She wanted him gone.
She wanted him away from Cassidie.
She wanted him dead.
Days, weeks, months, years of repressed emotion erupted inside her. She launched herself at his back. Bone against bone, flesh against flesh. There was a satisfying thud. Naz let out a grunt and fell sideways under the shock of her weight. Leah heard the sofa scrape backwards and felt the blunt edge of the table connect with her face like a fist.
Then it went quiet, ominously quiet.
He sat up first.
She heard him move towards her.
Curled on her side on the floor, eyes closed, Leah waited. She’d survived this before. She would survive it again. She concentrated on her breathing: shallow, regular, slow breaths.
‘You fucking maniac!’
One kick. Lower back. An explosion of pain – but nothing snapped, nothing broke.
He stood over her. She braced herself for the second kick, but it didn’t come – not straight away. He made her wait. Left it long enough for the hope that he might stop at that to float free. Then he let rip. Kicking, shouting, raging. Leah folded in on herself. Tried to imagine escaping down through the carpet, through the floorboards into another space altogether – one that was quiet and safe and empty. But this time the old trick didn’t work. There was too much energy and violence anchoring her in the room.
When he’d had enough, he stopped. But he didn’t move away. He wasn’t finished.
When he spoke he did so slowly, as if she was an idiot. ‘Don’t you ever do that again. Do you hear me? Do you?’ She nodded, but kept her eyes closed. He leant down, so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek, and in a cold, completely calm voice he said, ‘You need to decide whose side you’re on, Leah. And quickly.’ He paused. Still she didn’t open her eyes. ‘The answer – you stupid bitch – is mine.’ He straightened up. His voice returned to normal: bossy, arrogant, but no longer deranged. ‘Sort her out and get rid of her. And before she leaves, get her address.’
Leah waited for the flat door to close before she opened her eyes. She lay still, feeling the pain radiate through her body. Her face was near Cassidie’s feet. Cassidie hadn’t moved. The fight, the beating, Naz yelling – none of it had been enough to wake her up. She was still unconscious.
Naz had done for them both.
But he hadn’t got everything he wanted because, from her vantage point on the floor, Leah had a clear view underneath the sofa. And there, on the floor near the back wall, was Cassidie’s ring. She stretched out, ignoring the snap and scream of the muscles in her back and retrieved it. She slid the ring into her back pocket. Fuck you, Naz.
She levered herself up slowly, using the table for support, testing out her back. It hurt, but held. Her cheek pulsed from where she’d crashed into the table. Bruises incubated beneath her skin. She knelt and surveyed the damage: the crud all over the floor, the dirty orange smears on the furniture, Cassidie’s stuff scattered across the table. The smell of beer, tortillas and Naz’s aftershave crawled up her nostrils.
She wanted to scream.
Even inside her flat – her small, scrubbed, bleached box, with the lock on the door and her name on the rent book – she still wasn’t safe. It still got in: the chaos, the rising tide of muck, the violence. She couldn’t control it. She never had been able to. She looked at Cassidie propped up on the sofa like a mannequin, still pristine amidst the mess, and felt breathless. As Leah watched, Cassidie slowly collapsed sideways, comatose.
Naz had drugged her, molested her, stolen from her and left her vulnerable, and Leah’s overwhelming emotion was – revulsion. In that moment, Leah hated Cassidie. If she could have picked up her keys and walked out, she would have; walked out and kept on walking. This was Cassidie’s fault. She’d been the one trying to suck up to Naz. She’d been the one stupid enough to drink the spiked beer. She was the one who hadn’t left when she could have. She was the one with the looks and the money, and the lovely ring from her poor dead grandma, and the fucking mansion and the doting parents to run home to. And that was what enraged Leah. Cassidie was the one who could always leave. She could always go back to her nice, safe, predictable, secure, clean, lovely life.
Leah couldn’t. This was her life.
She limped over to the window, rested her forehead against the glass and pressed, hard.
Ten minutes later Leah went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She put it on the floor beside the sofa. Her back throbbed, a reminder – not that she needed one – that she was answerable to Naz, and that Naz was coming back, and that when he did, she’d better have done what he said.
