by Frances Vick
‘What did she tell you about the money, where did it go?’
‘She said she was saving it up in case I made her homeless. She told me that she didn’t trust me to look after her in her old age, that I was cruel and distant and that she needed her own “nest egg”. You “took her nest egg”, remember?’
‘Ah, yes. I forgot I’d done that.’ Kirsty allowed herself a rueful smile.
‘When Mervyn left the house to me, that tipped her over the edge I think. She saw the house and the land as hers; she was bitter, angry. The body under the house didn’t matter so much as me getting one over on her; that’s how her mind worked.’
‘Why did Mervyn leave everything to you, though?’ Kirsty asked delicately. ‘I mean…’
‘Was he my dad, is that what you mean?’ Angela’s face wore a smile, bitter, stoic, challenging. ‘That is what you mean?’
‘Well—’
‘I don’t know why he left it to me.’ Angela answered flatly. She was, for a moment, the same aloof professional she had been at the party. ‘And as for the other…’ The tight mask cracked just a little, into pain, into disgust.
‘Did you ever ask Sylvia?’
‘No. What would be the point? What answer could I have trusted? I don’t want to know, anyway. Would you want to know? If you were me?’
Kirsty hesitated. ‘No. No I don’t think I would either,’ she admitted.
‘Families are best left alone.’ Angela said softly. ‘They’re dangerous. For me, anyway.’
‘Vic wanted you to be Milo’s god-mother.’
‘Well, she can keep on wanting.’ Angela shook her head. ‘Clients like her always get too attached.’
‘She’s moving onto religion now anyway,’ Kirsty told her. ‘She did one of those DNA tests and she thinks we’re descended from an ancient tribe of Israel. She’s talking about Kabbalah now.’
Angela smiled broadly at that, looking more like Peg than ever. ‘Well, that gets me off the hook, eh?’
Thirty-Nine
And then there was Lee. Lee, who distrusted Sylvia from the start, who watched aghast as his wife wandered back into her personal hell, Lee who possessed such a stubbornly faithful spirit that he refused to give up on her.
When Kirsty had called him from Sylvia’s home that last night, he’d immediately called the police and deliberately exaggerated his knowledge of what was going on.
‘I told them you’d gone on a client visit and you were being kept against your will. I told them they’d got violent. They couldn’t very well not send a car over then, eh?’
‘You could’ve been charged. You could’ve been arrested for wasting police time,’ Kirsty told him.
He shrugged. ‘Maybe. But what did I care? I had to get you out of there, didn’t I? I had to get you back.’
Lee was just ten minutes behind the police that night, driving through Beacon Hill. He saw Sylvia mount the pavement, though Lee had his doubts about how accidental it was.
‘I saw her face for a second, and she looked right at me. I’d pulled to the side of the road by then, when I saw the blue lights, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, this massive Beamer charged out of the field, right towards me.’ Lee paused then, and his eyes were far away, almost frightened. ‘She sped up when she saw me, I really believe she did, and I could see it was her…’ He laughed. ‘It was almost funny, there she was, sitting up all prim and straight like Miss Marple or someone, and yet she was staring at me like she wanted to kill me. I floored it then, and moved up the road as quick as I could, and she turned to follow me, got up on the pavement to try to get alongside me, I’m sure of it. That’s when she lost control and hit the garage.’ He was pale, now, ruminative. ‘The sound of it, Kirsty… the crash like… thunder, and then the car alarm, this high squeal like something trapped, and then the garage door slicing through everything. I could even hear the tyres losing air, the suspension going, like something alive dying, like a big beast.’
He shivered, then smiled, shook his head, and Kirsty could tell he was trying to gather up some protective facetiousness.
‘Hark at me, being all lyrical.’
‘You don’t have to do that, you know. You don’t have to pretend it wasn’t scary.’ Kirsty was very serious. ‘She was a pretty scary person.’
Lee was very serious now, grim. ‘She was a pretty evil person.’
‘I don’t know about that, and I know you’re thinking that I’m being too nice and I’m trying to see the best in her and all that, but I’m really not. I just think “evil” is a bit too simple, it almost lets people off the hook, d’you know what I mean? We say Hitler was “evil” – and that’s true, but it means all the bad stuff starts and ends with him, but all the other people – all the thousands of little people who did what he told them to – did it because they believed him. But we don’t call them “evil”, do we?’
‘They were misled, hypnotised almost. I mean, there’s loads of factors—’
‘Yes, I know. And maybe that was a bad example. But with Sylvia then – to call her evil lets me off the hook. I went along with her, didn’t I? I might even, if Angela hadn’t stopped me breaking my neck on that staircase, have hurt her. I might even have killed her. And all because I let myself be carried along by… trust, I suppose. Blind trust. It’s terrifying when you think about it.’
