Authors: Claire Douglas
The Sisters (29 page)
‘What is it? You can tell me, Nia. You’re the only one I trust at this moment.’ It’s not until I say it that it hits me how true it is.
‘Okay. When I came to stay with you last month, I thought something seemed off with the two of them. I couldn’t put my finger on it, I still can’t. I know you were worried about Beatrice … but there was something about Ben …’ she hesitates. ‘I can’t put my finger on it. But it was enough to make me concerned about leaving you with them. Please be careful.’ Her words unnerve me, but I tell her that I’m fine and end the call. My fingers are trembling as I place my mobile in the back pocket of my jeans. I poke my head over the parcel shelf to see into the main body of the car, but it’s remarkably tidy. Ben’s neatness almost borders on OCD, he won’t even let me eat in the car. What was I hoping to find?
And I realize then that I have no choice but to trust him. I’m sure he will tell me what’s going on when he gets back, there must be a simple explanation for it all. There has to be. Because I can’t bear the thought of losing Ben, he’s been my life raft these last few months, keeping me afloat. He’s the reason I can get up in the morning, that I can face the day without Lucy. I can’t bear to think about what it means for us, for me, if he’s been lying.
I’m reaching up to close the boot when I notice something out of the corner of my eye. At first I think it’s a speck of flint, or fabric poking out from under the matting where the spare wheel is kept, but on further inspection I can see that it is pink and paper-thin, contrasting sharply with the black interior. I give it a tug. It’s stiff like the corner of a piece of paper. Blood rushes to my head as I feel desperately around for the latch, but before I even manage to wrench it open I have an idea of what it is. But I still gasp in shock. I still stumble backwards as if I’ve been punched. Because nestled on top of the spare wheel, lifting and falling gently in the breeze, are three pink envelopes, dog-eared with age, my name and university address scribbled on them in Lucy’s familiar scrawl. And next to them, curled up in the spare wheel is a silver bracelet, its rich blue sapphires glinting in the late afternoon sun.
There is a chill in the air as Beatrice steps off the bus. The sun is hiding behind a large ash-grey cloud, taking with it the little warmth that is left of the day. She wraps her chunky knitted cardigan around her body, a burst of wind whipping at the silk of her tea-dress so that her bare knees are exposed, her toes retracting in her pumps. She falters at the estate agent’s window to peruse the flats available to rent. Why does she continue to do this, to torture herself?
He’s leaving me. He’s really leaving me
.
It’s been days since he told her, but only now is she beginning to believe it. She’s lost him, the last of her family. The one thing she has dreaded for years is actually happening, and as the realization dawns on her, something unexpected shifts inside her. Relief. She has been so desperate to cling on to him, terrified of losing him, but now she’s experiencing a certain kind of freedom that she hasn’t felt in years.
‘Wait up.’ She turns to see Cass running towards her, the camera that hangs around her neck bouncing against her chest. ‘Are you okay, Bea?’ she pants, worry etched into her lovely elfin face. Loyal, beautiful Cass.
Beatrice bites the inside of her lip to stop herself from crying, from telling Cass everything. All these years she’s kept their secret, even though it has been eating her up inside, as if she’s a pumpkin with its flesh hollowed out so that eventually it sags and decays, withering into mush. She needs someone to fill her up again, to replace her insides, to make her glow. She’s already shed one skin, one persona. She thought Beatrice Price would be something different entirely, but at the end of the day she’s still the same person, except maybe she’s not, maybe she’s worse than the person she was trying to escape from.
Cass is still staring at her quizzically, her head to one side. She’s so young, so fresh, so guileless. She knows Cass would never hurt her, but would she still care about her if she knew the truth? Would anyone?
‘I’m sorry, Cass. I didn’t mean to walk off, I’m in my own world.’
Cass smiles in relief and links her arm through Beatrice’s. ‘Are you upset about Ben?’
Beatrice nods and they walk the rest of the way in silence. As they turn the corner into their street Cass asks if they should have a game of tennis before it gets dark. ‘Why not,’ Beatrice says, knowing that this is Cass’s way of trying to cheer her up, of taking her mind off Ben and his imminent departure.
When they reach the gate to the house, Beatrice pauses. Abi is rushing out the front door grappling with a large holdall. Her face is deathly pale, her eyes red and alarm bells begin to ring in Beatrice’s head. ‘Abi?’ She pushes open the gate with a creak. Abi stops on the pathway when she notices them, her face anguished, almost fearful. ‘Where are you going? Are you okay?’
Have you finally lost it, Abi?
Abi blinks at them, her face changing from fear to anger, her big green eyes wild, and Beatrice instinctively pulls away from Cass. Lowering her voice, she urges her to go into the house. Cass glances from one to the other wordlessly, but does as she’s told; always compliant, thinks Beatrice, always so trusting.
Abi drops the bag on to the black-and-white-tiled pathway where it lands with a smacking sound. With her dishevelled hair and wild eyes she looks as though she belongs in some mental facility and Beatrice’s heart begins to beat a little bit faster, nervous that Abi might attack her as she did Alicia.
I knew you were fucked up, Abi. How can you not be, after everything that’s happened to you?
She grips the gate, ready to swing it shut if Abi makes a lunge for her.
‘I’m going to stay with Nia for a bit,’ says Abi. Beatrice remains silent, worried about saying the wrong thing, not wanting to provoke Abi when she’s obviously lost it. ‘Your mother turned up here yesterday, I doubt Ben’s told you. It seems Ben is very good at hiding things.’ She laughs. It’s the laughter of a person who is teetering towards hysteria and the sound of it unnerves Beatrice.
