‘Miss Matthews, you’re not actually under arrest. At this stage, you’re just helping us with our enquiries.’
At this stage.
I reach for the plastic cup in front of me. There’s a bang outside, the sound of shouting and I blanch. Water sloshes over the table.
‘I’m sorry.’ The lukewarm liquid drips onto the grey linoleum.
‘Let’s start from the beginning. Answer each question honestly, and if there’s anything you don’t understand, you can ask us to repeat it. Are you clear?’
‘Yes.’ I need to tell the truth. I’ve nothing to hide. I’ve sat in a room like this before and lied to the police. Lived in fear of being found out. I can’t do it again.
‘How long have you worked at Little Acorns?’
‘Seven years.’
‘And could you describe the events of the past few days?’
I tell them about Emily, how I hadn’t gone straight outside when Lyn asked me to, how she fell. I didn’t tell them how I still hear her scream when I close my eyes, how I still see her body, twisted and pale, lying on the ground.
‘And I believe there’s been some backlash against you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And have you any idea who started that?’
‘There was an incident a few weeks ago. With Emily’s father, actually.’ I tell them what happened.
‘And does anyone else you know of have a grudge against you?’
‘No.’ I want to tell them I’m being followed, but am scared they’ll think I’m making it up.
‘Does anyone else you know have a reason to break into the nursery?’
‘No.’
‘And you were home alone yesterday evening?’
‘Yes.’
We run through my story again and again, and then I’m left alone. I pull a tissue out of my sleeve, wipe sweat from my underarms and then wonder whether I’m being watched, whether hidden windows and two-way mirrors are just for TV. I place my palms flat on the table and close my eyes. Footsteps echo in the corridor outside and the door clicks open.
‘Thank you, Miss Matthews. You’re free to go, for the moment.’
For the moment.
Mrs Jones’s net curtains twitch as I step out of the police car outside the cottage. I hurry up the path, berating myself for not taking my phone. The door’s locked. I ring the bell, peer through the letter box. Anna doesn’t answer. My fists throb as I bang my frustration out on the solid wood, before sinking onto the cold stone step, shivering in my thin hoodie. What should I do? I can’t face Mrs Jones and the scores of questions she’ll have if she comes outside. It seems ludicrous to hide, but I do, jogging down the side of the house and slipping through the back gate. The greenhouse is freezing and as I sit cross-legged on the floor, dampness seeps through my tracksuit. It isn’t long before my bottom’s numb.
Dan’s the first home. I hear the chugging of the Land Rover and run around to the front of the cottage.
‘Grace, been for a run?’
I hurl myself into his arms.
‘Grace? You’re shivering. Let’s get you inside.’
He leads me to the sofa. Clumps of compost fall from my trainers onto the newly hoovered carpet. I don’t pick them up.
‘Grace, I’m so sorry.’ Anna sweeps into the cottage, still in coat and boots.
‘I couldn’t get back in.’ I’m tearful now.
‘I was out looking for Mittens.’
‘What?’ My eyes dart around the lounge, searching for the ever-present grey ball of fluff.
‘When you’d gone, Mrs Jones came around and started asking questions. I didn’t want to let her in, so I stood with the door open. Mittens ran past me. I couldn’t catch her.’
‘Mittens never goes outside.’
‘I know. She must have seen a rabbit or something.’
‘What have you done, you fucking bitch?’ Dan’s voice is low, quiet. He steps forward.
Anna moves towards the door. ‘Accidents happen. Sometimes no one is accountable.’ Her footsteps pound down the hall; the front door slams.
‘Dan?’
Dan rests his chin on the top of my head. ‘I’m sorry, sorry, sorry,’ he whispers into my hair.
I push him away. ‘What’s going on? Where’s Mittens?’
He takes my hand. His palm is sweating. ‘Grace…’
30
Then
My beautiful new car was ruined. The road blurred and Charlie’s voice sounded muffled but I somehow managed to drive home safely, angled the car so the damaged side couldn’t be seen from the house. I didn’t want my grandparents to find out. Charlie and I kicked our shoes onto the mat and were tiptoeing up the stairs when the lounge door creaked open.
‘Want a cup of tea, you two?’ Grandad asked.
