by Maggie James
‘She’s in good hands.’ I prepared myself to deliver less than wonderful news.
As I’d predicted, Mum didn’t react well to the revelation that Ellie was back in Southmead’s psychiatric unit. She’d been sent there by a doctor, a decision approved by the mental health worker in attendance when the police attempted to interview her. She’d lashed out at them, then turned inwards, refusing to talk. That didn’t surprise me. Any authority figure scared her no end. She was being kept on the psychiatric wing for observation and her own safety.
When I left, Mum looked as though she’d aged ten years in two hours. My heart ached for her. I resolved that, whatever it took, we’d become closer.
Caroline, as ever, was my rock as far as Ellie was concerned.
‘Have the police said anything more? Or her doctors?’ The question came during one of my visits to her house.
I shook my head. ‘She still won’t talk to anyone.’
‘Not even to you?’
‘No.’ Tears filled my eyes, along with memories of our previous encounter.
I’d not been optimistic that same morning when I entered Ellie’s room at Southmead’s psychiatric unit. Mum had met me at the door, distress implicit in the pallor of her skin, the dark smudges under her eyes. I doubted mine looked any better. I’d hardly slept the past few nights.
‘She won’t talk to me. Perhaps she will to you,’ she said, an unconscious echo of her words when she’d broken the news of Ellie’s third suicide attempt. I didn’t share her optimism. My sister would probably give me the silent treatment instead.
I was proved right. When I walked in, she was curled up on her bed, her eyes glued to the floor. Then she rolled away, the curve of her back a definite snub.
‘None of this was her fault,’ I told Caroline. ‘She’s always been fragile, lacking in confidence. Ripe for a predator like Scott Champion.’
‘Sounds like the fecker could charm gold from Fort Knox.’
‘You’re not wrong. I’m still worried the police will charge Ellie, though.’
‘What for? Wasn’t she one of his victims?’
‘As well as his sidekick. She plotted with Scott to defraud me, remember.’
‘Won’t they let her off due to the brain damage? She can’t be held responsible for her actions, right?’
‘I hope not. But I can’t be certain.’
‘You’re a saint, so you are. Head injury or not, if my sister shafted me like that, I’d be mad as hell. You’re not angry with her?’
‘Yes. No. Maybe.’ My emotions had ridden a rollercoaster recently. ‘I won’t deny I’m hurt. She hates me and I have no idea why.’
‘Oh, lovey, I’m sure she doesn’t. That bastard turned her against you, so he did.’
‘I’ll visit her again tomorrow. With any luck she’ll talk to me eventually.’
When the time came to leave, Caroline hugged me. ‘I’ll call you soon. Maybe we can go for that meal with Richie soon. Along with a stiff drink. Feck knows you need it.’
I went to see Ellie again the following afternoon. She was huddled under the duvet, her head the only part of her visible. When she saw me her lips curled in contempt and she turned her back on me once more.
To hell with that. I marched to the other side of the room, causing her to burrow further under the bedcovers. I sat in a nearby chair, addressing the shape in the bed.
‘I don’t understand. Why do you hate me so much?’
No response. I tried again. ‘I only ever wanted to help you. To love you.’
This time she rewarded me with a restless shifting of her body. Encouragement of sorts. ‘I’m hurting here, Ellie.’
Ellie threw off the duvet, hauling herself upright against her pillows. The anger in her eyes shocked me.
‘I, I, I,’ she said. ‘Can you even hear yourself anymore? It’s all about you. It always has been.’
Too stunned to reply, I stared at her.
‘The wonderful Lyddie Hunter. You think you’re so clever, don’t you? With your business degree, your accountancy qualification, your stock market investments. Turns out you weren’t that smart after all. You fell for the first man who showed you any interest since Richie. Couldn’t wait to give Steven your money, could you?’
Pot, kettle, black, I thought.
‘Always so keen to show your superiority.’ Her voice rose high, in a parody of mine. ‘“Oh, Ellie, let me explain algebra once more. Here, I’ll check your French homework for you.” Stupid Ellie, who can’t get anything right by herself. Who failed her exams while you collected top A-level grades. Always Daddy’s little brain-box, weren’t you?’
