Her Sister's Lie

by Debbie Howells

  “God, Abe . . . Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick. The police are looking for you.”

  “Police?” He looked dumbfounded.

  “I called them this morning. Where’ve you been?” I broke off. He seemed completely unmoved.

  “I was at school.” He hung his head, staring at the floor.

  “Don’t lie,” I cried. “The police called your school. They said you weren’t there. They said you’ve missed a few days—why haven’t you been there? What’s been going on?”

  “I was late for registration, that’s all.” He paused for a moment. “If you don’t believe me, phone them again. I signed into all my classes.” He started walking toward the door, and I lurched after him, grabbing one of his arms.

  “Don’t you dare walk off like that. I have to tell the police you’re back. I hope you realize how much of their time you’ve wasted.”

  Abe stopped walking, standing with his back to me. Then he turned around. “Why did you call them?”

  “Because you were gone all night.” I couldn’t keep the anger out of my voice. “I thought something terrible had happened to you.”

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “What are you talking about?”

  “Abe, you’ve been out since yesterday evening. Didn’t you think I’d be worried?”

  “I wasn’t out. I came in late, that’s all.” He looked at me, incredulous.

  “What about this morning?” I stared at him. He had to be joking. “You weren’t here, Abe. I looked in your room. Your bed didn’t look slept in.”

  He folded his arms defensively. “I went out early, to go to the library. Before you were up.”

  I stared at him. He was lying. I was sure of it. “But I didn’t get up late.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever. But you must have been asleep when I went out or you would have heard me.” He sounded utterly convincing.

  “I still need to let the police know you’re back.” I turned away from him to look for my phone, seconds later hearing his footsteps on the stairs, then the sound of his bedroom door being slammed shut.

  Too late, I thought of the letters that were still in my room. I hoped he wouldn’t notice they were missing, but if he did, I knew what I’d tell him—that the police had searched his room, that maybe they’d accidentally moved them.

  Fetching my phone, I called Sergeant Levigne, but he didn’t answer, and instead it went straight through to the police station. Having left a message there asking him to call me back, I was taken by surprise twenty minutes later when a police car drew up outside.

  I watched from the kitchen window as Sergeant Levigne and PC Marsh walked up the path toward the house. I knew what I’d told them was the truth, but what if they chose to believe Abe? Opening the door, I went to meet them.

  “Ms. Roscoe . . . We were in the area when the station gave us your message, so we thought we’d call in. I gather your nephew’s back?”

  “Yes. And he’s fine.” Nervous, I tried to laugh it off. “I owe you an apology. It seems there’s been a misunderstanding. He says he’s been at school. He just missed registration first thing. He’s come home as usual. It’s exactly as you said.” I looked from one to the other.

  But neither of them responded to my attempted humor. Sergeant Levigne glanced toward the house. “Has he given you an explanation as to where he was last night?”

  I looked at him. “He says he came in late, but he was definitely here. And this morning, he went out earlier than usual.” As I spoke, I frowned. “But I’m certain he wasn’t here. I don’t know why, but he refuses to admit it.”

  PC Marsh spoke. “Is your nephew here now?”

  I nodded.

  “Can we have a word with him?” Her eyes met mine.

  I swallowed. “Of course. Come in. I’ll get him.”

  * * *

  Leaving them in the kitchen, I went upstairs and knocked on Abe’s door. There was movement from inside. “What?”

  “The police are downstairs. They’d like to speak to you.”

  As I finished speaking, the door was wrenched open. Abe stood there, his face like thunder. “This is all your fault. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  I shrank away from him. “Can’t you just come downstairs and tell them that there’s been a misunderstanding?”

  “What, you mean lie to them?” He looked outraged.

  “It’s not a lie, is it? You weren’t here, Abe.”

  He didn’t answer. Then he glared at me for a moment, before shaking his head and pushing past me.

  I followed hastily behind him, anxious to hear what he was going to say. As he walked into the kitchen, Sergeant Levigne looked up.

