‘It’s OK. I’m on edge anyway, Anna. I think I’m being followed.’ It’s a relief to tell someone.
Anna’s expression is inscrutable. ‘By who? Why?’
‘I don’t know.’
I slurp froth from the top of the drink. The chocolate is bitter – not like Dad used to make – but I drink it all the same, not wanting to appear ungrateful. I tell Anna about the person in the black coat, the red car, and being chased outside the club.
‘You should tell the police,’ Anna says, firmly.
‘Tell them what…’ I stop talking and touch my lips. They’re tingling. I rub them with my fingers; they feel numb. My nose streams, throat swells. I fight panic as I realise what’s happening to me.
‘Anna.’ My tongue feels thick and I start to cough.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Allergy,’ I gasp, through strangled breath.
‘Oh my god! Shall I call an ambulance?’
I tip my handbag upside down. The contents spew over the table, clatter onto the floor. My EpiPen rolls to the edge and I catch it, wrench the cap off. I’m barely aware of the figure brushing past, the crunching as they stand on my compact.
‘What can I do?’
Anna’s voice sounds as though it’s coming from inside a tunnel and I ignore it, clasp the pen in my fist and plunge it into my thigh. There is a click and then epinephrine courses through my body. My leg stings as I remove the needle.
Beads of sweat gather on my forehead. Breathe in, breathe out.
‘Can I help?’ Anna asks.
‘Water.’ I close my eyes.
‘Here.’ Moments later, Anna places a cool glass in my hand. ‘Are you OK? That was really frightening. I’ve never seen anyone have an allergic reaction before.’
I nod and sip my water. I’m still coughing and feel cold and jittery, but the worst is over.
‘Should we go to the hospital?’ Anna’s face is pale and worried.
‘Strictly speaking, yes, but I think I’m OK now. I have a second pen in case I need another dose.’
‘It’s better to get checked out though, surely?’
‘I don’t want to miss tonight. Honestly, I’m fine. It’s happened before. The doctors would just send me home in a few hours anyway, with anti-histamines. I’ve got some at home.’
‘Is everything all right here?’ a waitress asks.
‘Yes.’ I hold my empty glass towards her. It feels far heavier than it should.
‘We’re leaving now.’ Anna stuffs my belongings back into my handbag, gathers our shopping and supports me by my elbow as I stand.
‘I’m allergic to nuts,’ I tell the waitress. ‘Could my drink have been made with nut milk? It tasted funny.’
‘The hot chocolate?’ She frowns. ‘It had hazelnut syrup in it.’
‘Idiot.’ Anna pushes me towards the door. ‘I asked for hazelnut syrup in the coffee. We won’t be coming back here again.’
‘But…’ the waitress begins, but Anna has steered me outside.
‘Good God, Grace. They could have killed you. We could sue.’
‘I’m fine. I just really want to go home and have a nap. Can you drive my car?’ My head is fuzzy and it’s an effort to keep my eyes open.
‘Of course.’ Anna peers at my lips. ‘You look a bit like Donald Duck. What a shame you’ll miss tonight.’
‘I’ll see how I feel after a sleep.’
‘Of course. Fingers crossed you’ll be OK.’ Anna smiles, rubs my arm. ‘Let’s get you home to rest.’
My feet don’t quite feel like mine as I weave through the multi-storey towards the car, and I hope I don’t look drunk. In the parking bay, next to my Fiesta, is the red Corsa.
‘Anna! That’s the car!’ I point.
‘Hold these.’ Anna thrusts her bags into my chest and runs towards the car, but before she can get there the engine revs and its tyres squeal as it speeds away.
A tapping wakes me.
‘Grace?’ Anna pushes open the bedroom door. ‘I’ve brought you some vegetable soup. You missed lunch.’
I yawn, pick up my phone. It’s five o’clock.
‘Thanks.’ I pat my mouth. ‘How do I look?’
‘Back to normal. That’s lucky.’ Anna rests the tray on the bedside table. ‘Eat up. I made it especially for you. Then I’ll help you get ready.’
By the time I’ve mopped up the last of the soup with thick granary bread, Dan’s home. He explodes as I tell him about the mix-up at the cafe.
‘How the fuck did they get that wrong?’ He sits on the bed, clasps my hand.
‘It happens, I suppose. They’re only human.’
