by Jane Corry
I waited for the jealousy. But it never came. Instead, Vanessa followed me around like a little hen, helping me to bathe Florence (we named her after the place where she was conceived) and feed her. ‘I’ll look after her at school,’ she declares now. It’s almost as though she was born to fill the role. One day we’ll have to tell her about Kitty, who is still very happy in the unit. But not yet.
Robin is an amazing father. He’s opened up a practice here but operates ‘family friendly’ hours. At weekends he takes the girls swimming and fishing so I have time to paint. Every now and then he asks me to marry him. ‘I’m happy as we are,’ I say gently.
‘I can’t understand why you don’t say yes,’ says my mother who’s been hoping for a white wedding.
That’s simple. Marriage means total honesty.
And there’s one thing Robin still doesn’t know about me.
Once I read somewhere (I can’t remember where) that sometimes a secret has to be told in order to stop another from slipping out. I’ve told most of mine.
But I’ve kept just one in reserve.
A few months before I took the prison job I’d had a letter. (The one that I’d hidden in my bedside table.) It was from the lawyer who had represented us when Crispin was originally convicted. The letter informed me that Mr Wright was soon to be moved to an open prison. HMP Archville. A place I already lived near to. Since receiving the letter I’d been keeping my eye out for an opportunity, and when I’d spotted the job advert in the college – advertising a post in the very prison Crispin was being moved to – it seemed like the perfect opportunity. Fate playing its hand.
Yes, I did need the money. I really was broke. But I also wanted revenge. Crispin, as I later discovered, might have thought he was luring me in. Yet what he didn’t realize was that I chose to go inside to follow my own agenda. That’s why I had to hang on to my job until I could get my revenge.
At first I told myself I just wanted to see him. To have my say. A prison sentence is all very well, but it doesn’t allow a victim to confront the offender. I wanted to yell at him. Let all the anger out about the rape.
Besides, in my mind, he hadn’t suffered enough.
Then, when I finally met Crispin in ‘my’ prison, I realized – or so I thought – that he didn’t recognize me. It occurred to me that I could pretend not to recognize him too. So when he’d claimed never to have done art on the Out, I went along with it – even though I knew this had been his strength at school. If he could lie, so could I. About bigger things too.
As Angela once said, when you work in dark places, you find that same darkness creeping into your soul too. It’s catching. You need to be on your guard. But sometimes you can’t stop yourself. And after Crispin arrived, I could feel the blackness sucking me in.
What if, one day, I happened to be in a classroom with just one prisoner?
My old enemy.
What if I pretended that Crispin had attacked me by claiming he had tried to strangle me with my scarf – my trademark dress signature. What if I actually tightened the scarf myself to make it look as though he was responsible? Then he would surely get another sentence and have to stay in for even longer.
Of course, none of this could be achieved without danger to myself. But what if – and this is the big one – I happened to be carrying a shard of glass with me, which I could use in self-defence?
Yet there was one big flaw. I hadn’t banked on Stefan rushing in to save me. Or on him grabbing the glass from where it had fallen. Or on Crispin killing him.
Through some awful ironic twist of fate, I am responsible for my own father’s death. Another to add to my list of crimes.
You can see why I can’t tell Robin. Now my only hope is that there is some redemption in the next generation.
‘Hold my hand,’ Vanessa says to my daughter. Her tone startles me. It sounds bossy instead of kindly. ‘And hurry up, or we’re going to be late.’
It’s as though she’s in charge and I’m not here at all.
Together we walk along the narrow lane. Two little girls. One taller than the other. Both with blonde plaits. Both wearing the same smart navy blue uniform. Both chatting away, nineteen to the dozen.
Mum isn’t your real mum, I can hear my daughter saying.
What do you mean? asks my sister’s child.
Your mum is really in a home for loonies.
Stop it, I tell myself. Remember what Sarah told you. You can’t keep imagining the worst any more.
‘Excited?’ I ask them.
Vanessa nods her head. Her violin case is thumping against her legs. Florence wants lessons too.
Then, holding hands, we stand at the traffic lights, waiting to cross the road.
Squeaky-clean school shoes.
Shoulder bags bobbing.
Blonde plaits flapping.
Two pairs of feet. One slightly larger.
‘Come on. We’re going to be late.’
There. Safe.
For now.
Acknowledgements
I used to think that if you were lucky enough to get a book accepted, it was a simple matter of it being published and then (hopefully) sold. Now I know differently. The whole process is like an intriguing plot: lots of layers which work together to form a whole. I’d therefore like to thank everyone below for playing their part in the evolution of Blood Sisters:
–My wonderful editor, Katy Loftus, who has an almost uncanny eye – especially with structure and characterization. She understands my cast as well as I do.
–My amazing agent, Kate Hordern, who is both pragmatic and imaginative: a winning combination.
–Annie Hollands, who is always on the ball with publicity yet is constantly calm and competent.
–Rose Poole, who has enlarged my knowledge of Facebook.
–Everyone at Penguin, including its fabulous sales and rights teams, whose enthusiasm is truly touching.
–The Dead Good team, who have always been behind me.
–Trevor Horwood, who is a brilliantly competent copy-editor.
–All those prison staff who gave me advice. None of my fictional prisons are based on a real HMP.
–Richard Gibbs and all the other lawyers who helped with my research. Although I have tried to be as accurate as possible, some deviations from standard court procedure have been made to preserve the plot.
–All the staff at the many head-injury centres I visited. At times, their kind, caring professionalism reduced me to tears.
–Our friends David and Jane – wonderful parents and carers – who introduced me to the wonders of the ‘talking machines’. Although such machines exist, and are constantly being developed and improved, I have taken certain liberties with their descriptions here.
–All the wonderful bloggers and Tweeters who have championed Blood Sisters.
–My loyal readers, without whom I would not be writing this.
–My friends, old and new. How lucky I am.
–My family, who are my lifeblood.
–Sisters everywhere. Thank you, Nancy, for being there.
All my characters and events are entirely fictitious, and any similarity to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The next JANE CORRY thriller
THE DEAD EX
‘I wish he’d just DIE.’
He said in sickness and in health. But after Vicki was attacked at work and left suffering with epilepsy, her husband Daniel left her for another woman.
So when Vicki gets a call one day to say that he’s missing, her first thought is ‘good riddance’. But then the police find evidence suggesting that Daniel is dead. And they think Vicki had something to do with it.
What really happened on the night of Daniel’s disappearance?
And how can Vicki prove her innocence, when she’s not even sure of it herself?
COMING IN 2018
Available to pre-order now
THE BEGINNING
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First published 2017
Copyright © Jane Corry, 2017
The moral right of the author has been asserted
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales, is entirely coincidental
ISBN: 978-0-241-97673-9