I gaped at her. ‘Dad never said you were stupid. Mum didn’t either.’
‘But you all thought it, didn’t you? You in particular. My perfect sister, who got off on patronising me, treating me like I was dim. Maybe I am. After all, Dad never invited me to drink whisky and discuss politics with him, did he?’
‘You hate scotch. And talk about the government bores you.’
She carried on as if I’d not spoken. ‘Okay, so I can’t pass exams the way you can. I might not have as many IQ points. You were dumb enough to hand me twenty thousand pounds in cash, though.’ She was on a roll, it seemed. ‘Just so we’re clear, I don’t want your interference. I never did.’
From somewhere I summoned my voice. ‘That’s why you hate me? Because I helped you with your homework?’
‘No,’ Ellie said. ‘Because of Alyson.’
Had I heard correctly? ‘You’re not making sense,’ I whispered.
‘If it weren’t for you, she wouldn’t have died. You’re the reason I crashed my car.’
I floundered for words, so great was my shock. ‘I had nothing to do with that.’
‘You had everything to do with it. You think I didn’t overhear what Dad said to you that night? How proud he was, just because you aced some stupid accountancy exams? Because you got to stick a bunch of letters after your name? Fuck you, Lyddie. I was eighteen, and about all I’d passed was my driving test. Hardly stacked up, did it?’
‘But why blame me for the accident?’
‘You want to know why? Because I got angry, madder than I’d ever been. So I texted Alyson, told her I needed to let off steam, picked her up from her place. All the time I was driving I ranted about what a cow you were, until I couldn’t think straight. Alyson yelled something about how I should be on the left, not the right. Then the other car was coming at us, and, oh God ...’ Her voice trailed away and in my head the truth clicked into place.
‘It was you on the wrong side of the road,’ I said. ‘Not the other driver. That’s why you swerved into the tree.’
She didn’t deny it. ‘But the whole thing was your fault, don’t you see? You and those stupid exams. If you passing them with flying colours hadn’t made Dad proud of his oh-so-clever daughter, I wouldn’t have got mad, and Alyson would be alive. You killed her.’
No, I thought. That’s your injured temporal lobe talking. Not the voice of logic or reason.
‘Everything got worse after the accident. Thick, helpless Ellie was now brain damaged. The car crash gave you an excuse to meddle even further. That’s when I started to resent you big-time.’
‘I only ever wanted to help you,’ I repeated, too stunned to take in what Ellie was saying. Every word pierced me with pain.
‘I never asked for your fucking help. I just needed Dad to be proud of me, like he was with you. Fat chance of that, huh?’
I couldn’t bear to hear any more. Tears blinded my eyes. I ran from the room.
25
Back home in Kingswood, I paced my bedroom floor, Ellie still haunting my head. No matter how much I dissected my sister’s words, I couldn’t deal with them. Or even understand their rationale. Anger filled my every step as I marched to and fro. I was mad as hell, and who could blame me? I’d no idea Ellie resented me so fiercely, and for such screwed-up reasons.
Unfair, unreasonable and do
wnright fucking out of order.
Yeah, I was angry all right. She’d tried to swindle me, hadn’t she? Worse, though, was her utter selfishness. Our mother deserved better than to rush to save her daughter from suicide, only for the whole thing to be staged. Not to mention how Ellie had used Alyson’s death to manipulate me into driving to Devon. Shameless, all of it. I didn’t recognise the woman inhabiting my sister’s body.
Back and forth I paced, unable to find out an outlet for my fury. Some things even a single malt couldn’t help.
The notion of whisky brought Dad into my head. Thank God he wasn’t alive to witness his youngest daughter’s deceit. He’d have been ashamed beyond words.
I stopped mid-stride.
I’d once told Ellie Dad adored her, how she could never shame him. His words sounded in my head. Promise me you’ll look out for her. She’ll need you more than ever.