‘And you were clear it was only to be syrup in one of the drinks?’
‘I think so. Anna ordered.’
‘Did she?’ The muscle in his neck pulses. ‘I’ll talk to her.’
‘Please don’t. The atmosphere between you two is tense enough anyway.’ I rub my thumb over his knuckles. ‘I know it’s not easy, sharing our space, but I’m enjoying having her here. Anyway, everything’s fine: I’m fine, my dress is better than fine. I can’t wait for you to see me.’
The shower is hot and I shave my legs before exfoliating my body. My skin is pink as I sit wrapped in a towel at my dressing table, painting my nails my favourite cherry red, while Anna dries and straightens my hair. We’re talking about perfume. I tell her how obsessed Charlie used to be with Lexie’s Impulse body spray and how I can’t stomach the smell any more. But then, without warning, my stomach spasms and I lurch forward. Nail varnish streaks down my finger and spots of red drip from the brush to the carpet. I straighten, but my belly clenches again and there’s a movement in my bowels. I spring up and sprint for the bathroom, making it to the toilet just in time.
‘Grace?’ Anna knocks on the door.
‘I’m not well.’ It’s an odd combination, shivering and sweating, and I stretch towards the sink and wring out a flannel with cool water, place it on the back of my neck.
‘I’ll get Dan.’
I groan as another wave of pain engulfs me. I lean forward with my elbows on my thighs, careful to avoid the bruise from my EpiPen. This is probably my body’s way of expelling the excess adrenaline.
‘Babe?’
‘I’m sick, Dan.’
‘What can I do? We need to go soon.’
‘I don’t think I’m going anywhere. Sorry.’
I rest my cheek against the cool tiles and think of my beautiful dresses. I never did decide which one to wear.
It’s thirty minutes before my stomach begins to unknot and I’m feeling brave enough to leave the sanctuary of the toilet. My legs are weak and I grip the banister tightly as I head towards the sound of raised voices.
Anna and Dan are in the kitchen. Anna is stunning in her red dress. Her hair is in a chignon with tendrils whispering against her face.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Grace.’ Anna blushes. ‘I thought Dan might like some company tonight; gives me a chance to wear this dress.’
‘I’ve said no.’ Dan’s voice is steely. ‘I go with Grace or I go alone.’
‘I don’t mind. You’ve two tickets and Anna’s ready. I’m going to have a bath and an early night.’
‘Thanks, Grace.’ Anna tucks her clutch under her arm. ‘Ready, Dan?’
Dan opens his mouth and closes it again without speaking. He snatches his keys and wallet and strides to the front door.
I wave from the doorstep as they drive down the lane. I’m alone. I lock the door and loop the chain and, although I was feeling better, my stomach churns again and doesn’t stop until they are home.
24
Then
The door to my locker clattered open and I rummaged through the piles of paper, sweet wrappers and books I had accumulated over the term. I’d have to take in a plastic bag and clear it out before I left sixth form in a few months’ time. The tangerine cover of my
English book caught my eye and I yanked it towards me; I hated being late. An envelope fluttered from between the pages, gliding to the ground. I scooped it up, and felt hot as I recognised the spidery handwriting on the front.
The note was longer this time but had the same cut-out letters as before: ‘WE DON’T WANT YOU HERE’. I scrunched the letter in my fist and glanced around. The corridor was deserted. Lessons had already started. I slammed my locker door and twisted the key. My footsteps echoed down the corridor as my feet pounded the parquet flooring. I crashed open the classroom door and sank, breathless and sweaty, into my seat. Pride and Prejudice was one of my favourite books, but the words blurred into each other and I read the same paragraph three times. My fingertips drummed on the desk as I urged the hands on the clock to rotate a little faster. Finally, the bell rang, and I shoved my things into my messenger bag and skidded towards the door.
Esmée and Charlie were already in the common room, Charlie waving her baguette around as she talked, pieces of tomato and cucumber sliding to the floor.
‘Look.’ I thrust the note at Charlie.
‘What’s that?’
I showed Esmée, told her about the first note and the shoebox, explained how I hoped it had been a one-off. That she wouldn’t need to get involved, feel she had to take sides.
‘I can’t believe Siobhan would do that. We’ve known each other since we were five.’
‘She’s been a bitch since Grace and Dan got together,’ said Charlie.
