I remain on my knees, resting forward on my elbows, until the room stops spinning and I sit back, wipe my mouth with my sleeve. I clasp the chain with both hands and yank as hard as I can until my shoulders burn in their sockets, but the solid pine bedstead my grandparents bought as our house-warming present doesn’t move. Dan had wanted a faux-leather one where the TV rises up like flotsam at the touch of a button – he’d seen one on MTV’s Cribs – but I’d thought it tacky, out of place in our cottage. Now I wish I’d listened to him. I wish he were here. I try the cuff instead, find the join and strain to prise it apart, wincing as I rip my nail to the quick.
Nausea rises again and I drop my head onto my knees. My breathing is too rapid, too shallow, as I wonder whether Anna will come back. I’m petrified she will. I’m petrified she won’t. I force myself to calm down. Footsteps pound back up the stairs and the ball of dread inside me grows.
‘Here.’ Anna rolls a beige bucket towards me. Grains of sand spill out onto the carpet. Dan laughed at me for keeping a fire bucket outside the back door, but the plumes of smoke generated as he cremated hot dogs and burgers made me nervous.
‘Don’t say you haven’t got a pot to piss in,’ Anna cackles and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. ‘You can clean up your mess, too.’ A roll of black sacks begins to unravel as it flies through the air, landing with a thump next to the tray.
‘Anna, this is crazy. Unlock me and then we can talk.’ I keep my tone calm and measured, blink back tears and try to stretch my mouth into something resembling a smile.
‘I’ll be happy to.’ Anna reaches into the pocket of her jeans, pulls out a silver key and dangles it in front of her. ‘As soon as we’ve sorted things out. We’ve got off to a bad start but I want us to be friends, Grace. Sisters, even. Family’s important, don’t you think?’
‘Yes.’ In this moment I’d agree to anything. ‘We can start again. Be friends. Just unlock me.’
‘I can’t yet.’
‘You can. There’s no harm done. I know it was a mistake about Mittens. It’s fine, really…’ The words stream from me. I can’t stop babbling.
‘It isn’t just about Mittens though, is it, Grace? It’s about you stealing my life.’
‘I don’t…’
‘It should have been me growing up with Charlie, not you. Me!’ She thumps her chest and I shrink back.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You will be.’
‘I’ll scream if you don’t let me go.’
‘Go ahead.’ Anna crosses her arms.
‘Help! Help!’
I yell until my throat smarts and I’m drenched in sweat. My cries get weaker until they’re replaced with the sound of rasping as I pant with exertion.
‘Finished?’ Anna’s mouth twists into a smile. ‘Who do you think’s going to hear you? It’s Saturday, there are no workmen coming. Mrs Jones is in hospital. No one ever just walks past here. I thought you wanted to be friends?’
‘I do,’ I whisper.
‘If you want to be friends, you have to make amends.’
‘How?’
‘You’ll see.’ Anna spins on her heel and walks away.
‘Anna,’ I croak. ‘Come back.’ But I am alone.
43
Now
I contemplate my options. The chain won’t reach the window. I can scream all day, but Anna’s right, no one will hear me. The lane doesn’t lead anywhere. No one ever just passes by.
What am I going to do? I swallow hard; my mouth tastes sour. My hand is shaking as I pick up the orange juice, rotate my wrist in tiny circles and check the liquid for vomit as it sloshes around the cup. It seems to be OK and I take a sip, swoosh it around my mouth as though I have just cleaned my teeth, and spit it back out again. There’s no way I’m actually drinking anything. It’s probably full of ground nuts. My bladder is full already and I’m not pissing in a bucket.
I examine the cup: green and plastic, it’s usually wedged at the back of the cupboard in case friends with young children visit. My sandwich is on one of the paper plates we keep stacked in the pantry for impromptu barbecues. Anna has used the flimsy plastic tray from the greenhouse – I usually stand seedlings on it – rather than risk the heavy silver-plated one that I dust off when we have visitors. There is nothing heavy or sharp. Nothing I can use as a weapon. Did Anna know I’d be home this weekend? She can’t have, unless…
Unless Lexie’s accident wasn’t an accident.
How long will it be before anyone misses me? Before anyone finds me? The workmen will be here on Monday. I’m not exactly going to starve to death. What has Anna got planned?
