Two Little Girls: A totally gripping psychological thriller with a twist

by Frances Vick

  She emerged cleaner, but no longer herself. The face in the mirror was now strangely child-like; eyes wide, mouth a vulnerable bud. Her hair fell on her forehead in wayward little curls like wood shavings.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ Kirsty whispered to herself. ‘Tell me what to do, Lisa. Just tell me what to do because I’m lost and it’s dark and I’m scared. Tell me what to do, please? Should I call the police? Should I go back there? Help me. What do you want me to do?’

  Lisa was skipping. They both were. It was one of those complicated games with two ropes and an ever-changing chant that girls seemed to know in their bones. The ropes, as always, moved quickly with an even, robotic speed.

  Lisa was chanting. ‘Policeman, policeman, do your duty. Here comes Kirsty and she’s such a cutie!’ They faced each other, pink-faced, happy and breathless. ‘“She can JUMP, she can TWIST. But I bet she can’t do THIS!”’ Lisa executed a neat backflip.

  ‘How’d you learn that?’ Kirsty was impressed. ‘That’s ace!’

  ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out!’ Lisa replied smartly. She started a new chant. ‘Down in the park where the green grass grows, sat little Lisa, pretty as a rose, she sang and she danced and she danced so sweet, along came a little girl and kissed her on the cheek.’

  Kirsty looked up. The sky had darkened. ‘It’s going to rain.’

  ‘Shame shame double shame.’ Lisa had her eyes shut tight.

  ‘Lisa?’

  ‘We don’t know her real name. Join in!’

  ‘I don’t know this one.’ Kirsty wasn’t jumping any longer, and she had to duck away from the swinging ropes, which were cutting through the air with a nasty mechanical swish. ‘Do one I know!’

  ‘You do know it. I taught it you,’ Lisa called, and she was further away now, moving swiftly, as if on a hidden conveyor. She was nearly at the end of the street, but the street didn’t have an end… ‘Made a mistake, stay awake.”

  ‘Wait!’ Kirsty was shouting. ‘Don’t leave me, it’s dark! Lisa!’

  Lisa was now just a pastel smudge caught in the threshing ropes. ‘You left me,’ she shouted. ‘You left me.’

  ‘I’m sorry! Lisa! Tell me where you are… Tell me where you are and I’ll find you, I promise!’

  ‘Those lads,’ she called back in a sing-song voice. ‘They hang around the park, you know where! Stay awake, I’m not too far to find!’

  ‘Who hurt you?’ Lisa was far away now, a shimmer. ‘Lisa?’

  ‘Wake up,’ Lisa called back. ‘Wake up!’

  And Kirsty did wake, stiff and bruised, still wrapped in a towel, at first not recognising where she was. The sunlight slanted through the thin blinds and she was curled up tight as a foetus on the little sofa. She didn’t remember even lying down, let alone sleeping, and her head and face felt huge, swollen, her palms smarted. When she sat up the room swam for a moment before settling into a stable image. Her phone lay before her on the cheap coffee table – bristling with messages. A text from Lee:

  Can we talk?

  Then another.

  I miss you, I’m sorry.

  This is the man who lied to me for years. This is the man who I heard threatening an old lady while I cowered under a house next to dead things. This is a man I no longer trust. That’s not the man I know. That’s not… that’s not a safe person.

  A voicemail from Vic: ‘Are you all right? Angela said she’d seen you at the hospital and you were acting strangely? And I called Lee and he says you had a row? What’s going on? Call me? I’ll be at baby signing and then going for drinks with the NCT girls but I’ll have my phone… It’s not like you to be… Angela says you were aggressive, and that’s not you, Kirsty! And Lee is in bits… Just, call me, OK?’

  It is me, though, Kirsty thought. It’s me now, now I know how much I’ve been lied to, how much I’ve been manipulated. She texted back:

  You can tell Lee to stop dragging you into things. He knows what he’s done. This is my business not yours! And tell Angela that I know all about her too!

  Never in her life had Kirsty sent a text like this. Rarely did she give in to righteous indignation let alone reach the vertiginous heights of rage. She felt the same strange joy of going rogue that she’d felt when she confronted Angela at the hospital. But this time it was tripled: this time she was facing down Angela, Lee and her sister. They all thought she could be used, lied to, threatened and they were all wrong. It had taken her a while, but finally she was seeing things for what they were.