‘She’s never liked me, anyway,’ I said sadly
‘Yes, but…’
Esmée fell silent, staring past my shoulder. I turned. Siobhan was framed in the doorway.
‘I’ve brought crisps.’ Siobhan shouldered past me and held two bags of Walkers towards Esmée and Charlie. ‘Cheese and onion, or chicken?’
‘I don’t want anything from you.’ Charlie stood.
Esmée bit her lip, stared at the floor, trying to keep out of it.
‘What’s your problem?’ Siobhan straightened her spine but Charlie still towered above her.
‘You. Sending crap like this to Grace.’ Charlie pushed the note into Siobhan’s chest, and Siobhan stumbled backwards.
Siobhan glared at me and opened up the letter. ‘I didn’t send this.’
‘Suppose you didn’t send a box of shit either, the night after Grace’s party?’
Siobhan’s eyes widened. ‘No, and I can’t believe you’d think I would. We’ve been friends for years. Long before she came.’
Charlie’s face was twisted into a grimace. ‘Well, we’re not friends any more. Fuck off, Siobhan.’
Siobhan opened her mouth, closed it again. Esmée shuffled backwards.
‘Esmée?’
Esmée’s eyes filled with tears; she shrugged.
Siobhan turned to me, her hatred so thick it was almost as if I could reach out my hand and touch it as she spat out her words. ‘Do you really want to make an enemy out of me, Grace?’
And of course I didn’t, but I knew it was too late. The fragile friendship we’d formed was irreparably damaged and I was scared to think what she’d do next.
25
Now
‘Grace, can you help out in the baby room today please? Hannah’s rung in sick,’ says Lyn.
I scuttle into the blue room before she changes her mind. As much as I adore the three- and four-year-olds usually in my care, I’m excited to spend the day with the babies. Sarah is first through the door with Lily, Emily’s sister. This is her first day.
‘Grace, I’m so glad you’re here – although Emily will miss you like crazy; she talks about you all the time. It doesn’t seem two minutes since she was like this.’ Sarah nods towards Lily.
‘I know, it flashes by. Do you want me to take her?’
Tears spring to Sarah’s eyes as she hands over the sleeping bundle, swaddled in a cream Winnie-the-Pooh and Piglet fleece blanket. She is heavier than she looks.
‘She’ll be OK,’ I say.
‘I know. It’s just I wasn’t planning on leaving her yet, but I’ve been offered good money to ghost-write a book and wouldn’t be able to concentrate with her at home. It’s not easy, being a single parent.’
‘It’ll be time to pick her up before you know it.’
We sidestep as a stream of mothers flows past. Sarah passes me Lily’s changing bag and an inordinately long list of instructions, kisses Lily goodbye and leaves.
My steps are astronaut-like as I take slow strides towards the beanbags with my precious cargo and ease myself down millimetre by millimetre, careful not to wake her. My muscles tremble with the exertion, and I think that I really must get back to yoga. Dark eyelashes graze Lily’s porcelain skin and I ease her blanket off, revealing ten perfectly formed fingers with paper-thin nails. ‘What will you achieve with those hands?’ I wonder aloud.
Lily softly snores as I cradle her to my chest and inhale her newness. I can’t resist sniffing the top of her head, her perfect baby smell. She’s gorgeous. Mum keeps dropping hints about becoming a grandmother every time we speak, but I’m not ready yet. Neither of us are.
Lily’s body stiffens as she stretches out – almost doubling her length – and yawns, pink toothless mouth open wide. With eyes still screwed tight she begins to grizzle. Murmuring soothing platitudes, I carry her to the tiny kitchen to warm through her bottle. I give it a shake and tip milk onto my wrist to test the temperature. ‘Perfect,’ I tell her. Once we’re sitting down, I rub the teat over her lower lip until her crying subsides. Her fingers grasp mine fiercely as she clamps her mouth to the teat, sucking noisily, draining the milk as if she hasn’t been fed for days. When the bottle’s empty I put it on the floor. ‘That’s it until lunchtime.’ I gently rub her back until she lets out a loud burp. ‘Lily! Your sister would be impressed with that one,’ I tell her. A small dribble of sour milk trickles from her mouth and I dab it with her Peppa Pig bib.