I can’t let myself imagine. Deal with the facts in front of you, one at a time, Paula, my old counsellor would say. And I try, but I feel like I’m on a waltzer at the fair, spinning round and round. I press my palms hard into my eye sockets. Think, Grace. I stand. Blood rushes to my head and I splay out my hands as I sway. I step forward with my left foot, drag my right, see how far I can go, wondering whether I can reach my drawers, find something to help me. The chain tightens, the cuff rubs against my bone, jerking me backwards. I try lying on my front, elbows digging into the carpet, and inch forward as far as I can. If I could just reach the bottom drawer. I stretch out my fingers, but I’m still nowhere near.
I crawl back onto the bed. I examine the cuff, point my toes and try to slide it from my ankle. I wonder where it has come from, remember that Anna has read Fifty Shades of Grey, and shudder. I thrust the cold metal towards my heel again and again until my skin is split and blood drips onto my mattress. There’s no way it’ll fit past my ankle bone. I shiver as I remember Charlie and me watching Misery on video after school one day. I’d hidden my face behind a cushion as Kathy Bates smashed a sledgehammer into James Caan’s feet. ‘You can hear the bones cracking,’ Charlie had squealed.
My head drops onto my knees. I run my fingers through my hair, pull out the scrunchie I’d been too tired to remove last night. A hairgrip drops to the mattress and hope swells. I pounce on it, manipulate the metal until it’s straight. I struggle to keep my hand still as I insert the grip into the lock of the cuff, slide it around. C’mon. I wipe the sweat from my forehead. Try again. I’ve seen this in the movies so many times. How hard can it be? My bicep burns with the effort of keeping my arm still, my hand steady, but there’s no click. The cuff doesn’t spring open.
I run my fingers down the chain until I reach the bedstead, trace the carvings with my fingers. I wobble the wood where the chain is looped through. It’s not as solid as the legs; the carvings are the bed’s weak point. I might be able to break the wood. I shuffle back up the bed. Lying on my back, arms by my sides, I pull up my knees and take a deep breath as though I’m preparing for a yoga move. I straighten my legs, smashing my feet into the wood, and I scream as pain radiates into my hip sockets.
I think I might be sick again. The wood hasn’t cracked, isn’t even splintered. I roll onto my side, wait for the nausea to pass; strain my ears, waiting for footsteps to bang up the stairs, but the cottage is silent. The only discernible sound is my heart hammering against my chest. I place both hands over it as if it is a frightened animal I can soothe. I draw my knees up, curling into a ball. I’m not sure whether it’s stress or the after-effects of the alcohol and sleeping tablets, but my eyelids flutter and close and I fall into a restless sleep.
The electric light is dull through the smoke-stained shade but it still wakes me and I blink rapidly, curl up into a ball.
‘I’ve made dinner.’ Anna has placed the tray by the side of the bed and stepped back before I’ve even sat up.
‘Anna,’ I croak. It’s painful to talk. My throat’s raw from all the screaming. ‘Please let me go.’
‘It’s pasta,’ Anna says, as if I haven’t even spoken.
‘What do you want? How did you know I was here?’
‘I was at Lexie’s last night, sleeping in Charlie’s room. I followed you back.’<
br />
‘Lexie gave you a key to her house?’
‘No. The neighbour let me in. I told her I was Lexie’s niece. She said the family resemblance is striking.’ Anna fluffs the bottom of her hair. ‘What do you think? It seems short to me.’
‘I think you’re crazy. Let me go.’ I tug weakly at the chain.
‘Not yet.’
‘Grandad’s expecting me for dinner tonight,’ I bluff. ‘He’ll know something’s wrong if I don’t turn up.’
‘Really?’
I nod.
‘Funny, that.’ She pulls my mobile out of her pocket. ‘As he’s in bed ill, and he thinks you’re still in London.’
‘Esmée…’
‘Thinks you’re at your grandparents’.’ Anna waves my mobile. ‘Look, you even sent her a text to say you got there safely. Aren’t you the considerate one? Now, eat your dinner before it gets cold. And clean your mess up. It stinks in here.’
‘Anna. Anna. Please!’
‘SHUT UP!’ she roars, and slams the door behind her. I tremble as I listen as her footsteps fade away.