  “I’m Sergeant Levigne. This is PC Marsh. You must be Abe.” He paused briefly. “You’ve had us quite worried.” He spoke amicably, then glanced across at me. “Would you mind giving us a moment?”

  Taken aback, I nodded. “Yes. Of course. I’ll . . . I’ll be outside.” I hesitated, looking at Abe, still worrying about what he was going to say to them.

  “Thank you.” PC Marsh nodded toward the door.

  Closing the back door behind me, I walked down the path, barely noticing the muted blue of a cluster of tiny grape hyacinths that stood above the clumps of primroses, even though strains of their scent reached me. I waited for a few minutes, until I heard the back door open. Sergeant Levigne and PC March were walking toward me.

  “Abe explained what happened.” Sergeant Levigne stopped in front of me.

  “What did he tell you?” I needed to know.

  “Just that he was sure you’d heard him come in, but that you’d probably had a few drinks, which was why you didn’t remember the next day. He found a broken wineglass on the floor and cleared it up. There was blood too—he was worried you’d hurt yourself. Then this morning, you slept in later than usual. It’s why you didn’t hear him leave to go to school.”

  It was the first I’d heard about the broken wineglass. I looked at him, utterly incredulously. “He said what?” It wasn’t even remotely true. “I can assure you that isn’t what happened. I didn’t sleep late. He didn’t come back last night, as I told you before. For some reason, he’s lying. Probably because he knows he shouldn’t have stayed out.”

  They glanced at each other. “No one’s judging you, Ms. Roscoe.” PC Marsh spoke quietly. “It isn’t a crime to have a few drinks.”

  “But I didn’t.” I stared at her, knowing that whatever they said, they were judging me. I could see it on their faces. “I honestly didn’t. I’ve no idea why, but he’s made this up. You can’t believe that I wouldn’t have known he was in the house.”

  “He showed us the wineglass you broke.” Sergeant Levigne frowned.

  PC Marsh looked at me. “Is that how you cut your arm?”

  I stared at her. Was it? I’d no idea. “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t remember how it happened?” She seemed surprised.

  Uncomfortable, I shook my head.

  Sergeant Levigne continued. “Look, he’s safe. That’s what’s important. Whether he’s lying or not isn’t a police matter.” He paused. “One more thing . . . Let us know if these strangers cause you any problems.”

  I nodded, watching as they walked down the path and got in their car. I knew they didn’t believe me. Turning back toward the house, I decided it was time to have this out with Abe, but I was distracted momentarily by a small form that darted past me, then soared skyward, instantly recognizable from the way it flew and the distinctive shape of its forked tail against the sky. The first swallow.

  I watched it for a few moments, as it was joined by another, feeling my anger with Abe start to dissipate. It meant that I was calmer by the time I walked into the kitchen. Abe was still there, almost as though he was waiting for me. My throat was suddenly dry. “Why did you lie to the police?”

  He frowned at me. “I didn’t.”

  “You told them I was too drunk to remember you coming back in
. And something about a broken glass—apparently you cleared it up. Why, Abe? It’s nonsense; you know that as well as I do.”

  He stared at the floor. “All I said was that I was surprised you hadn’t heard me come back in.” He glanced across at the empty wine bottles I hadn’t taken out to the bin yet. “Maybe they just assumed.”

  I shrank at the sarcasm in his voice. I opened my mouth to ask again about the broken wineglass, then stopped myself. So many strange things were going on; nothing was as it seemed. Was it possible he was right? Had I seen him and simply forgotten?

  Wearily I shook my head, trying to change the subject. “Earlier, the police asked me for your mobile number. I realized I didn’t have it. It’s probably a good idea for you to give it to me, don’t you think? And I’ll give you mine.”

  He nodded.

  But I couldn’t leave it alone. There was already too much talk about my drinking. None of it was true. “I wasn’t drunk, Abe.” My hands were sweating, but I kept my voice icy calm. “We both know you weren’t here last night.”

  “I haven’t lied.” His eyes held mine for a moment, defiant, then he looked at my arm. “I suppose you don’t remember doing that, either?”

