Blood Sisters: The #1 bestselling thriller from the author of My Husband's Wife

by Jane Corry

  ‘I’m sure Kitty wants to rest,’ said Call Me Jeannie.

  Kitty and The Monster breathed a sigh of relief. At least someone understood.

  It took a while for her to get used to the new life. ‘Can you believe it?’ said Call Me Jeannie as she turned over a page of the calendar on the wall. ‘June already!’

  In some ways it was much better than the home. Food whenever she wanted it – and plenty of it. No strict bedtime routine. Telly in their bedroom. A huge one on the wall.

  But in others, it was worse. Johnny always wanting to get into her bed at night – and during the day. Pawing away at her. To think she used to like this sort of lovey-dovey stuff!

  ‘Are you happy here?’ Friday Mum asked when she visited.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she babbled.

  ‘I wish I knew what you were saying. I feel so guilty that I can’t look after you myself.’ Then she stared at Kitty’s huge stomach. ‘It won’t be long until you’re a mother and I’m a grandmother!’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘It’s a miracle. But I just hope we can all manage.’

  At least there was no Bossy Supervisor. But Johnny’s father and his brothers didn’t seem to want her here. ‘That’s disgusting,’ one of them said – to her face! – when she slurped her way through spaghetti bolognese over dinner.

  ‘Shhh,’ said Call Me Jeannie.

  Johnny just laughed.

  But then came Day Centre.

  ‘Johnny always used to love it,’ said Call Me Jeannie. ‘Would you like to go with him?’

  No. She wanted to watch telly and see what happened to the girl who had hit the boy who then slept with her best friend. But it looked like she had no choice.

  Call Me Jeannie had bought a special van that was big enough for her wheelchair. Kitty stared out through the window all the way there. So many people walking down streets as if it was perfectly easy to put one foot in front of the other. Why couldn’t she do the same? What exactly had happened to her that meant she couldn’t walk?

  ‘Here we are!’ sang Johnny. He was sitting on the edge of the seat, his tongue hanging out.

  ‘You look like a dog,’ babbled Kitty.

  Johnny smiled as though she’d said something nice. ‘I can’t wait to introduce you to my friends.’

  Friends? Kitty’s heart did a little flip of fear. She’d had a friend once. What was her name? Kitty could see her in her mind right now. Blonde plaits. ‘Blood sisters’. Where had those words come from? For some strange reason, she was getting a lot more of these flashes since her hospital visit.

  As they went into the centre, Kitty fell quiet. Everyone was coming up to Johnny. Slapping him on the back and welcoming him. ‘Where have you been, mate?’

  Johnny looked so pleased that he forgot to introduce her. Luckily Call Me Jeannie did it for him. ‘This is Kitty. She’s Johnny’s new wife.’

  One of the girls in the group, who was leaning on a stick, gave her a nasty look. ‘Wife?’ Then she turned to Johnny. ‘I didn’t know you’d got married.’

  Her husband was shifting from one foot to the other, the way he did when he felt awkward. What was going on?

  ‘Yeah. We met at the home.’

  ‘I see.’ The girl was glaring at her.

  Johnny had gone now. Sucked up into a wave of lads who wanted him to ‘play pool, mate’.

  The girl who’d given her a nasty look had followed them, limping on her stick and grabbing Johnny’s arm when she caught up. Kitty felt a flash of jealousy. It reminded her of another time. Summer lights in the garden. Girls in the years above holding hands with boys. A tall, thin boy who she liked more than any of the others. Then the memory dissolved like the crystals that Call Me Jeannie put in her bath every night.

  Call Me Jeannie was talking to one of the helpers in a low voice. She’d need to be quick.

  Kitty put her hand on the lever of her new electric wheelchair that Johnny’s family had bought her. The speed had been strictly restricted in the home. But she wasn’t there any more, was she?

  ‘Ouch,’ said the girl with the stick. ‘You’ve just rammed into me.’

  ‘Good,’ babbled Kitty. ‘Keep your fucking hands off my husband.’

  ‘I’m sure she didn’t mean to do it, did you?’ said Johnny.