My bladder feels like the water balloons we used to throw at school: too full and ready to explode. I look at the bucket and begin to cry with frustration, but I don’t have any choice. I step out of bed. I’m not sure whether it’s exhaustion or fear making my legs shake, but I have to sit before I can wrench down my pyjama bottoms and squat over the bucket. Sweat pricks at my skin as I release a stream of urine into the plastic and I vow never to tell anybody about this – then wonder whether I’ll ever see anyone again to tell. I jerk my pyjamas back up and lie back on the bed, sobbing into my pillow so Anna doesn’t hear.
It’s unfathomable that I slept again but I must have, because when I wake, the moon shimmers high in the sky. I’m glad I don’t have curtains, because I can see the twinkling stars, notice how beautiful the world is. There’s a growling in my stomach and I realise I haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. I pick up the plastic bowl of pasta, and fork cold fusilli and congealed cheese into my dry mouth. The toilet flushes in the bathroom next door and my throat suddenly closes up. I drop the bowl onto the floor and huddle under my duvet as if a layer of cotton and feathers can protect me. It’s awful not to feel safe in my own room and I wonder if I’ll have to move after this. If there’ll be an after this – and I shake the thought away. Urge myself to stay positive. Anna has to let me go, doesn’t she?
44
Now
The stench in the room is acrid and sour: vomit mingled with urine. Stale sweat clings to my skin and pyjamas and I wish I could reach the window to gulp in fresh air. The rain drums against the panes and I’m desperate to be outside, to feel the drops splatter onto my upturned face, trickle down my neck. My grandparents will welcome the downpour. Grandma was worried the dry spell was lasting too long, and it’s almost time for Grandad to plant the bulbs; the earth will be nice and soft if he’s well enough to do it today. I wonder how they are, if I’ll ever see them again. I feel light-headed and I clutch the duvet to quash the sensation that I’m floating away.
The bed in the spare room creaks. Anna’s footsteps march across the landing and the bathroom door squeaks as she pushes it open. My heart rate doubles. I haven’t cleared up the mess from last night yet and I daren’t risk making her angrier. I quickly sit up, lowering my feet to the floor. My body aches like it did when I first started yoga, and my movements are jerky as I shuffle to the bucket. My quad muscles quake as I squat and wee. I push the bucket as far from the bed as I can reach, pick up the roll of black sacks and tear one off. I slide the tray into the sack and tie the neck. I consider tossing it across the room but tuck it under the bed instead. It’s not heavy, but I may be able to hit Anna with it, surprise her somehow, and wrestle the key from her. I take this idea and bundle it with all the other straws I’ve clutched at.
My muscles tense as the door swings open.
‘Morning.’ Anna smiles. ‘Sleep well?’
I bite back my sarcasm. ‘I’ve been thinking. How about we go to Charlie’s grave today? You and me. Or we can take Lexie, if you want to. It’s unfair that…’
‘That sounds great,’ Anna beams.
‘Really?’
‘No,’ she snaps.
I flop back onto my pillow. ‘How about a cup of tea at least?’ I could throw it in her face, I think.
Anna’s eyes narrow. She picks up the bucket and leaves without a word; the toilet flushes and her footsteps thunder down the stairs. Much as I hate the bucket, I panic that she might not bring it back. I close my eyes and strain to hear what she’s doing. Water gushes through the pipes as the kitchen taps are turned on. I feel like Spiderman with my heightened senses. Anna returns wearing my Cath Kidston apron, one hand clasped around a plastic cup, the other carrying the bucket. I pick at a piece of stray cotton trailing from the seam of the duvet and watch her out of the corner of my eye. How’s she going to get the tea to me without a tray? She walks slowly towards the bed. Adrenaline courses through my body. I place my palms on the mattress and shift my weight slightly, angle my legs, getting ready to kick her as hard as I can. She stops. Puts down the bucket. Places a hand in the apron pocket and pulls out my paring knife. Its blade glints, and bile rises in my throat.
‘Just in case you get any funny ideas.’ She puts my tea on the bedside table and backs away, her eyes locked onto mine.
I break her gaze and pick up the cup, but I can’t suppress the violent shaking of my hand and beige liquid slops onto my thigh.
‘It’s cold.’ I sip the tea to double-check. It’s a risk drinking anything she’s given me, but I’m so thirsty now, I gulp it down.
