The Grip Lit Collection: The Sisters, Mother, Mother and Dark Rooms. Koren Zailckas
none of my business,’ he mutters, lowering his eyes. I want to reach out and touch him, tell him that he has nothing to be jealous about, but something stops me. ‘How did you know anyway?’
He shrugs. ‘Beatrice.’
‘How the hell does Beatrice know?’
He frowns as if the idea never occurred to him. ‘I don’t know, I assume you told her.’
I exhale in frustration. He’s blind, oblivious to the fact that Beatrice is barely speaking to me, that we’re involved in some bizarre power struggle over him.
It was you, wasn’t it, darling Bea? Sitting on the wall that day, I think, silently fuming. You did follow me to the Isle of Wight. But why? To cause trouble?
‘Why are you so angry?’ He swings his long legs over the edge of the lounger so that he’s facing me. ‘If anything, I should be angry with you.’
‘I thought you said it was none of your business,’ I snap.
‘You’re my girlfriend.’
‘So you wish I’d told you?’
He blinks. ‘Yes, I wish you’d told me.’
I clench my fists at my sides. ‘Beatrice is a stirrer.’ I feel an explosion of anger in my chest, the words spilling out of my mouth uncontrollably. ‘She hates that I’m your girlfriend. She wants you all to herself. She stole some letters that Lucy had written to me. They’re all I have left of her, Beatrice must realize how important they are to me. I know she’s been through my room. I know she put the dead bird on my bed to freak me out – you said yourself her cat is too fat and lazy to chase anything, let alone kill it. Do you know I found a photograph? It was a photo of me, I can tell because I’m wearing that white T-shirt of mine, with Blondie on the front. I don’t even know when the photo was taken. Or by whom.’ I pause for dramatic effect. ‘It had white scratch marks where my face should have been. Don’t you think that’s a bit threatening?’
He freezes, a look of horror on his face. It almost makes me want to laugh. But instead I say, ‘She’s trying to scare me. Maybe she’s hoping that I will move out, I don’t know. But it’s sick.’
He’s silent, processing what I’ve told him. Eventually he says calmly, ‘If she’s been through your room it’s because she thinks you’ve stolen her bracelet.’ He says this without raising his voice. ‘But I can’t believe she would plant a nasty photograph in your things. Bea isn’t vicious.’
I hesitate. ‘She’s been moving my antidepressants,’ I blurt out. ‘They never seem to be in the same place. And one time the packet was empty, as if someone had taken great pains to pop all the pills out of their blisters. I had to get an emergency supply. You know how dangerous it is to miss a dose, don’t you?’
He nods, but I see it. Disbelief. It passes over his face like a cloud over sunshine and I’m suddenly furious.
‘Do you know what I think?’ I don’t wait for him to answer. ‘I don’t think her bracelet is missing at all. I think she’s making it up to point the finger at me. To put you off me. And she’s obviously winning – you’re on her side. Twins stick together, don’t they? I should know that more than most,’ I laugh, although I don’t find it funny. ‘What was I thinking, getting involved with the two of you?’ Tears sting my eyes. I blink them back.
‘Abi,’ his voice is soothing, patient. It’s the voice of the doctors that treated me when I was on the psychiatric ward. ‘Of course I’m not on her side. Please don’t put me in the middle. I love you both.’
It’s the first time that Ben’s said he loves me. I can’t help it, a tear escapes and runs down my cheek. He reaches across and takes my hand. ‘Come here,’ he says, and I join him on his lounger, my legs snaking between his, my head on his chest. He strokes my hair back from my face, his other arm clamping me to him protectively and my anger vanishes along with my paranoia as I remember Callum’s warning. I can’t let my jealousy, my illness, ruin what I’ve got with Ben.
‘I’ll talk to her, I’ll sort it all out. Please don’t worry. Everything will be all right.’
I desperately want to believe him.
Later that night, as I’m walking up the stairs carrying a mug of tea and a plate of Eva’s chocolate cake, I hear raised voices coming from Beatrice’s bedroom. I pause, straining my ears, pleased that the walls are thinner than they appear. I can hear the low rumble of Ben’s Scottish drawl, but it’s indistinct so I can’t quite catch what he’s saying although I’m sure he mentioned my name. Then Beatrice’s higher-pitched tones, shrill with indignation. ‘Of course I haven’t got her precious letters.’ I can’t hear Ben’s reply but I know he will be defending me. He loves me. I can’t help smiling to myself as I push open my bedroom door with my foot.
Beatrice is already sitting at the wooden table when I come down for breakfast the next morning. She’s flicking idly through a newspaper, her slim fingers curved around her porcelain mug. She’s wearing a pink silk dressing gown, her face devoid of make-up, and I think how tired, how wan she looks. I switch on the kettle and stand at the worktop waiting for it to boil, my gaze firmly fixed on the window. A woman walks past, all I can see are her calves encased in sheer denier tights and nude heels. It sounds as if she’s talking on a mobile phone, some nebulous conversation that gets louder and clearer as she passes and then fades, along with the sound of her footsteps.
Beatrice doesn’t say a word until I’m sitting opposite her with my cup of tea. ‘Morning,’ she says, without looking up from her newspaper.
I mumble a greeting and take a sip of my tea. There is so much I want to ask her. How did she know I was meeting up with Callum? Had she followed me to the Isle of Wight intent on making trouble for me and Ben? Is she afraid I might take Ben away from her? Why is she trying to frighten me? I suspect it’s her, yet it still freaks me out. But I don’t know where to start, it all sounds so far-fetched, so ludicrous, even to me.
We are both silent for a while but the tension between us is palpable and I squirm in my seat. Where are the others? I know Ben’s gone to work today, but I haven’t seen Pam or Cass emerge from their bedrooms yet.
‘Beatrice,’ I say. My voice sounds strained in the quiet room and the mug in my hand trembles at the thought of confronting her, but I have to clear the air between us. I know where I stand with Ben now. He loves me and there is nothing Beatrice can do about it, despite her best efforts. ‘Can I ask you something?’
She lifts her head and I notice for the first time her puffy eyes, like she’s been crying. ‘Go ahead.’ She sounds unconcerned, bored.
‘When I was on the Isle of Wight I thought I saw you, at the beach. Were you there? Is that how you knew I met up with Callum?’
She stares at me, her eyes widening, and she shakes her head, emitting a bark of laughter that makes me uneasy, scared. ‘So this is the role you’ve cast for me is it, Abi? The jealous and possessive twin sister? What about the jealous and possessive girlfriend?’
‘I’m not jealous, or possessive.’ I think of Lucy, of Callum, and I know this is a lie.
‘Oh, Abi.’ She takes a deep breath, her eyes holding mine as if she’s trying to read my thoughts. ‘Who are you?’ she says eventually, and there is a kind of wonderment in her voice as if she is unsure of who I am. Sweat prickles my armpits.
‘What do you mean?’ My hand trembles so that hot liquid jumps out of the mug I’m holding and splashes on to the table. I put the mug down.
Beatrice is still staring at me, as if she’s baffled by me. ‘Oh, come on, Abi. You can stop the innocent act now. Ben’s not here, it’s only the two of us.’
I blink at her, confused.
She sighs. ‘Have it your way. I didn’t even know