  “What d’you mean?”

  Abe frowned. “Your arm. It was quite bad. You cut it when you fell over. That was when you broke the glass.”

  I gasped in disbelief. None of this rang true. But when I glanced at my arm, blood was seeping through the bandage again. Had he noticed it?

  Then he shrugged. “Whatever. I’m telling you I was here. You’re saying I wasn’t. Which of us is right, Hannah?” He sounded almost triumphant.

  I didn’t answer. He was so sure of his ground as he stood there. And it was the way he used my name. A chill came over me. Suddenly I was worried. Did he know I’d taken the letters? The first ones were disturbing enough, but God only knew what was in the rest of them. I could hazard a guess—and if I was right, then Nina’s secrets weren’t safe at all.

  After he’d gone upstairs, I walked over to the bin and opened it, a rushing sound filling my ears as I stared at the broken wineglass. Picking up a piece of it, I studied it closely. On it were what looked like traces of blood. I dropped it, shaking my head in an effort to clear it, trying to recall breaking it, but I was unable to bring back the haziest glimmer of a memory.

  Suddenly I wanted to scream. I felt as though I was losing my grasp on reality. There was no one I could talk to about any of this. Was I going mad? But then another, more sinister possibility flitted through my mind. The cut was real enough. But it didn’t mean the rest of his story was true. Abe could have planted the glass. The traces of blood might not even be mine. It was the most likely explanation. But I’d no idea why.

  Upstairs, I changed the bandage on my arm. Then an hour later, Curtis turned up.

  As I let him in, I realized I’d forgotten my promise to call him. “I’m sorry, I meant to call you. Abe’s back.”

  “Is he OK?” Curtis came into the kitchen.

  “Yes.” I stared at him. “No. I don’t know. Do you want a drink?”

  “Thanks. A beer?”

  I went to the fridge, consumed with guilt at the sight of the wine bottles. Getting a beer for Curtis, I picked one of them up rebelliously. “Here.” I passed him the beer, then went to get a wineglass. After pouring some wine, I sat down.

  “Abe says he was here last night. He went out early. He’s been at school.” I stared at Curtis, needing him to believe me. “But he wasn’t, Curtis. I’m sure he wasn’t . . .”

  Curtis was frowning at me. “Hold on . . . You’re not making sense, Hannah. Why would he lie?”

  “I don’t know,” I said helplessly. “He told the police that I’d had a couple of drinks and hadn’t noticed him come back in.”

  Curtis sat back. “Had you?”

  I stared at him. “No more than usual. By that, I mean, I wasn’t drunk, Curtis. If he was there, I would have seen him.”

  He frowned. “I don’t get it. You’re saying he lied to the police? But why would he do that?”

  “Because he didn’t want to end up in any trouble?” It was the only explanation I could think of. I rolled up my sleeve, then started to undo the bandage, carefully lifting off the dressing. “See this?”

  Curtis flinched as he gently took my arm and looked more closely at it. “That looks deep, Hannah. Have you seen a doctor? You might need stitches.”

  But I was shaking my head. “It doesn’t matter. I woke up with it, Curtis. I’ve no idea how it happened.”

  “There’s no way you wouldn’t have felt that, Hannah.” He frowned. “Unless . . .”

  “What?” I could guess what he was about to say. “You may as well say it.”

  He shrugged. “If you’d had a few drinks, you might not have noticed. Hard to believe, though.”

  I couldn’t argue with him. Remembering my resolve to cut back, I glanced at my glass, guilty all of a sudden. “Abe says I cut it when I fell over last night. I broke a glass at the same time.”

  He looked relieved. “That would account for it. So what’s the problem?”

  “I don’t remember any of it. Not Abe being here, or breaking the glass, not cutting my arm, none of it.”

  “You know . . . ,” Curtis paused. “I really don’t want you to take this the wrong way. But there was that thing about your pictures, and the person you were convinced was tapping on the window . . .”

  I interrupted him. “I didn’t convince myself. I know there was someone,” I said angrily. “There’s a difference.”

