Читать книгу The Second Sister: The exciting new psychological thriller from Sunday Times bestselling author Claire Kendal - Claire Kendal, Claire Kendal - Страница 13

Sadie makes her presence felt in the hallway, though I have been aware of her hovering at the edge of the kitchen, arms crossed and glaring at me, during the last minute of my talk with Adam Holderness.

I say, ‘Why are you so angry? I’m trying to be understanding, but you’re pushing it.’

‘It is no longer possible to trust anything you say.’ She swallows hard. ‘You’re so impulsive.’

‘Sadie—’

She cuts me off. ‘I never know what you’re going to do next. When you’re around I’m constantly on edge. Do you think it’s normal to beat up my guests?’

‘He deserved it.’

‘My boyfriend’s brother deserved for you to knock him over?’

‘I didn’t knock him over. I adjusted things to get him to take his hand off my ass. I didn’t know who he was but it wouldn’t have made a difference if I had.’

‘It was embarrassing. So was watching you crawl all over Adam Holderness. At least he got you to leave Brian alone.’

In a flash, Sadie has moved from ambivalent affection to naked hatred. I have seen her do this to other people. At last, after a period of grace that has lasted longer than I ever expected it to, Brian’s wandering eye has triggered her rage at me.

‘How much have you drunk tonight?’ I say.

‘Two glasses of wine. I don’t need alcohol to see you clearly for what you are.’

‘Are you ill?’

‘Brian belongs to me. I should know by now how little such things mean to you. You never stopped running after Ted while he was married.’

‘That was cruel. You know it’s not true.’

‘How dare you flirt with my boyfriend under my nose? How dare you meet up with him behind my back?’ She steps towards me.

I step away, trying to keep space between us, repeating the manoeuvre I used a few minutes earlier with her would-be brother-in-law. ‘You can’t seriously believe that.’

‘If it’s not about your sister it’s about making sure every man in the room is watching you. You’ll do anything for attention.’

I am starting to shake, but with anger more than hurt. ‘Get out of my way so I can leave.’

‘Are you actually ashamed of the things you do? Do you know how sick you are? You’re sick. Sick sick sick.’

‘I told you to get out of my way,’ I say. ‘Don’t make me make you.’

‘Going to practise your self-defence on me? Or do you only beat up boys?’ She shoves me so hard I crash backwards into the door. I look up to see her towering over me. ‘Get out of my face, you sick fraud.’

A tiny, disinterested part of me is fascinated by the question of whether I only beat up boys, because it is something I have never considered before. I have no doubt that I could send Sadie flying, despite her big advantage over me in height and weight. But could I push back at a woman? Everything about me centres on protecting women, but if my life depended on it, yes. Certainly if Luke’s did.

Sadie does not deserve to know any of this. I choose not to shove back, but I close over, giving her nothing more than the silence she is now earning.

‘You’re so fake,’ she says. ‘Even what you have people call you is fake. You’re not Ella. You’re Melanie. Melanie, Melanie, Melanie.’

‘You have no right to use that name.’ I stand up smoothly. Our mother taught us to rise from the floor the way she used to when she was in the corps de ballet, before she got pregnant with you and gave up her dream of being principal ballerina. I face up to Sadie, taking command of the stage.

You have your mother’s strength and single-mindedness. Dad has always said this to both of us. That’s why your love is so powerful. It’s also why your arguments are so fierce.

Sadie steps back. She actually looks afraid. Her voice trembles, despite her words. ‘I know things about you. I know everything about you. Stay the fuck away from my boyfriend. Get the hell out of our house.’

And that is what I do. I get the hell out, not letting myself look back. I can hear the door slam behind me, followed by a kick and a scream of rage so loud they echo through the thick wood. But already I see the truth of Sadie. Not a new Sadie but the one who has been there all along, hiding from me in plain sight.

Another of your Sadie pronouncements is hurtling around in my head. She’s pathological in her concern for what people think of her. She must lie awake at night worrying about who knows the truth of what she’s really like.

Within ten seconds she will turn around and smile sweetly and remark on how violent and noisy the wind and rain are. And if any of her guests suspect the true source of the fury and noise, they will be too well mannered to say.