My attitude softened a little. Had he lived, our father would have done his best to understand Ellie’s ugly behaviour. A good man, was Dad, and shrewd. He’d have grasped the power Steven Simmons had wielded over her, and why he’d gained it so readily. Only one explanation fitted: her head trauma. Unable to deal with Alyson’s death, Ellie had twisted the facts; her injured brain decided I was the culprit, not her. Cognitive dissonance at work. The sister I’d known before the accident would never have been so vicious.
Maybe I was deluding myself. Ellie had said she’d resented me for helping with her homework. Chances were the seeds of her dislike had been sown then, but would have lain dormant if not for the car crash. Or if she’d never met Steven Simmons.
Or if I’d not been so pushy.
However hard I might find it, I needed to keep my promise to Dad. To be the kind of daughter that would make him proud.
Time for a glass of Lagavulin. I headed downstairs, pouring myself a finger of amber smokiness. Its fiery taste brought my father to mind again. How he would have wanted me to forgive, not condemn, Ellie. Glass in hand, I sat on the sofa and examined the facts from a different angle. How could I blame my sister after all the discussions I’d had with her neurologist? Or for loving a con artist when I’d also succumbed to his wiles? My judgment had been as flawed as Ellie’s. If I, with all my supposed intelligence, had fallen prey to the slick bastard, she wouldn’t have stood a chance.
My perspective shifted closer towards understanding. Only one question remained. Did I still love her?
The answer was yes. With that realisation, my anger faded.
I couldn’t stay mad at her. She’d lost the man she loved, along with her hopes - marriage, America, a new life. My sister must be devastated, struggling to cope, all without a fully functioning temporal lobe.
‘I only wanted to help you,’ I whispered, for the third time that day.
But were my intentions really so altruistic? I searched my heart for an answer, and came up with no. Deception, as I’d already learned, wore many faces. To my chagrin, I realised one of them was mine. Take the hours I spent with Ellie helping her with her homework. I’d been so keen to play the caring older sister I’d never considered how patronised she must have felt. Instead I’d congratulated myself on how supportive I’d been. Time to admit that part of me enjoyed controlling Ellie. Like mother, like daughter, it seemed.
Deception had played a part in my relationships with men too. Hadn’t I convinced myself Gary McIlroy was Mr Right? Persuaded myself Richie couldn’t be faithful? Blinded myself to Scott’s snake-like nature? Perhaps self-deception was the worst kind. Shame filled my soul.
Over the next few hours, I tossed everything around in my head, my former anger trumped by my determination to mend my ways. If Ellie and I were to forge a healthier relationship, I had to change, and fast. My sister needed me. Not the domineering, I-know-best! version, but a different, softer Lyddie. One who listened, who didn’t attempt to control. I needed to take a step back in order to move forward. I swore to myself that in future I’d allow her to live life without my interference. If she required help, I’d give it, but not before she asked.
‘I’ll make you proud of me, Dad,’ I said aloud.
Outside Ellie’s door the next morning, I hesitated. She’d been so angry, and I was still hurting; might I be better off leaving her alone? Then I remembered my earlier resolution about how I had to change. Besides, wasn’t I practising self-deceit again? If I was honest, I was dreading seeing my sister. Hence my procrastination.
Here’s to the new improved Lyddie, I reminded myself. I opened the door.
Ellie was lying in bed, her back to me, a silent mound under her duvet. She didn’t acknowledge my presence in any way while I pulled up a chair.
I gathered my courage.
‘I know you think I’m a control freak,’ I said. ‘And you’re right. I’ve been thoughtless, and insensitive, and I’m sorry.’
No response. I ploughed on. ‘I love you. You have to believe me.’
Still no reply, but a slight shift of her position gave me hope.
‘Dad adored you too. So does Mum. We all do.’
Another almost perceptible movement under the duvet.
‘All I wanted was to take care of you, but instead I smothered you. I’ll change, I promise.’
The shape in the bed moved again. Ellie rolled over, her head poking above the duvet, her eyes on my face.
‘Will you give me another chance?’ Please, please, I begged her in my head. ‘A fresh start. That’s all I ask.’
Hurt filled my heart when she turned away.
‘I’ll come back tomorrow,’ I said.