I opened my mouth to answer but my sobs caught in my throat, forcing the words back down.
‘What’s happened?’
I shook my head. Charlie took Grandad’s hand, led him outside, and I watched from behind the lounge curtains as Grandad ran his fingers over the letters scratched into the paintwork. Charlie gestured wildly, I knew she was explaining about the letters, most likely about Siobhan catching me and Dan kissing, and I felt ashamed.
They turned towards the house and I stepped back from the window, sank into the sofa and buried my face in my hands.
‘C’mon.’ Grandad’s voice was hard. I splayed my fingers, peeked at his face.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘We’re going to Siobhan’s,’ said Charlie.
‘What?’ My hands flopped into my lap. ‘Why?’
‘She can jolly well pay for the repairs, that’s why.’
‘Can’t the insurance do that?’ I hated myself for wanting to avoid a confrontation, but I did.
‘And let my premium go up?’
I swallowed hard. My grandparents had sold premium bonds in order to afford the car; it wasn’t fair to expect them to foot the bill for this.
‘I can pay. I’ve got dad’s money now.’
‘You’re not paying. That’s for your future. I’ll drive.’
Sometimes there was just no arguing with Grandad. I stood and dropped my car keys into his open palm.
I fidgeted in my seat during our silent journey as we wended through the village towards Siobhan’s house on the new estate. She lived in a large detached house, built so close to its neighbours it could almost be classed as a terrace. A fir tree stood in the bay window, fairy lights twisted around its middle, flashing on and off like they were sending out an SOS. Charlie squeezed my hand as Grandad pressed the bell. ‘Good King Wenceslas’ rang out and Charlie stifled a giggle.
Siobhan’s mum opened the door. Her magenta lips twisted into a sneer when she spotted me.
‘What do you want?’
‘We’re here about the letters Siobhan’s been sending Grace, and the damage to her car.’ Grandad’s voice was firm.
‘She didn’t send any letters.’
‘Could we see her, please?’
‘She isn’t here.’
‘That’s convenient.’
‘She told me about your accusations.’ Siobhan’s mum jabbed a finger at me and I shrank back. ‘How you’ve turned everyone against her. She’s been really upset. It’s your fault she got expelled. Taking that laptop. She wasn’t in her right mind.’
‘It wasn’t Grace’s fault.’ Charlie stepped forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with Grandad.
‘We’re here about the car.’ Grandad’s voice was firm.
‘I don’t know nothing about your car.’
‘It was scratched today, deliberately.’
‘Today?’ Siobhan’s mum snorted.
‘Yes.’
‘Siobhan’s in Brighton. Spending the day with Jeremy.’
‘Jeremy?’
‘Her boyfriend. Not that it’s any of your business.’
I flinched as the door slammed.<
br />
Back in the car, Charlie busied herself with her phone as we drove away in silence.
‘Bloody hell.’ Charlie held out her phone. ‘Look who Jeremy is!’ Siobhan had uploaded a selfie to Facebook that morning of herself and the leader of the kids we’d dubbed the ‘Walking Dead’, huddled on Brighton pier, his turquoise hair blowing in the wind, her dead eyes fixed on the horizon. Neither of them were smiling. ‘If she’s in Brighton, it can’t be her sending the letters.’
‘No.’ I shivered. Who did this?
The Touche Éclat Mum had bought me for Christmas tried its best to mask the deep shadows under my eyes, but I already looked like I’d partied all night as I got ready for the New Year’s Eve bash at the pub. I wasn’t Siobhan’s biggest fan, but if she hadn’t sent the letters, I felt I owed her an apology. Talking Charlie around would be difficult, though. She detested liars: years of Lexie being economical with the truth had left its mark, and regardless of whether Siobhan had sent the letters, she’d been caught on camera stealing.
The doorbell rang and Dan’s low voice drifted up the stairs. I ran the straighteners through my hair one last time, although I knew by the end of the evening it would be a frizzy red mess, and sprayed vanilla perfume onto my pulse points. In front of the mirror I drew my navel towards my spine. It was too late to regret that last piece of Christmas cake. I was ready to go.