‘Of course. Do you think I’m stupid?’
‘No. You’re upset. Understandably so. Let me go, Anna. I won’t tell anyone. The decorators will be here tomorrow, anyway.’ I’m whining like one of the toddlers I look after at Little Acorns when they get over-tired, but I can’t help it.
‘Don’t worry, Grace.’ Anna runs a finger along the spine of the knife, taking a step towards me. ‘It will be over very soon.’
The walls feel like they’re closing in on me, the ceiling coming down. There’s not enough air in the bedroom. When Charlie died, all I wanted was to be with her, but now I’m so scared I’m going to die, I realise how much I want to live.
And then the doorbell chimes.
Anna strides from the room, slamming the door behind her, and I kneel on my bed and scream and scream until I feel I’m about to faint. Two sets of footsteps thud up the stairs and I’m giddy with relief that I’ve been heard, that I’ll be saved. I put my hands on my hips and lean forwards, panting as though I’ve run a marathon.
The door bursts open and Lexie is framed in the doorway, arm in a sling, cheek swollen and bruised. She looks small and frail. Thin bare legs poking out of a once-white hospital gown. Anna is shadowed behind her.
‘Grace.’ Lexie limps towards me. Freezes as she notices the chain running from my ankle to the bedstead. ‘Belle, what the fuck are you doing? Let her go.’
‘Not until we’ve talked. You owe me some answers, Mum.’
‘We’ll talk when you haven’t got Grace chained up like a bleedin’ animal.’
‘Oh, poor Grace. Everyone just loves her don’t they?’
‘She’s done nothing to you.’
‘She wouldn’t introduce me to you. You were supposed to get to know me through her, get to like me, and then I’d have told you who I really am. We’d have been a real family, but no. Grace wanted to keep you all to herself.’
‘It wasn’t like that…’
‘Shut up.’ Anna steps towards me. ‘I wanted to like you, Grace. I really did. I tried to be nice, but you kept pissing me off. The more I listened to your stories about how much you loved Charlie, the more I hated you. Everyone loves Charlie. Everyone loves Grace. Who the fuck loves me? But’ – her mouth twists into a smile – ‘I’m prepared to give yo
u a second chance. Charlie isn’t here any more, but we can still be a family of three, can’t we?’
‘No.’ Lexie’s voice is cold and hard. ‘Let her go or I’ll call the police.’
‘Go ahead. By the time you hobble to the nearest phone, I’ll be long gone, and Grace?’ She pulls my paring knife from the apron pocket, swishes its stainless steel blade through the air. ‘Grace might still be here. Well, some of her might. Now get on the bed.’ Anna thrusts the knife towards Lexie, as though prodding cattle. Lexie stands firm, but as the blade jabs into her shoulder, droplets of blood soak through her gown and she stumbles backwards.
‘Anna, you’re hurting her.’ I try to reach Lexie but the chain is too short.
‘I’m hurting her… That’s rich.’
Lexie clambers on the bed next to me. Anna grasps her left leg, opens the other cuff and snaps it around Lexie’s ankle.
‘What do you want, Belle?’
‘I want to spend some quality time with my mother. Is that too much to ask? I’m going to cook a nice meal, then we can all sit down and get to know each other properly.’
Anna slams the bedroom door on her way out.
‘You’re bleeding.’ I reach out my hand but Lexie swats it away.
‘I’m fine.’
The crimson stain spreads, and as I watch it, the contents of the room swirl and merge together until my peripheral vision disappears. There’s a roaring in my ears as though I’m listening to waves in a shell.
‘Breathe, Grace.’ Lexie rubs my back in small circular movements. ‘You’re only breathing in. Breathe out.’
I huff out air, hiss it back in again. I can hear Lexie murmuring, feel the warmth of her hand on my spine, and gradually my body stops jerking. My sight is restored.
‘OK?’ Lexie squeezes me tightly with her arm.
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ She lets me go. ‘No offence, but you stink.’ She shuffles away.
I flop back onto my pillow and Lexie tugs at the chain, pushes against the bedstead with her one good arm.
‘I’ve already tried that.’
Lexie sprawls on her back. Kicks off her shoes and places the soles of her feet against the carved wood. I shuffle down the bed, place my feet next to hers.
The Sister: A psychological thriller with a brilliant twist you won't see coming Page 26
