Читать книгу Her Sister’s Secret - E. V. Seymour - Страница 8

It took ten minutes to reach my parents’ house in Malvern Wells.

Mr Lee’s claws clattered across the hall the second he heard my key in the lock. Barely stopping to ruffle his soft Shih Tzu ears as he yapped and snuffled at my ankles, I headed straight upstairs and slipped into my parents’ bedroom.

In darkness, light peeped through the curtains, leaving a golden criss-cross pattern on the sheets. My mum lay, starfish-style, in the middle. Absolutely still. Eyes closed. Skin deathly pale, blonde hair a storm on the pillow. Even though I was her daughter, even though she was unwell, I saw how beautiful she was. Exactly like Scarlet who, with her generous mouth and petite nose and elfin features, took after Mum.

“Molly, is that you?” At the sound of her voice, Mr Lee darted inside, hopped up and parked himself at the foot of the bed. He cast me a reproachful look and rested his chin on Mum’s legs. Proprietorial. My mummy.

I kissed her forehead and sat down on dad’s side of the bed. Mum took my hand and gave it a squeeze. Even my sister’s fingers, long and fine, were like my mother’s. Only the nails were different. Scarlet’s were nurse short, mum’s long and highly polished. Me, with my dark hair, scary eyebrows and olive colouring, took after Dad. I got my practicality from him too. Unfortunately, my shortness of stature – I’m a shade over five foot – belonged to a throwback somewhere down the family line.

“It’s all right. It will be all right,” I said, not really knowing if it would. Suddenly ashamed, I wondered whether Scarlet had confided in Mum about our argument just days earlier. The anger of our exchange suddenly swamping me:

“You what?” I blazed. “I’m not as pretty as you. I’m not as clever as you. I’m certainly not admired like you. Was that what you were going to say?”

“Don’t be silly.” Scarlet spoke quietly, hurt in her eyes. “All I was going to say is that you need to speak to Mum and Dad. This isn’t my fault.”

With a superhuman effort, Mum’s eyes opened, tears pooling at the corners, bringing me out of my painful thoughts. “Oh Molly, it sounds so awful. They had to cut her from the wreckage.”

An icy shiver tiptoed along my spine. “Mum, I’m sure it will—”

“Her beautiful face.” While the situation seemed dire, I sensed that Scarlet’s face would be the least of her problems. Oh God.

“My phone,” Mum burst out, edging up onto the pillows, agitating. “What if your dad calls?” Her gaze darted in the direction of the window. “It’s over on the dressing table.”

I stood up, located her mobile and placed it in her hand. Meanwhile, Mr Lee snored softly, completely out of it. I wished I were dreaming too.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” I said. “Was Nate with her?” Nate was Scarlet’s husband. An architect, he worked with my father on his renovation projects. I jolted. Whatever must Nate be going through?

“No, Molly,” Mum said, with icy patience. “Nate called your father.”

“Sorry, yes. Any other vehicles?”

“A motorcyclist.”

“God. Poor him. Or her,” I added.

Mum’s expression briefly darkened. Bad form to express pity for anyone other than my sister. “Pass my water, would you?” Her voice was tight and clipped. I passed her the glass from the side of the bed and she took a sip.

“Do you know where the accident happened?”

“Not really, but I’m guessing she was nearly home. She’s working nights this week.”

“Perhaps Scarlet was tired and took her eye off the road.”

Mum’s jaw stiffened. “Scarlet would never make a mistake. She’s always so careful.”

I considered this. A beautiful day, summer sun already up, and Scarlet travelling on a road with which she was familiar. “Do you know what time the crash happened?”

Mum hitched her shoulders. “Judging by Nate’s phone call, between 7.30 and 8.00 a.m. Why, oh why, do I have to get one of my migraines now?” Mum placed the back of her hand against her forehead.

“Have you taken anything?”

“I’m trialling a new nasal spray. Scarlet suggested it.” Her mouth creased with pain at the mention of my sister’s name. Parents aren’t supposed to have favourites, but I’d known for as long as I could remember that my mum adored my sister and cared for her more than me. Zach remained more difficult to categorise. Whenever Mum spoke about her firstborn and only son her voice would tremble with emotion, but it was Scarlet who remained the centre of her universe.

I nodded sympathetically. We didn’t speak. “I wish your father would call,” she said, fretting. “He promised he would.”

“I’m sure he will.”

“Do you think we should try Nate?”

Definitely not. “Honestly, Mum, I know it seems like an eternity, but I’m sure everything that can be done is being done. If anyone can sort things out, Dad can.” My dad, in all our eyes, was the most capable of men, mentally, emotionally and physically too. He’d always been sporty, and now his building work kept him lean and healthy.