  ‘Yes I bloody did.’

  ‘Poor you.’ Johnny was actually rubbing the girl’s leg. ‘Is that better?’

  ‘No,’ yelled Kitty. ‘Don’t do that. You’re my husband. Not hers.’

  ‘She’s really bruised me!’

  ‘Stop making such a bloody fuss.’

  Shortly after that, they went home.

  That night, when Johnny tried to crawl into bed with her, Kitty wasn’t having any of it. He’d fancied that girl. She just knew it.

  ‘I don’t know if your mother mentioned it,’ said Call Me Jeannie a few days later. ‘But there’s a new machine that might help you speak.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Johnny. ‘It can read your thoughts.’ He slapped his thighs as if it was one huge joke.

  ‘We’re all going to see the brain specialist soon,’ said Call Me Jeannie. ‘He’ll do some tests to see if you’re suitable. Isn’t that wonderful?’

  Yes. Kitty had plenty of things she wanted to say out loud.

  The worst day of the week was when they went to Day Centre. Thursdays. Bad things had always happened then. Kitty wasn’t sure how she knew that. She just did.

  ‘I don’t want to see that bitch who has the hots for you,’ she’d yell, thrashing when the carer tried to lift her into the car with Call Me Jeannie.

  ‘Don’t do that, dear. You’re hurting us.’

  In the car, she made a terrible smell.

  ‘Ugh,’ said Johnny. ‘That’s disgusting.’ He never used to say that in the home.

  When they got there, the girl with the stick was waiting. She had long blonde hair that reminded Kitty of the friend she used to have. Whatever her name was.

  ‘You’re late,’ she said to Johnny, ignoring Kitty.

  One of the centre’s helpers played cards with her. ‘Try putting this one down with your good hand,’ he said.

  But all the time, Kitty kept looking for Johnny and the girl with the stick. Then, when the carer took her to the loo, she saw them. Standing in a corner. Johnny had his arms around the girl. The Monster inside her leaped up and down in indignation. Kitty could have cried.

  When they got home, she refused to eat. Or the next day. Or the next.

  Johnny didn’t try to get into bed with her any more. That night, she took off her nappy with her good hand and smeared poo all over the wall.

  The social worker came to make one of her checks. ‘I’m not sure this is working out,’ Kitty heard Call Me Jeannie say.

  When it was time for bath that night, she flailed around more than usual. ‘What’s wrong, dear?’ asked Friday Mum when she came to visit. ‘Jeannie says you don’t seem very happy.’

  Later, Kitty listened to Call Me Jeannie and Friday Mum talking in the kitchen. They spoke as if she wasn’t there. Or as if she was deaf. ‘I’m afraid Johnny can be very impulsive at times. Always having a crush on different girls at the day centre. One of the helpers said he’d found Johnny kissing another girl the other day.’

  ‘No!’ Friday Mum was clearly shocked.

  ‘Of course, he and Kitty did get together rather fast, didn’t they? If it hadn’t been for the baby, well …’

  That night, Johnny seemed sorry for everything he’d done. ‘Shall we have a cuddle?’ he said.

  CRASH!

  ‘She’s hurt me,’ he yelled.

  Call Me Jeannie came running in, wearing a powder-blue nightdress. ‘What’s happened?’ she cried.

  ‘I didn’t mean it,’ Kitty tried to say. ‘I just pushed him away and he fell on the floor. That’s all.’

  But Johnny had to go to hospital to have his arm put in plaster. Afterwards, Kitty refused to let the carer dress or wash her.

  ‘Jeannie can’t cope
any more,’ said Friday Mum when she came to visit. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve persuaded the home to take you back. Johnny’s parents still want to pay for the specialist, though.’ She wiped away a tear. ‘So you’ll be returning next week. I think that’s for the best. Don’t you?’

  Yes. No.

  ‘There’s something else too, Kitty. Some rather bad news, I’m afraid. I’m not sure how much you can understand but … well … it’s about your sister. She’s in trouble.’

