exact moment. One of the uniformed ambulance men poked his head round the door and indicated he wanted to speak to the inspector. They both glanced at me, and I guessed they were about to remove Evie’s body. The inspector nodded and then stepped back into the room, closing the door behind him. Panic flooded through me when I heard a few thuds and scrapes as they carried Evie down the stairs and outside. It all seemed so unbelievable. They were taking our Evie away and I couldn’t stop them.
I heard a car draw up and I moved to the window. I recognised Angela’s Lexus and watched as she helped Mum from her seat. They walked together, Angela’s arm round Mum’s shoulders as they slowly approached the ambulance. Evie was about to be lifted into the waiting vehicle; she had been placed in a body bag on the gurney. Looking at the white bag, it could have contained a long ball-gown or wedding dress just back from the dry-cleaners, and not my sister.
“My mum and younger sister,” I said when the inspector joined me. “I rang them.”
“Just a couple more questions and then we’ll leave you in peace with your family. Do you know if your sister was depressed? Was she taking any medication?”
“No. Why?” I frowned.
“It’s a routine question with suicide. If she had been, it might help explain why she did it.”
I shook my head. “She was a nurse. She was capable of looking after herself. As far as I know, the only stuff she took was a vitamin tonic.”
The policewoman made another entry in her book as he addressed her. “We’ll take another look round the house and see if we can find anything.”
“Why? Do you suspect she was taking something?” I asked.
“Maybe not, but we like to leave no stone unturned.”
***
The three of us sat in the sitting-room, the inevitable tray of tea on a table before us. The police had just left, and the sudden silence between us was palpable.
Mum looked so old, her expression a mixture of stunned devastation and disbelief. I watched from the window as she asked the ambulance men to peel back the zipper on the bag to look at her dead daughter one last time. Her face had crumpled as she bent and kissed Evie’s brow, her eldest child, and then she walked with exaggerated steps into the house.
Angela, for once, looked bewildered as if this had nothing to do with her normally well-ordered life. Eventually, she squared her solid shoulders, found her voice and pulled a small notepad and pen from her bag.
“We need to keep busy, and I’ll start by making a list of what we have to do. Who to contact.” As she said those words, a look of horror crossed her face. “Martyn. Has he been told?”
“The police couldn’t get hold of him. His phone was permanently engaged.” I answered. “I’d completely forgotten with all this and you arriving.” I felt my lip quiver, and hastily, I swallowed the lump in the back of my throat.
We all glanced at each other. “Then we must try again,” Mum said. “In a minute. This moment is for us—a mother and her daughters.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Why, oh why did she do it? What did we do wrong?”
What had I done wrong, I thought. “What about Darcy?”
“She has a rehearsal at school. She said she’d get a lift home. I suppose I ought to be thinking of getting back to break the news to her,” Mum said in a wobbly voice. “I don’t know if I can…”
“I’ll come back with you. You shouldn’t do it alone.” Both Angela and I exchanged looks, and with mutual understanding, we knew we would both be there for Mum and Darcy.
It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes later. We were still sitting in the room, the curtains drawn against the now dark sky when we heard a car dra
w up. I held Mum’s hand as she looked on the point of collapsing.
There was a sound of voices in the hall and laughter. Then we heard Martyn’s voice call out. “Evie, darling, I’m home!”
The front door slammed, and seconds later, he and Darcy burst into the room, accompanied by a clank of bottles coming from the carrier bag in Martyn’s hand. “Surprise! Guess who’s joining us for dinner.” He looked round at us and did a double take. “Well, this is a day of wonders. All of my favourite girls are here. What’s the occasion?”
Chapter 24
I was initially surprised at the number of people who turned up for Evie’s funeral. But after looking round at the crowd sitting in the church, I realised she must have had a lot of friends and colleagues who respected her. Of course, all her family attended and a handful of school friends with whom she had stayed in touch, but in the main, the numbers were swelled by doctors and nurses.
I had only been to two other funerals in my life: my father’s and grandmother’s. It was the first time I attended a service for someone who should still have been enjoying the first half of their life. The fact that it was my sister added to the wretchedness of the occasion.
The weather had turned bitter, raw and frosty, and the media had been talking of a white Christmas, which was still over five weeks away. The idea of revelries, present-giving and over-eating held little appeal, and the more I considered it, the less I thought I could stomach it at all. The whole idea seemed ludicrous. Besides, if I couldn’t bear it, how would my mum cope?
Jon accompanied me to the service and held my hand throughout. He had been wonderful, telephoning me almost every hour from work and sleeping over whenever he could. If I hadn’t had the comfort of his strong arms around me, I swear I would have given up. I knew he had another visit to the States looming but pushed the thought of him thousands of miles away to the back of my mind.
Behind A Twisted Smile (Dark Minds Book 2) Page 13