When she failed to respond, I left the room. I hoped my words had sunk in, even if only a little.
‘Can you pack some more clothes for Eleanor? And extra toiletries?’ Mum asked when I phoned her that evening.
‘Sure. I’ll sort it in the morning.’ I didn’t mention Ellie’s anger, her accusations. Our mother would get upset; besides which, telling her was pointless.
The next day I drove to my sister’s flat in St George, intending to pack the extra stuff she needed. Inside her bedroom, I inhaled her essence, the hint of perfume and talcum powder that lingered in the air. On top of her wardrobe was a suitcase, and I pulled it down, placing it on the bed. I stuffed the case with jeans, tops, shoes, throwing Ellie’s cosmetic bag on top. Underwear came next. I yanked open the top drawer in her dressing-table. Bras, knickers and socks filled the space, and I grabbed a handful. As I did, a glint of gold met my eye.
I reached in a hand, pulled out the object. ‘Oh, Ellie,’ I whispered.
In my fingers I held the bracelet Dad had given me to celebrate my accountancy qualification. The same night Ellie crashed her car, gripped by her conviction our father preferred me. My fingers traced over the engraved flowers, then the inscription inside. To my daughter, with all my love, from Dad.
I hadn’t lost the bracelet in a moment of carelessness. Ellie must have stolen it once she left hospital after the accident. She’d hidden my father’s gift where she thought no-one would find it. Then forgotten it in her haste to leave for America. Vulnerable, unstable, she couldn’t allow herself to believe she’d always had his love. The bracelet became a substitute, with Ellie no doubt persuading herself the words were meant for her. With it nestled in my hand, I recalled the promise I’d made.
‘I’ll look out for her, Dad,’ I told my father. ‘I’ve screwed up, I’m well aware of that. But I’ll make it right again.’
The bracelet went into my handbag, then I closed the suitcase. My watch indicated I had another two hours left before visiting hours at Southmead finished for the morning. If the traffic stayed light, I’d be there in half an hour.
Ellie was dressed this time, lying on her duvet. She didn’t acknowledge me after I entered, but her expression seemed less hostile. I sat in the chair beside her bed, and placed the suitcase on the floor.
‘I spoke to Mum on the phone last night,’ I said. ‘She’ll visit you this afternoon. She said to tell yo
u she loves you.’
Her fingers twisted around themselves, but she didn’t reply.
Reluctant to reiterate my words from the day before, unwilling to mention Scott, I decided on a different tack.
‘You act like you despise me. I don’t think you really do, though. At least I hope not. Am I right?’
A flush rose into her cheeks. I hoped it might be from embarrassment, not anger.
‘Be honest, Els. You may have found me a tad on the pushy side before you dated Steven Simmons, but you didn’t hate me, did you?’
Her face reddened further. She shook her head. At last we were getting somewhere.
‘I have something for you,’ I said. My fingers extracted the bracelet from my bag. I laid it on the bed. When she saw it, Ellie turned pale.
I sat beside her, drawing her into my arms. To my relief, she didn’t resist. ‘Shhh,’ I whispered into her hair. ‘It’s all right, Els. Really.’
She cried against my shoulder for a long time. When she pulled away, shame filled her expression.
‘I shouldn’t have taken it,’ she said. ‘It was wrong of me, I know. But I was so confused back then. I still am.’
I fastened the bracelet around her left wrist. To my daughter, with all my love, from Dad. What did it matter which one of us wore it? The sentiment remained the same.
She stared at me, confusion in every line of her face. ‘It’s yours,’ I told her.
‘Why?’ she whispered.
‘Because I love you. That’s why.’
‘I’ve been horrible to you. Behaved dreadfully, been a terrible person. You can’t possibly love me.’
‘Don’t say that. You’re precious to me. You always will be.’
She didn’t reply at first. Then her eyes met mine.
‘Can you forgive me?’ Her voice was hoarse, her words a mere whisper, but God, how welcome.
I hesitated before replying, in an attempt to blend honesty with tact. ‘In time, yes. It might take a while. You’ve hurt me, and badly.’