  Why should she care if something had happened to Half a Sister? But something at the back of Kitty’s mind made her feel that, once upon a time, she had cared. More than she had let on. Because that’s what sisters did. She knew that from the telly. They said they hated each other. But then they helped each other to bury bodies because a sister was the only person you could really trust. The Monster gave a massive kick in agreement.

  ‘Your sister has been accused of something.’ Friday Mum was shaking when she spoke. She didn’t look very well, come to think of it. Her face was very grey and one set of fingers was twisting the other. How Kitty wished she could do that.

  ‘She’s still being interviewed by the police. A man was hurt in the prison where she worked. And another man said that …’

  Don’t stop, Kitty wanted to say. You were just getting interesting then.

  ‘I don’t know why I’m bothering to tell you, Kitty.’ Friday Mum had tears streaming down her face. ‘It’s not as though you can do anything. Except that you were the only other person who survived the accident, love. You could tell us if it’s true or not.’

  The accident?

  Kitty had a flash of plaits. New shoes. A violin. A funny smell.

  And then it all went. Just like the other times before.

  56

  July 2017

  Alison

  Summer is finally here. It’s hot. Sultry. Couples are sitting in the local park, arms draped around each other. As I jog past, I notice a woman of about Mum’s age who has hitched up her office skirt to make the most of the sun. I think of Lead Man – I still call him that in my head, despite our new level of intimacy – who is away again on another buying trip. What does he get up to when he’s away?

  Or, more importantly, what do I?

  Our defence case is building, Robin told me when I last saw him. Emails marked ‘Urgent’ are pouring into my inbox from his office address. They are always clipped. Businesslike. Asking me questions that might strengthen our argument. Sometimes he rings to clarify a point. Or calls me into his office for a meeting. The last one had been particularly difficult.

  ‘Do you remember what you said when Crispin took you to the summer house?’

  His voice is distant in the way that someone’s is when they don’t want to talk about something.

  ‘Not the exact words,’ I say, embarrassed. ‘But he led me to believe that you were there.’

  ‘So he lured you on false pretences?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Did you have any idea he was going to … to make advances?’

  ‘No.’ My knees begin to shake.

  ‘Did you want him to?’

  His voice is flat. I wish we were on the phone and that he couldn’t see my face.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you make any attempt to fight him off?’

  ‘I tried to push his chest away but then I gave in.’ This comes out as a whisper.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that.’

  ‘Not really,’ I groan.

  I can hear his breath. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I was too shocked.’

  ‘Did you tell anyone you were raped?’

  ‘No.’ My denial comes out as another groan.

  ‘Why not?’

  Do I detect a note of alarm to his voice?

  ‘Because I felt dirty. As if it was my fault.’

  I wait to hear him tell me that this is exactly what it was.

  ‘Actually, Ali, many rape victims feel exactly the same.’

  So he believes me!

  ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to steel yourself for intrusive questions like this in court,’ he adds more kindly.

  ‘Do you discuss cases with your wife?’ I ask suddenly. Instantly, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. Yet I can’t deny I’ve been curious. What kind of woman has he married? When? Is she a lawyer too? It seems odd to think of the Robin I once knew actually being a husband.

  There’s a brief silence. I’ve gone too far, I tell myself. Then he speaks. ‘My cases are confidential.’

  I feel as though I am eighteen again. Stupid. At fault. Naive.

  ‘Besides, we are divorced.’

  What? I glance at his ring.

  ‘Never got round to taking it off,’ he says quickly as though it’s unimportant.

  So, he’s not over her yet.

  ‘A ring can be useful when dealing with overfriendly female clients,’ he adds.

  ‘Does that happen?’ I ask. It comes out sounding rude, as if I doubt Robin’s attractiveness.

  He gives a short laugh. ‘Women going through a divorce are vulnerable. It’s easy for them to imagine there is something between them and their solicitor. One of the first things we were told at law school.’ His eyes face mine. Fairly and squarely. ‘I imagine it can be like that between prison staff and offenders.’

  I leave his office, feeling thoroughly confused by the different emotions flying round my own head.

  Yet this is nothing compared with the latest news about Kitty. Arrangements are being made to send her back to the home. Johnny’s parents can’t cope with her any more after she pushed Johnny out of bed and broke his arm.