We spend the next hour thumping bright plastic toys with flashing lights and too-loud noises, and reading stories she can’t yet understand. I work hard to gain one of Lily’s gummy smiles.
‘Grace, can you pop Lily in a cot and go outside? It’s warm enough for the children to have a run around before lunch,’ Lyn says. ‘Cara will be all right in here on her own for half an hour.’
I lay Lily on the yellow gingham changing mat. ‘Let’s change you before your nap.’
She squirms as I undo the poppers on her dungarees: her legs are rigid, knees locked. ‘Come on Lily, I’m supposed to be outside now.’ I pull funny faces until her muscles relax and I can remove her pungent nappy. ‘Lily, I can’t believe how stinky you are.’ I clean her, put a fresh nappy on and blow raspberries on her podgy tummy. She giggles and I do it again before fastening her vest and dungarees. She rests her head on my shoulder, my hair entwined in her fist, as I carry her over to the cots. She smells of talcum powder and baby shampoo. I wind up the sun, moon and stars mobile. The melodic sound of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ fills the air and I watch her eyes begin to flutter. Piercing screams from outside jerk Lily awake, her screwed-up face magenta, as her tears begin to fall hot and fast.
There’s a beat where I hesitate before running out into the courtyard. A crowd of crying children encircles the swing set. Pushing through to the front, I see Emily on the AstroTurf, her arm at an unnatural angle. My eyes blur. Emily morphs into my dad lying on the road so many years before. I begin to sway and drop to my knees.
‘Grace?’
I look up at the nearest child, remind myself that I’m the adult in charge.
‘It’s OK. What happened?’
‘She was standing on the swing and she fell off,’ William informs me. ‘Lyn’s phoning an ambulance.’
Emily’s forehead is clammy as I brush her fringe away from her screwed-up eyelids. Her face is deathly pale. ‘Emily, it’s OK, the ambulance is on its way. Keep still and everything will be fine.’
/> Emily stops screaming, whimpers instead, and that’s worse somehow. I’m not sure she’s even aware I’m here. The pain must be unimaginable and I feel utterly helpless.
Lyn appears with a blanket. We lock eyes across our young charge.
‘Where were you?’ she whispers.
‘I had to change Lily’s nappy.’ I lower my gaze, not wanting Lyn to see the guilt in my eyes, as I try to comfort Emily with inadequate words, holding her good hand between mine, rubbing it. It is chilled despite the warmth in the air.
My forehead and underarms prickle as adrenaline courses through my body. My hands and feet are numb. ‘Sarah’s on her way,’ Lyn says. ‘Lucky they only live around the corner. I’m going outside to wait for her and the ambulance.’
Sirens blast and sweat flows freely down my body, but it doesn’t wash away the regret I feel or the memories that have resurfaced. My chest tightens and I gasp for air. I haven’t had a panic attack at work before and I fight to calm myself in front of the already stricken children.
A hand pats my shoulder. ‘Who’s the patient then?’ A balding paramedic kneels down beside me, opening his box.
‘This is Emily,’ I tell him, as his face swims in and out of focus. ‘She fell from the swing.’
‘Hi Emily, my name’s David. I’m here to look after you.’
‘Emily, Emily!’ The anguish in Sarah’s cries is palpable as she rushes to her daughter’s side. I can’t look at her. In caring for one daughter I’ve neglected the other. I begin shepherding the other children inside. Some of them are still crying. We watch out of the window as Emily is lifted onto a stretcher and wheeled to the waiting ambulance.
‘Will she be dead?’ I’m asked. ‘Will they make her come back alive again?’
‘Emily’s fine, she’s just hurt her arm.’ I try to project a confidence I don’t feel. ‘Let’s all go to the story corner and choose a book.’ I somehow make it across the room on wobbly legs and sink into the beanbags. The Gruffalo is chosen again. My voice is shaky but I throw myself into the story, imitating a fox, a snake, an owl. Pretending is something I’m good at.
Once the children have gone home, I straighten up the disorderly books and wipe down sticky surfaces until Lyn calls me into the office. ‘Sarah’s rung from the hospital. Emily has a broken arm. They’re keeping her in overnight as she banged her head, but she’s going to be fine. Greg’s there too. Emily’s probably thrilled to have both her parents back in the same room.’
The Sister: A psychological thriller with a brilliant twist you won't see coming Page 15
