Sister Sister: A truly gripping psychological thriller. Sue Fortin
the walls. His voice grew louder. Even from the kitchen, it filled the living room with an ice-like quality. Cold and harsh.
I heard the door to the kitchen being flung open, the handle smashing into the wall. There was a crumbly groove there, from where the door had made similar contact many times before. My father’s footsteps thudded down the hall towards the living room. My mother’s pitiful crying followed him.
I retreated to the sofa, sinking back in to the depths of the cushions, seeking warmth from the folds of the fabric. I brought my knees up and hugged them tightly, burying my head in my arms. I shivered. I felt the cold.
Alice stayed on the floor, colouring in her princess book, seemingly oblivious to the storm heading our way.
Alice never felt the cold. She was warm. She was loved.
The door to the living room opened and my father strode in. My mother close behind.
I sneaked a look.
Her eyes were pink and wet. She made no attempt to brush away the tears streaking down her face. She didn’t register me. She was pleading with my father.
‘Patrick, please …’ She pulled on his arm. ‘I really don’t think this is a good idea. I don’t even know where you’re going.’
‘I told you, to stay with relatives I haven’t seen for years.’
‘Which is exactly the point I’m trying to make. Why go back after, what, twelve years? It’s not like your parents are alive or you have any siblings. Why can’t we all go together, please …?’
He turned to look at her. ‘You know why.’
‘But this is the ideal opportunity to do something together as a family. Not for you to go off with Alice, abandoning me and Clare.’ My mother’s voice broke and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘Enough! Stop being overdramatic, woman. I’m going on holiday and Alice is coming with me. That’s all,’ he said. His voice, by contrast, measured and hard. And then, as he turned to Alice, the look of contempt and loathing disappeared, replaced by a tender one of love. ‘Come on, honey. Pop your coat on, there’s a good girl.’
He held out Alice’s red duffel coat to her. She hesitated for a moment. I think it was at that point she realised something was wrong.
‘Is Mummy coming?’ she said. ‘Is Clare?’
‘Just me and you, sweetheart,’ said my father. He gave the coat a little shake. ‘Now, please put your coat on.’ Obediently, Alice stood up, slipped her arms into the sleeves and turned so he could fasten the toggles.
My mother rushed forwards, gathering Alice in her arms and burying her face in my sister’s hair.
She kissed Alice over and over again, stroking her hair, holding her face and looking deep into her eyes.
‘I love you, Alice. Mummy loves you so much.’
And then my father was pulling Alice from my mother’s grasp.
‘That’s enough,’ he said. ‘Don’t go upsetting the child.’
All the time, he never looked at me. I didn’t want him to. If he saw me, he might want to take me too. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay with my mother. I wriggled deeper into the cushions, squeezing my knees up tighter.
My father took Alice by the hand, leading her from the room. At the doorway, Alice hesitated. She looked at me and then at our mother.
‘Bye, Mummy. Bye, Clare.’ Her voice sounded so tiny.
I’ve often wondered whether she was really saying goodbye or whether she was asking us not to let her go. My mother hurried over to them and grabbed my father’s arm.
‘Ring me when you get there. Let me know where you’re staying. You’re back in two weeks, aren’t you?’
My father didn’t answer but shrugged her hand from his arm. ‘Come on, Alice.’
I wanted to stop Alice from going. I wanted to stop him from taking her, but I was too scared to move. He might suddenly notice me. What if he wanted to take me away as well? I didn’t even dare to turn my head as I looked out the corner of my eyes and watched Alice disappear.
Free from my paralysis, I launched myself at the window. I could see Alice climbing into the car. My father leaned in and fastened her seat belt. He closed the door before going around to the driver’s side. I could see Alice’s dark hair through the back window.
Something must have made her turn. She looked back at me, her blue eyes bore into mine. In that second I knew she wasn’t coming back.
Alice knew it too.
I didn’t sleep well last night. I had woken up what seemed like every couple of hours, tossing and turning, images of Alice flashing through my mind mixed with images of my father which turned into snakes and spiders. Neither creatures I particularly like. At one point Luke had rolled over in a semi-conscious state and stroked my head, mumbling reassuring words and telling me to try to go back to sleep. I appreciated the gesture despite its ineffectiveness.
I’m already showered, dressed and giving Chloe her breakfast before anyone else surfaces.
‘How are you feeling?’ says Luke, coming over and dropping a kiss on my head. ‘You were pretty restless in the night.’
‘Not great,’ I admit. ‘Don’t say anything to Mum, though.’
‘Don’t tell Nanny what?’ asks Hannah through a mouthful of toast and jam.
‘Don’t speak with food in your mouth,’ says Luke. ‘And some things aren’t meant for little ears.’ He gives a playful tug on Hannah’s ear lobe. She smiles through jam-coated teeth.
‘That’s lovely, darling,’ I say and pull a face in her direction. She laughs and I am pleased the question has been forgotten. ‘How did your recorder practice go yesterday?’ I ask, just to make doubly sure we are back on safe ground.
‘It was okay. We’re learning a new song.’
‘What’s it called?’ I wipe Chloe’s mouth with the napkin. ‘There we go, darling. All gone. Well done.’
Hannah’s answer is lost as my attention is snatched away at the sight of my mother coming into the kitchen. The first thing I notice are her eyes. They have been dull and sad and if you looked close enough, you could see pain etched in the back of them, reflecting the pain in her heart and the scars in her memory.
Today, however, there is no dullness, her eyes sparkle like I have never seen them do so before. In fact, I think this is the first time I truly appreciate the phrase. They practically illuminate the room, exuding warmth and happiness.
‘Good morning, my darlings,’ she says, sitting down at the table. In her hand she holds a piece of paper. ‘It’s my letter to Alice. Would you like to read it?’ The question is just a formality, there being no doubt in her mind that I do want to read it. She passes it over before she even finishes her sentence. ‘It’s just rough. I’m going to write it out neater this morning. Had you thought about enclosing a small note yourself?’
‘I’ll write it today. It seems strange that I’m actually going to be writing to her after all the years of imagining it.’ Mum and I share a smile, one that is coated with excitement and happiness.
‘That’s great,’ says Mum. She nods at the letter. ‘Read it, then.’
My darling daughter Alice
Where do I begin? I can’t tell you how happy I am to receive your letter. Happy seems such inadequate word to describe