She tried shouting at Cassidie, but that had no effect whatsoever, and the sound of her own voice bouncing around the hollow flat was too much to bear. So she poked her, but that elicited no response, either. At last, very reluctantly, Leah took hold of Cassidie, braced herself for the pain and hauled her upright. It took all of her willpower and her strength to do it, to touch Cassidie again after all those years – skin against skin, her hands guiding her sister’s body. The weight of her, flopping against Leah, was breathtaking. After a lot of awkward tugging and pushing, she managed get Cassidie sitting upright and her clothes back in order.
Leah pressed the glass of water against her lips. ‘Drink,’ she instructed. Most of it flowed down Cassidie’s chin and soaked into her T-shirt, but at least it seemed to wake her up a little bit. Cassidie started flapping her hands, trying to push the glass away. Leah was having none of it. ‘Pack it in. You need to drink.’ This time Cassidie actually swallowed some of the water. Only when the glass was empty did Leah let her sit back and close her eyes.
She was mumbling, which Leah took as a good sign. ‘Try and stay awake!’ Cassidie nodded slowly, and for a moment she opened her eyes again, but almost immediately her eyelids fluttered and closed. ‘Cassidie!’ Leah yelled. Again there was a flicker of awareness before she drifted off. Leah thought about trying to make her be sick, but she knew that would be difficult. Cassidie didn’t ‘do’ being sick. Even as a toddler, she’d try hang onto it, swallowing it down, rather than actually chucking up, so frightened was she of getting into trouble. Leah remembered shouting at her and making her cry, but washing the bedding had been such a hard thing to manage, as it had meant running the gauntlet of ‘downstairs’.
The slip into the past winded Leah.
She put the glass down on the floor and sat back next to Cassidie, feeling the vibrations of an emotion that was no longer impotent rage.
Caring for Cassidie.
It was her responsibility.
It always had been.
It was what she’d done, by instinct, from that very first day when their mother had come home with the latest addition to their already dysfunctional family – not a puppy this time, but a baby. Leah had known from day one that if she didn’t look after it, something bad would happen. It was just the way it was. And the more she did, the less their mother had done. Leah had cared for her little sister every day and every night, when Cassidie was crying and when she was ill, when she was bored and when she was naughty, when she was happy and normal and noisy and hard work, and all the times in between.
Leah had resisted connecting that little girl with this young woman, but some truths, no matter how hard you try to smother them, still manage to survive.
Cassidie and Cassie were, she finally recognised, one and the same.
Cassie muttered something and her head rolled from one side to the other, bringing her beautiful face next to Leah’s battered one. The flat was quiet. There were alone, together, safe – for the time being. In the soft evening light, Leah looked at Cassie, searching for the little sister she’d lost all those years ago. She found traces of her in the slope of Cassie’s cheek and the deep peak at the bow of her lips. Her little sister hadn’t disappeared, she’d grown up.
Leah felt her protective shell crack. The layers of scar tissue that had formed after each abandonment split apar
t and her laminated heart gave way. It was harrowing.
She hadn’t cried in years. She’d forgotten how painful it was – the bulky bitterness in her throat, the straggled breathing, the sense of letting go and plummeting wildly downwards. It was frightening. And it went on and on.
And it was her own fault.
She should have gone out and left Cassie to come round on her own. She should have walked away and protected herself. But she hadn’t. For the first time in years she’d let herself care for someone else, feared for them, felt the need to protect them and watch over them, and look what had happened: she’d been disarmed. Caring was dangerous; not caring was safer. She thought she’d perfected her indifference, that it was impregnable. Her useless mother, Jane the witch, the Mertons, every ‘carer’ who hadn’t really cared, every social worker who’d proved not to be true to their word – they’d all contributed to her cast-iron defences. And her painstakingly collected armour had protected her. She had learnt not to care about anyone, certainly not herself, or any supposed ‘friends’; definitely not Naz, or any of the other boys and men before him. Switch off, blank out, suck it up. It was doable.
Existing, but not living.
Working, but not getting anywhere.
Eating, but not tasting.
Fucking, but not feeling.