  “OK . . . Don’t get defensive, but all I was going to say was that losing your sister has been stressful. Maybe you should see a doctor. There might be something you can take for a while, just to help you through the next few weeks. That’s all I’m suggesting.”

  “No bloody way, Curtis.” I was furious. “You think it’s me—I’m making it up. You’re like everyone else.” When no one believed me, it wasn’t surprising I drank too much. Getting up, I went to top up my glass.

  “Ease up, Hannah.” This time, his voice was sharp. “Every time I see you, you’re drinking way too much.”

  “It’s none of your fucking business.” I spun around, spilling the contents of my glass. “You know what? I’m really tired, Curtis. Maybe you should go.”

  His eyes met mine for a moment, but I looked away. I knew he was right, but I hadn’t expected him to talk to me like that. I’d had enough of everyone thinking they knew what was best for me. I’d just lost my sister, and I’d just lost Matt. It was enough to stress out the sanest person. It was small wonder I was struggling.

  Picking up his jacket, he walked toward the door. When he got there, he paused for a moment. “I’ll call you.” He looked at me. “Right?”

  But I didn’t answer. I had nothing to say to him.

  Summer

  You’ve never asked, Mother, but have you wondered how I learned to write? Of course! You taught me, didn’t you? Sitting down at the table, lovingly showing me how to form letters just as you patiently listened to my fumbling attempts to read . . . Remember? Blank smile in place, you conjure up the image I’m describing. The nurturing mother, tending to her children. It was everything you wanted, wasn’t it, Mother?

  You almost believe me . . . But you don’t remember, do you? Not really. Frowning for a moment, not sure if it’s because you were drunk . . . But you can’t recall teaching me, because you didn’t, Mother. Another lie, but who cares when your life is full of them?

  Your idea of homeschooling was letting us fend for ourselves. It was Lucy Meadows who taught me. Lucy, who saw through the lanterns, the music, the fairies in the garden, but you won’t remember her because instead of getting wasted with you, she sat in my room and taught me to read. It was because of Lucy I learned to love books and the worlds contained in their pages. She’s the reason you’re reading these letters—she taught me to write too. Then I taught Jude.

  My own mothe
r didn’t think I needed to learn to read. It made me see how unimportant I was, how fucked-up you were. The fucked-up daughter of fucked-up parents. But I don’t bear grudges. What goes around comes around. Nature has its own way of dealing with the weak, slowly blotting out their sunlight, strangling them with weeds.

  But the strong only get stronger.

  It’s the same with people.

  You’ll see.

  14

  I didn’t sleep well that night. As well as being angry with Curtis, there were too many conflicting thoughts running through my head. Yet again, with everything else going on, I’d forgotten to ask Abe if he knew anything about Cara Matlock or the Facebook posts. Suspicious of everyone after the incident with the police, I’d briefly considered whether it might have something to do with him, before dismissing the idea. But his account of the night I’d reported him missing, and how I’d cut my arm, had completely unnerved me.

  My arm in particular had shocked me. As I lay in bed thinking about it, I knew I had to stop drinking so much. To suffer a cut of that severity without any memory of how it happened meant I could no longer ignore what everyone was saying to me. I’d reached a turning point. I had to change something. If not, who knew what would happen next.

  The following morning, I overslept, and by the time I woke up, Abe had already gone to school. I felt disoriented as I got up, my head all over the place. As well as everything else, the letters were preoccupying me. I wanted to finish reading them in time to put them back before Abe came home from school. The fact that he hadn’t mentioned their absence made me hopeful he hadn’t yet noticed they were gone.

  My arm was throbbing this morning, and under the bandage, it was red and inflamed. No longer could I put off going to the doctor, and once I was dressed, I called the local surgery and made an appointment for later that morning.

  After re-bandaging my arm, I sat on my bed, carefully untying the bundle of letters again and picking up where I’d left off yesterday, feeling myself carried back to that time in Nina’s cottage, where with each letter, Summer’s frustration became more apparent.