  Just then her phone rang. A number rather than a name. A man’s voice, unfamiliar, local and harassed-sounding, standing on a crowded street.

  ‘I’m with your mother?’ he told her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘She had a bit of a fall, but she’s all right, and…’ His voice faded as he spoke to someone. ‘You want to? Yes?’ Then back to full volume. ‘I’ll just put her on now.’

  ‘Hello there, darling.’ Sylvia sounded tired, but strong. ‘Can you come and pick me up? Twisted my ankle.’

  ‘Sure… not… casualty?’ the man was saying, and Sylvia told him, No, nothing like that, just need my daughter.

  ‘Oh thank god! What happened to you?’ Kirsty asked, through tears. ‘I’ll come now, where are you?’

  ‘I’m just sitting by the war memorial. On Parliament Street? Just under the angel.’

  ‘I’ll be ten minutes.’

  Twenty-Six

  Sylvia was standing, wavering, next to the war memorial, a large canvas bag slung awkwardly over one shoulder. A distracted man was by her side, earnestly scanning the traffic. When Kirsty arrived, he helped Sylvia into the front seat of the car with a certain guilty eagerness – it was his lunch hour, and he was already late back to the office.

  ‘She was lying down…’ he said.

  ‘I tripped,’ Sylvia said. ‘Loose brick.’

  ‘And she says she’s all right, but maybe she should go to casualty?’ The man added this sotto voce, as if Sylvia couldn’t hear him. ‘Best not to take chances when you’re getting on a bit, eh?’

  ‘I’m a clumsy old bat, aren’t I?’ Sylvia twinkled. ‘Thanks for staying with me!’ The man raised one cheerful hand, and sped back to work.

  Once they were driving, Sylvia was able to let her energies sag, ditch the self-deprecating smile and the I’m-a-silly-old-woman jokes she’d used on her rescuer. Kirsty could see just how exhausted and frightened she was. She’d never looked so old, so frail.

  ‘I knew you’d come. I knew.’

  ‘Of course I’d come. What happened? I went to the house—’

  ‘Did you see the things I left? The phone? And—’

  ‘And the tarot cards! Yes, yes!’

  Sylvia’s face relaxed a little. ‘I knew you would. I thought when I was doing it, I thought that of all the people in the world who’d look and understand, it’d be you. And I was right, thank god!’

  ‘He called me your daughter, that man?’

  Sylvia eyed her affectionately. ‘I knew he’d think it was funny, an old crock like me being friends with a young girl. Anyway, it feels like you are my daughter. It feels like you’re the daughter….’ She trailed off, winced in pain.

  What happened, Sylvia? Shall I take you to the hospital? The police?’

  Sylvia closed her eyes. They sank into bruised-looking sockets, her lips tightened, her clasped hands were still. She could have been carved from wax. The only thing that hinted at life were two tears that ran from the corners of both closed eyes.

  ‘I’m calling the police now!’ Kirsty told her.

  Sylvia opened her eyes. ‘No! No, don’t do that, that would make everything worse. Even worse. When were you there?’

  ‘At your house? This morning at about ten.’

  ‘Did you see anyone there?’

  ‘Someone was in a car. I had to hide from them.’

  ‘Who was it in the car?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Sylvia’s astute e
yes gleamed. ‘I think you do.’

  ‘Lee.’

  She sighed, wiped away her tears.

  ‘Take me to your house. Take me there and I’ll tell you everything.’

  * * *

  Back in the flat, Sylvia sat on the sofa and wincingly allowed Kirsty to remove her shoe and gently manipulate her hurt ankle, which thankfully wasn’t swollen or bruised.

  ‘Did you really hurt it tripping over a brick?’

  ‘I tripped over something. But not a brick, I don’t think, and not in town.’ Sylvia put a cushion behind her back, and sighed. ‘Your husband. He’s a dangerous man. He came yesterday. He tried to force his way into the house and when I tried to call you he smashed the phone out of my hand. I managed to make it to the front door, into the car yard, and into the woods. He hunted for me, but I know those woods like the back of my hand, so he never found me. When I was sure he’d gone, I left the cards with the phone in case you came round. I needed to warn you in a way only you’d understand.’ Her brows contracted with sorrow. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this. But thank god you’re free of him!’