  ‘It was an accident,’ Mum keeps saying. ‘My Kitty isn’t like that.’

  When I first heard, I have to confess that I felt a flash of pleasure. So Johnny’s family had discovered something that I had had to live with for years! My sister is not easy. She has a mind of her own.

  To clear my head after the meeting with Robin, I take a jog along the Thames. A tourist steamer goes past. A child is waving at me. I wonder what it would be like to get on to the next one and never come back. Don’t try to hide, I tell myself. It’s time to go back to the flat, shower and drive down to Mum’s. After all, I’d promised.

  She’d been really excited when – after that conversation about Kitty – I’d asked if I could come down for a few days. ‘Don’t you have to work?’

  I haven’t told her yet about being suspended from the prison. ‘My local authority classes are over for the summer,’ I had explained truthfully without referring to HMP Archville. She doesn’t mention it either. Mum’s good at that. Ignoring what she doesn’t like. Perhaps it’s hereditary.

  ‘I can’t wait to see you, darling,’ she’d added.

  ‘Me too.’

  But she might change her mind when I get there. Because now is the time for my mother to come clean.

  57

  July 2017

  Kitty

  ‘So you’re … back,’ sniffed Margaret. ‘They say a … bad … penny always … turns up.’

  ‘Don’t take any notice of her,’ said Tea Trolley Lady. ‘She’s missed you. We all have, dear. Welcome home.’

  Home? Home was a little house on her picture board with a path leading up to it and flowers at the side. Kitty had never really thought of this place as ‘home’ before. Instead it had been a vague idea of a house with Friday Mum and … someone else. Had it been the tall blonde, Half a Sister? Or was it Flabby Face, the man they called her father but who angered her?

  It made her head spin.

  When Call Me Jeannie had taken her in, she’d told Kitty to treat their house as her home. But it wasn’t. Every time she had done something, it was wrong. It wasn’t her fault that the wheelchair scuffed the paint on the door frame. Or that she dribbled. As for pushing Johnny out of bed and breaking his bones, that really had been an accident.

  Mind you, she probably shouldn’t have smeared poo on
the walls when she got cross. Call Me Jeannie had got really upset about that one.

  So when Friday Mum said that Johnny’s family didn’t think they could have her any more and how did she feel about going back to the home, Kitty had felt an unexpected flash of relief. Of course, Friday Mum had asked the question in a way that suggested she didn’t expect a reply. If only they realized that she understood so much, they might be more careful about what they said. Half a Sister Ali, she said, might go to prison. Why?

  Meanwhile, here she was back in her old room with Margaret as though nothing had happened. Only the rings on her left hand showed she had got married. The rest seemed like a dream.

  ‘Getting … bigger … aren’t you?’ wheezed Margaret. ‘Not long … now … they say.’

  Not long until what? The Monster gave a big kick, as if it knew something.

  ‘Don’t … worry,’ said Margaret in a softer tone. ‘Remember I … told you about the … boyfriend who loved … me once but then … dropped me? I know … you thought Johnny was … different but … they’re all … the same. Who needs … men?’

  Maybe she had a point. Funny, really, thought Kitty. She’d truly loved Johnny at first. But that girl in Day Centre had been the final straw. It had brought back all those memories which she couldn’t pin down properly but which had made her so, so furious.

  As if in agreement, Kitty’s stomach rumbled.

  ‘Hungry, are you?’ asked Margaret. ‘Me too. Nearly … dinner now. Tell you … what, you can … have my seconds as a … welcome back treat.’

  Kitty thumped her knees with excitement.

  ‘But after that,’ added Margaret with a glint in her eye, ‘no … more special … favours. Got it?’

  Kitty had been back for six meals – that meant two days – when she heard the rumours. ‘Heard your sister’s in trouble,’ grinned Duncan. ‘Surprised you still see her after what she did to you.’

  Did to her? What were they talking about?

  ‘Heard your mother talking to the supervisor, I did.’

  ‘Me too,’ added Margaret. ‘And what’s this … machine that might … be able to help you … talk? They … were going on about … that too.’