The heart-splitting truth was that no one had touched Leah with gentleness for years, at least not without an ulterior motive. No one had talked to her and really listened, no one had truly shared anything of themselves with her – not since she had been a big sister with a little sister who needed her. Not since Cassie.
Finally cried dry, Leah wiped her nose on her sleeve and looked up. Nothing had changed. The mess was still all round her, except that now the room was tinged pink by the setting sun. She took a deep breath, gathered herself together and tried to climb back inside the small, cramped box of ‘not giving a fuck’.
But she couldn’t, she had unravelled too much.
Cassie stirred and whimpered and Leah patted her shoulder, reassuring her that she was not on her own. ‘You’re gonna be okay. It’s gonna wear off. It’ll just take a bit of time.’ Cassie tried to rouse herself, but the drug was stronger than her intentions. She muttered something that Leah didn’t catch. ‘What?’
‘I said…’ Cassie made a concerted effort, ‘I’m sorry.’
Leah didn’t want to think about what Cassie was sorry for, because she knew it didn’t bear comparison with her own actions, her own complicity in leaving her sister alone with Naz, knowing full well what he was capable of. ‘It’s okay.’ Leah squeezed Cassie’s shoulder and, as she did so, she noticed how badly her hands were shaking. Guilt crept through her veins, finding space alongside the sadness. She went into the bedroom and fetched her duvet, which she draped over Cassie, tucking her in, like she used to when they were little. Even in her drugged and stupefied state, Cassie managed a slurred ‘Thank you’. Her head drooped again.
This time Leah let her sleep.
An odd peace settled on the flat. The only noise was the hum of the fridge and the sounds of the faceless people who lived above and below her, and all around her. The light seeped away down the walls. Time passed. And Leah sat and watched over Cassie, as the bruises on her back and her face began to bud and bloom.
It felt good to have her little sister back.
The angry burr of Cassie’s phone vibrating on the table startled Leah. Cassie didn’t react. Leah reached over and picked it up. The caller ID said ‘Mum’. Another few seconds, then, as expected, there was the buzz of an incoming text. Cassie not responding must have given the bitch-mother something to worry about, any real mother would – Leah supposed. She sat and pondered this everyday example of maternal concern with a complex ripple of emotions. She looked at Cassie, who was still fast asleep, breathing evenly and peacefully. Leah didn’t attempt to wake her. She was warmed by the knowledge that Cassie was safe with her, rather than at home. It was comforting, and emboldening, to have Cassie in the flat, in her care, under her jurisdiction. Cassie’s family would have to wait.
It was, finally, her turn.
Besides, Leah reasoned, even when Cassie did eventually wake up – and who knew when that would be – she would still have to get back to Leeds, and that could take a couple of hours, or more. By then it would be late and dark, and not safe; not for a girl travelling on her own, a girl who had no street smarts. Leah entered 1 – 2 – 0 – 4. She’d seen Cassie do it enough times to know the four-digit pass code by heart. She’d made it her business to know. The message was from Cassie’s mother, asking what time she’d be back home. It was a nice, cheery text, ‘signed’ with a smiley face and a purple heart emoji. When Leah looked, there were a string of similar messages across the day. Jesus, she really was a possessive bitch. Each text flicked another drop of poison into Leah’s open wounds. As she was skimming through the litany of fussing, an alert pinged up. Yet another family member keeping in touch! This time it was the bitch-sister, bragging about being out having fun with her friends at the cinema.
A shiver of bitterness rippled through Leah.
They were never going to let Cassie go.
Never.
Not unless she made them.
Leah scrolled through Cassie’s long list of contacts: the friends and the family members who made up the wide, complex, extended web of love and support that encircled her. Eventually she found Erin’s number, stored under ‘Sis’. Carefully and calmly, she composed her message.
Chapter 47
ERIN AND her friends were waiting to buy their tickets for the film when her phone buzzed. A message from Cassie. She opened it, pleased and more than a little surprised that her sister had bothered to respond to her post.
The message read, i’m in Manchester with Leah having a nite out. i’m gonna stay over. Tell Mum and Dad I’m staying at Freya’s if they ask. Thanx.