  ‘This happened last night?’ Kirsty asked.

  ‘You know what he’s like,’ Sylvia told her softly. ‘You said yourself that he tried to run you down.’ Her blue eyes were wide with sorrow.

  ‘I didn’t say he tried to run me down.’ Kirsty said. ‘He drove at the house. At least I think it was him, but it might not have been—’

  ‘Oh love,’ Sylvia murmured sorrowfully ‘Just listen to yourself. You know what you saw, you know what he’s like. He did the same to me, didn’t he? I turned my ankle running into the woods in the dark because he was after me! You don’t have to lie to me about it.’

  ‘I’m not—’

  ‘Kirsty.’ There was a tired authority in Sylvia’s voice. ‘We have to look at things as they are, not as how we want them to be. No matter how painful. You know that. And god knows I know that now, too.’

  Time stuttered, stopped. Kirsty found herself sitting on the floor while her mind yammered, Not Lee, not Lee, please not Lee! I thought I could take it but I can’t, not Lee, please? If he could do that, he could do—

  ‘He’s capable of anything.’ Sylvia closed her eyes then. Her lips pressed into a line. She nodded to herself. ‘You knew that already, I think.’

  ‘I don’t.’ Kirsty’s voice rose. She half stood. ‘I don’t though!’’

  ‘Sit down! Sit down, darling! I shouldn’t have… I should have been more careful about what I said, that’s all. Sit down please? And can you take my hand again? Give me a bit of courage. You’re not the only one who’s been… wilfully blind about things. I understand it, I’ve lived it; longer than you have, too.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Sylvia looked wearily at her own shaking hands. ‘I should’ve talked to you about it earlier, but I swear I didn’t know for sure until last night.’

  ‘Didn’t know what for sure?’

  Sylvia’s eyes flickered. She gave a little groan, then: ‘Do you have any paracetamol? And maybe a drop of whisky for courage? I’ve been a coward for so long. But don’t hate me!’

  ‘I couldn’t hate you!’

  ‘You might after this. God knows I hate myself.’ Sylvia took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I lied to you. I let you believe that I didn’t know any more about Lisa than what was in the papers, but of course I do and I did then.’ She let one tear run down her cheek. ‘I remember I expected her to contact me somehow. I knew she was dead – I mean from the other side. I expected it like when you expect the phone to ring, you know it’s going to ring, and then it does.’ She stopped. ‘The longer I waited the more I put it down to the fact that she’d passed so soon. Sometimes they’re weak at the start. It’s as if they’re not dead, but dying still… They need someone to tell them what to do – especially kiddies, they’re used to Mum telling them what to do, where to go, aren’t they? But she didn’t come through and I felt so bad about that because I wanted to help. I knew Denise, not well, but still I knew her, and Lisa was a local girl. I wanted to help so badly. I thought maybe I was wrong, and she wasn’t dead, and that’s why I couldn’t hear her.’

  Sylvia sighed. ‘Then, when that man confessed, she did come through, and she was so vivid, she was determined to be heard. I thought she was trapped between worlds, confused like so many of them are, but it wasn’t that. She wasn’t confused, she was refusing to go, and that’s what she’s still doing. She wouldn’t shift until I understood exactly what she was saying. But – god forgive me – I blocked her. I didn’t want to know. I tried as hard as I could not to understand what she was telling me because it was just too awful to bear.’ One tear fell on their clasped hands. Then another. ‘Then I met you. She brought us together and now she’s trying everything she can to… she can’t wait any more, she’s chivvying us along with dreams and coincidences and everything else, and I can’t put her off any longer. No matter how painful things are, it’s not fair to her or you. I have to face them.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Mrs McKnight paused. ‘Have you ever met a bad child? Not naughty, or disturbed, but bad?’

  ‘Evil?’

  Sylvia winced. ‘It exists, you know.’

  ‘Lisa wasn’t like that. She was silly, she told lies, but there wasn’t any harm in her, she was just—’

  A spasm of anxiety ripped over Sylvia’s face. ‘I’m not talking about Lisa.’ Her whole self seemed to turn inward, as if she was having a quick, urgent conversation with herself. She gave a tiny nod, pulled up one sleeve to show a nasty-looking reddish bruise spanning her wrist. Then she guided Kirsty’s hand to the back of her head, where a lump the size of a heaped tablespoon was hidden beneath her hair.