‘Well, you see, that’s where I think she was evil. To make someone trust you and manipulate them into doing things that are so out of character, so damaging? How can that not be evil?’ Lee said.
‘Well, we don’t know what happened to her. Maybe she had a terrible childhood, or a mental illness or—’
‘A brain parasite? An evil twin?’
‘You know what I mean. There must be a reason.’
‘That’s where we differ. I think, sometimes, there isn’t a reason. These people just emerge like a virus, take as many people down with them as they can, and then either go dark or die,’ Lee said seriously.
‘That’s bleak.’
‘Maybe it is. But it’s true.’
Forty
‘I agree with Lee.’
It was Angela’s last day in the country, and she was in the hospital overseeing Peg’s triumphant return home. She’d managed to talk Mona into letting Social Services inspect her newly adapted living room; she’d bought all the much-needed equipment as well as a ludicrously large flatscreen TV that was already screwed to the wall at an angle to suit Peg even when she was lying flat on her back. She’d also – discreetly – arranged for some of the money from the land sale to go to Peg and her family in small, regular payments for at least the rest of Peg’s life (and probably Mona’s too if she carried on smoking the way she did). Angela and Kirsty were sitting in her office, or what was her office only for the next week, because Kirsty had given in her notice and was moving back to London with Lee.
‘The problem with trusting someone bad, bad like Mum, is that it carries on damaging you. What they do to you, it doesn’t end when they end, the poison is long-acting, and if you’re not careful, you never really trust anyone again.’ Angela tapped one beautifully manicured nail against the scarred desk. She was once again the slick, groomed woman she’d been at Vic’s party. ‘You can’t let that happen to you, Kirsty.’
‘Lee thinks I trust too much.’
‘And he’s probably right. You trust not wisely but too well. So don’t stop trusting, just trust better.’ She smiled. ‘I’m the opposite. The only person I’ve ever trusted is Peg. And, now, you.’
‘I trust you too,’ said Kirsty, and both women felt the same; an awkward and peculiarly British sense of warm, happy, discomfort.
Then Angela stood, hefted her Birkin bag, and Kirsty stood too. They faced each other a little shyly.
‘Have a nice flight,’ Kirsty told her.
‘I won’t. I hate flying.’ Angela smiled.
‘Will you come back for a visit?’
‘No. No, I don’t think so.’ Angela shivered.
‘I hate it here. It’s a bad place. There’s something wrong with this town. And don’t you come back either, Kirsty, promise me? You’re an unfinished meal for this town, just like me. If either of us come back again, we’ll never leave.’ Her face was grim.
‘It’s just a place,’ Kirsty countered weakly, but she knew Angela was right. She could feel it too.
‘Trust me, there’s better places. Come and see me in Los Angeles,’ Angela said briskly and leaned in for an equally brisk hug. ‘And if I’m in London I’ll send you some free tickets for the show.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Right, I’m off. Oh, and, here.’ She handed Kirsty a small lilac envelope. ‘Open it with Lee. Just a thank-you card with my address in, that’s all. Take care.’ She turned, and walked quickly down the corridor, into a waiting lift. As the door closed she smiled a bright smile, and her eyes were shiny and wet.
Forty-One
Kirsty had nothing to pack from her flat but clothes. She and Lee got into the van and wordlessly headed towards the motorway, cheering when they saw the sign marked simply ‘SOUTH’, and it wasn’t until they were back in London, tired but grateful to be back home, Kirsty remembered the note in her pocket.
Dear Kirsty
Please find enclosed a cheque for £300,000. It’s two-thirds of the money I expect to receive from the land sale. The remaining third, as you know, is going to Peg and her family. I didn’t want to give it to you in person because I know you’d be embarrassed and refuse to take it. I figured that if you opened it with Lee, there’d be a better chance of you seeing the sense in taking it without question. Lee is eminently practical like that.
Why am I doing this? Well, because you need it and I don’t. Also, you earned it. Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to get to the truth of what happened to Lisa. I may even have stayed in that hellish place being slowly digested by my own mother. You understand? This is not a gift, or charity, or any of the other things you may be thinking. It is your due. You lost your friend, your life was damaged, you’ve suffered, so look on this as compensation.
There’s also this: do you remember when we first met? I told you to prepare for someone coming, that you had to be careful, and get through a bad time, and then she’d appear. You thought I meant Lisa, and to tell the truth I wasn’t sure what it meant, but it was strong, it was something I had to tell you right then, even if I didn’t understand it all at the time.
Well now I can tell you. You’re pregnant with a girl, about twelve weeks, it was her I felt, it’s her you’ve been waiting for. She’s already a happy person, Kirsty, a good, strong person, like Lee. Like you.