Dan wolf-whistled as I tottered downstairs, and I blushed and stared at the floor as he assured Grandad that as he was planning on drinking, he wouldn’t be driving home. We picked Charlie up on the way to the pub and Dan wound down the window and sucked in fresh air. She always overdid the Impulse body spray.
The car park was busy and Dan parked under a light. ‘See you tomorrow, darling.’ I rolled my eyes as he patted the bonnet, then we pushed our way into the bar. It was three deep and we bought two rounds to avoid queuing again – but then drank them twice as fast. The evening flashed by. Dan recounted a showing he’d done that week, where he’d taken an elderly couple to see a supposedly empty house only to find the owner having sex in the master bedroom.
‘It wouldn’t have been quite so bad if it had been his wife he was in bed with!’ Dan laughed.
‘It’s nice we’re all together,’ I said. ‘Well, almost all together.’ Esmée always spent Christmas in France and wouldn’t be back until the following week. ‘Do you think we should call Siobhan? Apologise?’
‘No.’ Charlie slammed down her pint. Cider sloshed over her fingers but she didn’t seem to notice.
‘She didn’t send the letters.’ We’d accused Siobhan of something she hadn’t done. Everyone hated her because of it. Despite the way she’d treated me over the years, guilt burrowed under my skin and it was getting harder and harder to ignore.
‘We don’t know that for sure.’
‘How could she, if she was in Brighton?’
‘Abby wasn’t. She hero-worships Siobhan. She could easily have delivered the letter and scratched your car.’
I considered this. ‘Possibly, but Siobhan said none of her family are speaking to her, including Abby.’
‘Even if it wasn’t her, or Abby, she’s still a thief and a liar. Stop sticking up for her,’ Dan said. ‘You’re too nice.’
‘Just suppose it wasn’t her,’ said Charlie. ‘Who could it be?’
It was unnerving to think there was someone else out there who hated me. In a way, it was easier to believe it was Siobhan.
‘OK. Let’s drop it.’ I leaned back in my seat and puffed out air. This was supposed to be a night of celebration. New beginnings.
‘I’m going for a wee.’ Charlie stood, swayed, and I watched as she fought her way through the crowd. I didn’t recognise half the people here.
‘Do you know why Charlie and Ben have split up?’ I asked Dan.
‘No. He’s gutted though. He wouldn’t come tonight. Doesn’t want to see her ever again.’
‘Not easy in a village this size.’
‘He’s planning on going to Africa, once the exams are over. Volunteering to build a school. He’ll go straight to uni from there.’
‘It’s such a shame.’ I didn’t like change. I’d seen too much of it, I supposed. ‘Charlie says she’s got her eye on someone else, but she won’t say who.’
Charlie returned quickly. ‘Bloody queue was ridiculous. I went in the men’s.’ She flopped down, picked up her pint.
The bell rang. ‘I’m closing the bar for the countdown,’ yelled Mike, covering up the pumps with towels. ‘We’ll serve again next year.’
‘Next year?’ someone shouted.
‘Yep. In about sixty seconds.’ Mike aimed the remote at the flat-screen TV above the bar. Trafalgar Square was rammed. Ten… Nine… Eight…
‘I haven’t got anyone to kiss.’ Charlie looked stricken as she stood on her stool and looked around for an available man. ‘We’ll have to share Dan.’
Seven… Six… Five… Dan took my hands in his.
Three… Two… One… Our lips met. My ears roared with whistles and cheers until the sounds faded away and all I could hear was the beating of my own heart. When I opened my eyes again, Charlie had vanished.
I was pulled to my feet by Mike’s wife, Liz, and a man I recognised as our postman but whose name I couldn’t remember. My head spun and I stumbled into our table; the sharp corner dug into my hip and my drink toppled over. Before I could set the glass upright, my hands were criss-crossed over my body and I was jostled around the pub to ‘Auld Lang Syne’.
I lost sight of Dan; he hated singing so was probably hiding out somewhere. I bellowed out the words, even though I only knew the first verse, which didn’t seem to matter. There was an almost manic atmosphere; I’d never experienced anything quite like it. Usually, we’d stay up until midnight and toast the New Year – Grandma with a sherry, Grandad with a port, and me with a hot chocolate – and then we’d go straight to bed. It was always strangely disappointing. Watching the clock, waiting for the hands to tick-tick-tick to midnight and then realising that even though it was a brand new year, everything was exactly the same. Grandma would rinse the cups before bed, Grandad would make her a hot-water bottle, and I was reminded to clean my teeth just the same as every other night. New Year’s Day was much like any other, too, although we’d always have roast lamb.