There was something wrong. It wasn’t just the content of the message – there was something off about the text itself. Erin read it again, but it didn’t feel right. Cassie never typed ‘Thanx’ and, given the state of their relationship at present, a ‘thank you’, even for providing a covering lie, was the last thing Cassie was likely to send her.
‘Everything okay?’ Hannah asked.
‘Yeah. Fine. Can you do me a favour and get my ticket for me?’ She gave Hannah her money. ‘Thanks. I need to call my sister.’ Erin stepped out of the queue and went to stand near one of the pillars. Cassie wouldn’t actually choose to spend a whole night with Leah, would she? Erin hadn’t even known Cassie was in Manchester again. How had she got there? A night out. By choice? With Leah? And where was she going to stay? It didn’t just feel wrong; it was wrong. Erin’s heart sped up at the thought of it. Her phone rang. She answered it, without looking.
‘Hi, Erin. Sorry to bother you, honey.’ It was her mum. ‘You haven’t heard from Cassie, have you? She’s not answering her phone, and I need a quick word with her about something.’ The lightness of tone didn’t disguise the concern in Grace’s voice.
Erin’s response was a flustered ‘No. Sorry.’
‘Okay, love. Don’t worry about it. She’s probably had to leave her phone in her locker. Enjoy the film.’ Her mum rang off.
So her parents thought Cassie was at work. More lies. Erin felt overwhelmed by the sudden responsibility for her sister’s safety. Knowing she’d never relax if she didn’t get to the bottom of it, she called Cassie’s number. It rang and rang, then clicked through to the message service. ‘Cass, please call me’ was all Erin could think to say.
The girls had bought the tickets and got a bucket of popcorn and some sweets. They came towards Erin, chatting and laughing, and she felt a powerful longing to be one of them, stress-free, simply enjoying a night out. Hannah passed her a ticket and they turned towards the escalators that led up to the screens, but Erin hung back.
‘What’s up?’ Hannah retraced her steps.
Erin stumbled
over her apology. ‘I’m really sorry. I feel like I might be getting a migraine.’ Hannah looked concerned, which only added to the pressure building up inside Erin’s head. ‘It’s okay, you go. I just need to go home and lie down for a bit.’ Even to her own ears, it sounded like a lame excuse to get out of the film – something she had a track record of doing.
Hannah still looked worried. ‘But how are you going to get home?’
Erin hadn’t got as far as thinking that through, but she smiled brightly. ‘It’s fine. My dad’s coming to get me. You go. Sorry. I’ll text you later.’ Hannah still hesitated, trapped between contradictory impulses. ‘Go! I’ll be fine, honest.’ At last she did.
Erin moved further away from the crowds, trying to find some space to think. Cassie was AWOL. Her mum was worried. The text message didn’t feel right. But what could she do? The answer was very little, but she had to try. She sent a text.Cassie I’m worried about you. PLEASE ring me. She held her phone tightly and willed it to ring. She stood perfectly still as people flowed past her. The minutes accumulated. Then at 6.46 p.m. a response flashed up. Erin, I swear to god. Just do wot I asked. I’ll talk to you tomorow. It took a huge effort not to cry. Erin turned her back on the crowds and tried to pull herself together. It was like Cassie had slapped her. In a way she had. Not telling her she was even going to Manchester, then expecting her to lie, then being foul to her, simply because she expressed some concern about what she was doing.
Erin was stranded. Trapped by the need to tell her mother something, and literally stuck at the cinema. For a few seconds she panicked, frozen by the scale of the lie she was going to have to tell, to cover for Cassie and to extricate herself. But cowering in the corner of a cinema lobby that had grown quiet in the lull between film screenings wasn’t going to help. Erin took three long, slow, deep breaths. She decided to deal with her mum first, by text, because it’d be easier than calling her. She messaged Grace, saying she’d forgotten to tell her that Cassie was staying over at Freya’s. She apologised for forgetting. She kept the message short and sent it before she could bottle out. The responding Cheers. Thanks for letting me know made her feel both a tiny bit better and a whole lot worse.
The Forgotten Sister Page 25