Use the money, put it towards a house, spend it on your daughter. You’ve earned everything good that is coming to you, Kirsty, I promise.
* * *
With all love
* * *
Marie
Want to read more from Frances Vick? You will absolutely love Bad Little Girl – Little Lorna Bell grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. When her teacher Claire tries to help, she starts to realise there are more secrets in Lorna’s past than she could ever imagine… An absolutely gripping psychological thriller that will keep you up all night.
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Get it here!
Bad Little Girl
Get it here!
* * *
‘I’m not safe – you have to help me…’
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Little Lorna Bell is from a notorious family on a rundown estate. Everyone thinks she’s a nasty piece of work. The schoolchildren call her a thief. But Lorna’s hair is matted, her shoes pinch her feet and school teacher Claire Penny can’t help herself; some kids just need a bit more support, a bit more love, than the rest.
* * *
As the bond between teacher and pupil grows stronger, Claire sees Lorna’s bruises, and digs to uncover the disturbing tale behind them. Heartbroken, Claire knows she has to act. She must make Lorna safe.
* * *
Just when Claire thinks she has protected Lorna, a chance encounter brings enigmatic stranger Marianne Cairns into their lives. Marianne seems generous and kind but there is something about her story that doesn’t quite add up. Why does she feel so at home, and why is Lorna suddenly so unsettled?
* * *
Claire has risked everything to save Lorna. But what can save Claire from the shocking truth?
* * *
An utterly unputdownable and darkly compelling read that will have fans of The Girl on the Train, The Sister, and Gone Girl absolutely hooked.
* * *
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Books by Frances Vick
Bad Little Girl
Liars
Two Little Girls
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A Letter from Frances
Hi!
I hope you enjoyed Two Little Girls.
If you did enjoy it, and want to keep up to date with all my latest releases, just sign up at the following link. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.
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Two Little Girls completes the quartet of novels (Chinaski, Bad Little Girl, Liars and Two Little Girls) that are all set in and around the same imaginary unnamed city, sharing locations, characters, events and themes. For five years I’ve lived in this city, where mysterious, sometimes nasty, and sometimes lovely things happen in the strangest of ways. I know every street, every pub, every estate in the place, but there are surprises around every corner. It’s that kind of town.
This is probably my most personal book. For a long time now I’ve been fascinated with memory, with how memory can be manipulated. So much of our identity relies on what we remember about ourselves, but how much of that memory is real? How much of it has been imparted to us by those who think they want the best for us, or, possibly, those who want the worst?
Kirsty, struggling to free herself from her memories, only traps herself further. Angela/Marie thinks geography will do the trick, but she’s just as trapped. Lee lies about what he remembers, and pays dearly for that denial. Bryan’s memories are resolutely self-serving. And Sylvia? She weaponises the memories of others to survive. There are more Sylvias out there than you’d think…
I’d be interested in what you think about memories. And about psychics for that matter. Is Angela a ‘real’ psychic? Did anything happen to make Sylvia so manipulative, or was she – as Lee believes – born that way? Can Kirsty recover? I hope so. She’s a good soul.
Once again, thanks for reading. Feel free to get in touch with me on Facebook, Twitter or via my website.
A new book will be out just as soon as I move away from this strange concocted city. Maybe somewhere bigger, brighter? America?
Cheers!
Frances
www.francesvick.com
Liars
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* * *
Trust me if you dare...
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One freezing winter’s night, Jenny Holloway’s mother falls to her death in a terrible accident. Grief-stricken, Jenny leans on new friend David Crane, as the police hint at murder.
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Handsome, clever and always calm, David knows just how to handle the police, how to protect Jenny and make her smile again. But then, David seems to have answers for just about everything.
* * *
Soon Jenny begins to question what really happened that night. The search for the truth will follow a dark and twisting path into the past, through doors that Jenny thought had closed forever...
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A shocking psychological thriller about the lies we tell ourselves, perfect for fans of The Couple Next Door and The Girl on the Train.
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Get it here!
Acknowledgements
As ever, huge thanks to all the team at Bookouture, especially my editor, Kathryn Taussig, Noelle Holten, Kim Nash, Maisie Lawrence, proofreader extraordinaire Liz Hatherell (good catch on Grange Hill), my agent Kate Barker and everyone who works so hard to get my nasty little books read and (hopefully) enjoyed. My incredible family also deserve a medal for putting up with my deadlines/insecurities/strange working hours. Shout out to my Constant Reader Elvie Ashton. Finally, everyone who has picked up this book or any of my others and thought, ‘What the hell, let’s give this a try.’ You’re gold. Thank you.