But this? This was amazing. I felt weightless. Invincible. And who knew I could sing? ‘Auld Lang Syne’ finished and Mike put on a compilation CD. I belted out Destiny’s Child: I am a survivor! I stumbled around the pub, laughing, hugging strangers with beaming smiles and shining eyes. But where were Dan and Charlie?
Someone caught my arm and I spun around, revelling in the attention. Everyone wanted to talk to me; it should be New Year’s Eve every day. Abby stood before me, her face fraught with worry.
‘Cheer up!’ I said. I loved everybody that night. ‘It’s New Year.’ I staggered backwards, leaned against the wall for support. The floor appeared to be moving.
‘Have you seen Siobhan?’
‘She’s probably with Jeremy funky peacock-head,’ I giggled. I could sing, and I was funny. My new-found talents would make this the best year ever.
‘Grace.’ Abby grasped my shoulders and shook me. The contents of my stomach sloshed and all of a sudden I didn’t feel quite so good. ‘Siobhan is missing. If you see her, will you ask her to ring me? I’ve been a real bitch to her and I’m worried.’
Abby’s face swam in and out of focus until she had two heads. My stomach was spinning like the Catherine wheel we’d watched on the village green. I clasped both hands across my mouth and bolted towards the toilets.
Charlie and Dan were in the corridor. His arms were wrapped around her. Whenever he held me, my head would rest on his chest, but Charlie was so tall their foreheads touched.
‘I’ll tell Grace tomorrow,’ Dan was saying.
I crept backwards towards the door. I didn’t want to hear what he had to
say. Didn’t want to believe what I was seeing. Dan and Charlie? Tell me what tomorrow?
Hands grasped at my waist; leery voices demanded New Year’s kisses as I fought my way to the exit. After the warmth of the pub, the icy air slammed into my chest and I leaned forward, hands resting on my knees, sure I’d be sick. But after a few moments, the nausea passed, although sharp pain sliced through my temples whenever I moved my head. I was absolutely never, ever drinking again. My body felt heavy and stiff, like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz, although he was lucky he didn’t have a heart, I thought – he’d never feel the hurt I felt in that moment.
My boyfriend and my best friend? Half of me was desperate to confront them; the other half wanted to go home, crawl under the duvet and never come out again. Why did everyone leave me? Dad, Mum… Was Dan going to do the same? Charlie? I felt so ill. It was hard to believe that ten minutes ago I’d been having the time of my life.
I started to totter down the high street. My heels seemed higher than they had all evening. I held my arms out to my sides for balance. A tightrope walker, although with my frizzy red hair, I probably looked more like a clown. It wasn’t far to walk, but it was late. Dark. And someone out there hated me, wanted me to leave. But most of the local taxi drivers were in the pub and it wasn’t fair to ask Grandad to drive after his port and lemon. I’d be OK, I reasoned. I’d walked home a thousand times before.
A crash. A shadow. A movement in the post office doorway. I froze. Felt like I might burst: my bladder too full, my heart too fast. Green eyes shone. A cat darted out of the doorway and across the road. I shook my head at my stupidity, but there was another movement. A groan. The sound of a throat being cleared. I kicked my heels off and ran, tearing around the corner onto Green Road, my stockinged feet slapping against the cold pavement. I didn’t see the broken glass but I felt it rip through my flesh and I screamed and sprawled onto my knees. Warm blood oozed over the pavement and I whimpered as I tried to stand. There was a ringing in my ears and it took a few moments to realise it was my mobile. I hoped it was Grandad. Dan. Anyone who would take me home. I wanted to be tucked up in bed, safe and warm.
It was Siobhan. The pain in my foot fuelled my anger. What did she want? Dan and Charlie thought I was pathetic, wanting to forgive her. No wonder they’d gone off together. It was all her fault.
The Sister: A psychological thriller with a brilliant twist you won't see coming Page 18