  ‘Who did this to you?’

  ‘The person who killed Lisa.’

  Kirsty’s eyes widened. ‘Who?’

  ‘Marie,’ Sylvia said. ‘She’s not… she’s not good. She never was. I can see that now.’

  Twenty-Seven

  Sylvia’s hand holding the whisky glass trembled. She took a sip, grimaced, took another sip. ‘I told you some of the story. Star Child. How she became cruel; how she thought she could do anything, that she had the right to do anything she wanted because she was special. But even that would have been… I could have coped with that, I could have helped her change, I know it. But then she… All these years I’ve tried not to believe it, but I can’t fool myself any more.’ She looked up, openly weeping now. ‘She did this awful thing!’

  ‘But how?’ Kirsty whispered. ‘She was just a child—’

  ‘I don’t know for sure. Maybe she had help – there were some boys in the park that day. She talked about them a lot, you know, afterwards.’

  ‘Was Lee one of them? Was he there?’ Kirsty managed.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Sylvia looked up, her eyes red. ‘You hate me for saying that, don’t you? But I’m not sure! I wish I was.’

  ‘Where’s the proof?’

  ‘She was in the park that day. My late brother, Mervyn, he used to run a youth club; it was one of his schemes that started well but ran out of steam. He wanted it to be a boxing gym – imagine! He encouraged boys – boys who were bored, with nothing to do and might get themselves into trouble if they started hanging around with the wrong people – he encouraged them to get into sports. He was good that way. Anyway, on that day he arrived early, earlier than normal, and he took Marie with him. She was bored now, and she wasn’t in school then – they didn’t want her going any more because she was so disruptive. They couldn’t expel her, but they made it very clear that they didn’t want her any more, so what could I do? I took her out and started to homeschool her. That day I was at the library, looking for textbooks and things. I asked Mervyn to keep an eye on her, but he didn’t. Not a close enough eye anyway. She was nagging him, having tantrums, and eventually he told her to play outside. There was a girl out there you see, an older girl, and he thought she could play
with her.’

  ‘And the older girl was Lisa?’

  ‘And it was Lisa, yes. Then some boys turned up, and Mervyn noticed that they were chatting up the girl, Lisa, and he noticed that they were drinking and letting her drink too. So he put a stop to that, or he thought he had anyway. After a while he opened the club up properly, but no-one was there – the boys and Lisa had left, and Marie wasn’t there either.’

  ‘Where’d they go?’

  Sylvia shook her head. ‘We never found out. Mervyn started to panic then, he couldn’t find Marie anywhere. With the canal being so close, you can imagine what he thought. It was an hour before he found her. She was by the canal, in the bushes by the bridge. He thought she was having a wee or something. Anyway, he told her off, shut up the club and brought her home.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean anything though,’ Kirsty managed.

  ‘No. And if it was just that I wouldn’t have worried. But there were her clothes, her coat was stained down the front. Mervyn thought it was mud, and some of it was, but I knew it wasn’t just that. I knew there was blood there too. And there was some in her hair too.’ Sylvia’s voice shook. She took a sip of whisky, paused, took another. ‘And her nails were torn. It looked like she’d been in a fight. I asked her, I asked if anyone had hurt her, if the big boys had hurt her. You can imagine what I thought, can’t you? But she just laughed and said no. I put her in the bath and her legs were all bruised – are you sure nobody hurt you? No, no Mummy, nothing like that.’ She put her glass down again. ‘She said, “It wasn’t me, it was the big girl who got hurt.”’

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ moaned Kirsty.

  ‘So I said, “What big girl?” and she said, “You’ll see her on the TV soon.” Well, I kept asking her things and she kept answering them, but she wasn’t answering them if you know what I mean? It was like she was teasing me. I’d go, “Who hurt the big girl?” and she’d say, “Who?” but with a smile, you know, and then turn around and say, “No-one did, I made it up.” I kept asking her over and over and she’d just ignore me, or look all innocent or – and this was the worst – laugh at me.