‘What are you talking about? My mother is dead.’
Abi stares at her and Beatrice squirms under her scrutinizing gaze, all the while trying to figure out what to do. Should she call Ben? She can’t let Abi wander off alone when she’s having some kind of breakdown. ‘Where’s Ben, Abi? Shall I ask him to come home from work?’
‘Oh my God,’ she says, the blood draining from her face. ‘You don’t know, do you? And all this time I thought it was you.’
‘Thought what was me? Abi, you’re scaring me.’
‘Join the club,’ says Abi, wrenching her bag from the floor and over her shoulder in a fireman’s lift. ‘I’ve been scared for months, Beatrice.
Fucking
months.’ She stalks towards her and Beatrice instinctively backs out of the gate. ‘I thought I was losing my mind – and trust me, it wouldn’t be that hard. But that’s what he wants, isn’t it? He wants me to think I’m going mad. I don’t understand why.’
‘Who?’ A coldness washes over Beatrice and goosebumps pop up on her legs. ‘Who are you talking about?’
‘Ben,’ she hisses. ‘Your precious brother.’ She stops when she reaches Beatrice and her eyes soften. ‘I’m sorry I thought it was you. But you were so possessive of him, so jealous. And I can understand it. I’m a twinless twin now. But I can still understand.’ She looks so sad that tears spring into Beatrice’s eyes.
A twinless twin. Beatrice knows exactly how that feels. A tear escapes and trickles down her nose. ‘Are you leaving Ben?’ she sniffs. She still doesn’t understand what Abi is trying to tell her.
What do you know, Abi? What do you know about my mum?
Abi seems to consider this, her eyes never leaving Beatrice’s. ‘I want to know why he lied to me. But I need to get away, can you tell him that? Tell him I need some time by myself, but I will be back.’ She reaches over to give Beatrice a hug, but the holdall gets in the way, swinging into Beatrice so that the hug is awkward. ‘We could have been good friends I think, if it wasn’t for Ben. But that’s my fault.’
She pulls away, hoisting the holdall more firmly on to her shoulder, and walks out the gate, her fine blonde hair blowing around her face. As she rounds the corner out of sight the heavens open, drenching Beatrice in seconds. She rushes into the hallway, slamming the front door behind her and sinking on to the bottom step.
Oh, Ben,
she thinks as Abi’s words swarm around in her mind like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that are jostling to be put in the right order so that the whole picture can become clearer.
What have you done?
I lean my head against the window as the train pulls out of the station and watch as the mellow brick of the city recedes behind the rain-spattered glass; a watercolour with the paint running. Everything has changed, nobody who lives in that house is who I thought they were.
Even you, Ben. Even you.
I disguise a sob by taking a sip of the bitter coffee that I managed to grab at the station, thankful that there is nobody sitting next to me, the carriage is nearly empty. It seems not many people want to head into Waterloo at 5.13 p.m. on a wet Wednesday afternoon.
My coat is so saturated that the rain has seeped through to the back of my top. I shuffle out of the parka and discard it on the seat next to me. My head is pounding and I want to throw up, my whole body is trembling from a mixture of cold and shock.
When I discovered Ben’s stash, I couldn’t take in what I was seeing, what it meant. My first thought was that Beatrice had put the things there in a bid to frame Ben, to split us up, but deep down I know she wouldn’t do that, even if she doesn’t want us to be together. She loves Ben too much to make him out to be the bad guy. I snatched the letters, clasping them to my chest as if Lucy’s words could penetrate my heart, relieved that at least I had them back, but I left the bracelet where it lay in the ridge of the spare wheel, not daring to touch it, and replaced the boot’s floor. Then I slammed the door shut and rushed into the house, my mind whirling. I called Nia straight away, sobbing down the phone, barely comprehensible.
‘You need to get out of the house, Abi, and quickly, before he comes back.’ I shiver now when I think of her words. She urged me to get out of Bath and to come and stay with her. I managed to grab my never-been-worn maroon vintage tea-dress as well as the green Alice Temperley of Beatrice’s that I’ve never gotten around to giving back to her, and all of Lucy’s letters and photographs, the things that are too precious to be left behind.
I wasn’t expecting to see Beatrice as I was coming out of the house, and it occurs to me now that I never told her about finding the bracelet or letters, that, instead, I just ranted at her about what a liar her brother is. I could tell by her open, puzzled face that she had no idea what I was talking about. I think I know her well enough by now to be able to read her expressions, to gauge her feelings, but maybe not. I’m obviously not a very good judge of character; I fell in love with Ben and I thought Beatrice was trying to terrorize me. The good twin and the bad twin. Could I have mixed them up?
The sky darkens and the lights flicker on in the carriage. They are too bright, intensifying the pounding in my head. It hurts to look at them so I keep my eyes firmly shut as I try to remember everything that has happened in the months since I moved in. My head is fuzzy, I’m finding it hard to formulate anything constructive in my mind. What I do know though, what has become obvious, is that Ben led me to believe Beatrice took Lucy’s letters and that she did so because she thought I had stolen her bracelet. And all the time he knew this to be untrue because he had them hidden in his car. A fresh wave of nausea engulfs me.
At some point I doze off, because when I open my eyes again the carriage is half full and a bald man wearing a North Face waterproof is hovering by the seat next to me, silently pressurizing me to move my coat. I drape it over my lap, the dampness filtrating into my jeans. It’s too dark to look beyond the window, all I can see are the passengers in the carriage reflected back at me, and my face,
her face
; too pale, eyes dark, haunted.