The Sea Sisters: Gripping - a twist filled thriller. Lucy Clarke
third attempt before she managed to dial correctly. She heard the rustle of a duvet, a mumbled, ‘Hello?’ and then silence as he listened. When he spoke again, his voice was level, telling her only, ‘I’m on my way.’
It must have taken no less than ten minutes for him to drive from his apartment in Fulham to hers in Putney, but looking back she wouldn’t remember any of that time. She was still sitting on the hallway floor, her skin like goose flesh, when the intercom buzzed. She stood groggily. The floorboards had marked the backs of her thighs with red slash-like indentations. She pressed the button to let him in.
Katie heard the thundering of his feet as he took the steps two at a time, and then Ed was at her door. She opened it and he stepped forward, folding her into his arms. ‘My darling!’ he said. ‘My poor darling!’
She pressed her face into the stiff wool of his jacket, which scratched against her cold cheek. She smelt deodorant. Had he sprayed himself with deodorant before coming over?
‘You’re freezing. We can’t stand here.’ He led her into the lounge and she perched on the edge of the cream leather sofa. It’s like sitting on vanilla ice cream, Mia had said the morning it was delivered.
Ed removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, rubbing her back with smooth circular strokes. Then he went into the kitchen and she heard him open the boiler cupboard and flick on the central heating, which rumbled and strained into life. There was the gush of a tap as he filled the kettle, followed by the opening and closing of drawers, cupboards and the fridge.
He returned with a cup of tea, but her hands didn’t move to take it. ‘Katie,’ he said, crouching down so they were eye level. ‘You are in shock. Try and drink a little. It will help.’
He lifted the tea to her lips and she sipped it obediently. She could taste the sweet milky flavour on her tongue and the urge to retch was immediate. She lurched past him to the bathroom with a hand clamped to her mouth. The jacket slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor with a soft thump.
Bending over the sink, she gagged. Saliva hit the white ceramic basin.
Ed was behind her. ‘Sorry…’
Katie rinsed her hands and splashed water over her face.
‘Darling,’ he said, passing her a blue hand towel. ‘What happened?’
She buried her face in it and shook her head. He gently peeled the towel away, then unhooked her dressing gown from the back of the bathroom door and guided her arms into the soft cotton. He took her hands in his and rubbed them. ‘Talk to me.’
She repeated the details learnt from the police. Her voice sounded jagged and she imagined that if she were to glance up at the bathroom mirror, her skin would be leached of colour, her eyes glassy.
As they moved back to the lounge, Ed asked the same question to which she wanted the answer: ‘Why was your sister in Bali?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Have you spoken to Finn?’
‘Not yet. I should call him.’
Her hands shook as she dialled Finn’s mobile. She pressed the phone to her ear and listened as it rang and rang. ‘He’s not answering.’
‘What about his family? Do you know their number?’
Katie searched in her address book and found it, the Cornish dialling code stirring a faint memory that she wasn’t ready to grasp.
Finn was the youngest of four brothers. His mother, Sue, a curt woman who was often harassed, answered, sounding half asleep. ‘Who is this?’
‘Katie Greene.’
‘Who?’
‘Katie Greene.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Mia’s sister.’
‘Mia?’ Sue repeated. Then immediately: ‘Finn?’
‘There’s been an accident—’
‘Finn—’
‘No. It’s Mia.’ Katie paused and looked at Ed. He nodded for her to go on. ‘The police have been here. They told me that Mia was in Bali … on a cliff somewhere. She fell. They’re saying she’s dead.’
‘No…’
In the background she could hear Finn’s father, a placid man in his sixties who worked for the Forestry Commission. There was a brief volley of exclamations muffled by a hand over the receiver, and then Sue returned to the line. ‘Does Finn know?’
‘I’d imagine so. But he’s not answering his mobile.’
‘He lost it a few weeks ago. Hasn’t replaced it yet. We’ve been using email. I’ve got his address if you want—’
‘Why were they in Bali?’ Katie interrupted.
‘Bali? Finn wasn’t.’
‘But that’s where they said Mia was found. Her passport was stamped—’
‘Mia went to Bali. Not Finn.’
‘What?’ Katie said, her grip tightening.
‘There was an argument. Sorry, I thought you knew.’
‘When was this?’
‘Good month ago, now. Finn spoke to Jack about it. From what I heard they had a falling-out – God knows what about – and Mia changed her ticket.’
Katie’s thoughts whirled. Mia and Finn’s friendship was unshakable. She pictured them as children, Finn with a wig of glistening seaweed draped over his head, Mia bent double with laughter. Theirs was a friendship that was so rare, so solid, that she couldn’t imagine what would be terrible enough to cause them to separate.
*
Ten days later, winter sun flooded Katie’s bedroom. She lay perfectly still, her arms at her sides, eyes shut, bracing herself against a distant threat she couldn’t quite recall. She blinked and, before she had a chance to recall why her eyelids felt stiff and salted, grief bowled into her.
Mia.
She curled into herself, tucking her knees to her chest and pressing tight fists to her mouth. She screwed her eyes shut, but disturbing images bled into her thoughts: Mia dropping silently through the air like a stone, the rush of wind lifting her dark hair away from her face, a rasped scream, the crack of her skull against granite.
She reached for Ed but her fingers met only with the empty curve of where he’d slept. She listened for him and, after a moment, was relieved to tune into the light tapping of a keyboard coming from the lounge: he would be emailing his office. She envied him that – the ability for his world to continue, when hers had stopped.
She knew she must get to the shower. It would be too easy to remain cocooned in the duvet as she had done yesterday, not rising until after lunch by which time she was drowsy and disorientated. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself from beneath the covers.
Drifting towards the bathroom, she passed Mia’s room and found herself pausing vaguely outside the door. They had bought this flat using the small inheritance they received after their mother’s death. Everyone was surprised that they were moving in together, not least Katie, who had vowed she’d never live with Mia again after their acrimonious teenage years, yet she’d worried that if Mia didn’t put her share of the inheritance into something solid, it would slip through her fingers as easily as water. Katie had been the one to organize viewings, deal with estate agents and solicitors, and run through the rain with a broken umbrella to sign the mortgage papers on time.
Wrapping her fingers lightly around the brass door handle, she turned it. A faint trace of jasmine lingered in the cold, stale air. Mia had positioned her bed beneath the tall sash window so she could wake and see sky. A sheepskin coat, which once belonged to their mother, was