She forced a smile and sank back miserably into the pillows. “It was probably his fault.”

“What?” I said, startled.

“That biker. Bloody speed merchants.”

I took a breath, counted to ten, and told myself that my mum was understandably upset and already scratchy due to feeling unwell. “Probably too early to say.”

“There are so many damned lunatics on the road.”

“A bird could have flown out. It might be nobody’s fault.” Or it might be mine. Oh My God. The room suddenly bloated with dry heat. Squirming, I stroked Mr Lee’s head.

Don’t let it be as bad as everyone thinks.

Let there be a mistake.

I promise I will never fight with my sister again. I will be nice. I will never blame her for anything.

“We should call Zach,” I said. “Let him know.”

She tensed. “Know what? At the moment there is nothing to tell.”

I stifled a sigh. Contact with my brother was sporadic and difficult. To be fair, this was largely his choice and his fault. If we’d remained in Cheltenham, I could understand his aversion to possibly running into his druggie friends, but he had no connections in Worcestershire. That chaotic stage in his life was over, so I didn’t really get it. Having put my parents through hell, he remained a touchy subject with Mum and Dad. Whatever the ancient history, I believed he should be told about the accident, although, admittedly, maybe not right now.

“Tea?” Despite the heat, it seemed the right beverage to drink. You couldn’t drink vodka at quarter to nine in the morning even if Mum would not be averse to the idea.

“Please.”

I padded out of the room, keen to escape, anxious to be doing something so that I didn’t have to consider what might or might not be happening. Like a virus attacking my nervous central system, all I could think about was my sister, the crash, the fallout, the blame.

I put the kettle on and took the jolly cups and saucers – my mum’s favourite – from the cupboard and went through the motions. Spoonful of sugar for me. Light dash of milk for her. While it brewed, I tried my dad on his mobile. My call went straight to his messaging service, his voice sombre in a way I’d never noticed before. An omen? A scoot around local Gloucestershire news online revealed absolutely nothing. Before I got drawn into what was trending on Twitter, the kettle boiled.

Arranging everything on a tray, the way my mum liked, I took it upstairs.

“I’ve tried your father. No reply,” she said, brittle with frustration.

“Maybe he can’t respond. Could be driving, or at the hospital.”

“Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced.

We drank in silence. Her hands trembled. God knew what was travelling through her mind although none of it could be good. Eventually she eased back down the bed. Hid beneath the sheets.

I sat and stared off into the distance. For a second time I considered calling Zach. He and Scarlet had never been close, and it was always me who tried to maintain family ties.

“Can I get you anything else?”

She shook her head minutely. “The dog probably needs to go out.”

Only if I scooped him up and forced him, which was precisely what I did. Picking up on the bad news vibe, Mr Lee’s tongue darted out and licked my ear in a sort of ‘sorry you’re feeling sad’ gesture. I gave him a squeeze and carted him downstairs, through the kitchen and conservatory and into heat resembling a fan assisted oven at 220 degrees centigrade. Too long outside and I’d be done to a turn.

I held back in the shade, watched as Mr Lee mooched across the lawn, skirted the vegetable patch and cocked his leg against one of the fruit trees. To the right, a teal-painted wooden bench where Scarlet and I once sat weeks before and prior to the row, the two of us gazing across the rooftops to the Severn valley, cold drinks in our hands after a blistering day at work. Peace between us. She’d seemed distant, I remembered now, not her usual smiley self. When I’d enquired if she was okay, she’d told me she was knackered. To be honest, I hadn’t really bought her answer and wondered if there was something up between her and Nate. Looking back, I wished I’d pressed her because then I’d be able to make better sense of everything. But maybe exhaustion had led to the accident. Maybe it was nothing to do with me. Maybe.

The dog ambled back, cocked his leg again, this time against a flowering shrub on a patio bleached white with heat. I jagged in irritation because the weather felt all wrong. The sun wore a stupid happy-clappy grin on its face. It was way too lovely a day for unfolding events that I couldn’t call, couldn’t predict.

Retreating inside, I ran water into a bowl for Mr Lee.

The house seemed unsettled and empty, like a home in which a warring couple declare they are going their separate ways. Was it possible that we were all over-reacting? Might someone have got mixed up, identified the wrong driver? Was my sister really at home, sunning her rear and snoozing in the sun, while some other poor woman lay trapped in wreckage? Buoyed, I took out my mobile, punched in Scarlet’s number. Nothing. Switched off. Dead.

Steeling myself, I went back upstairs.

“All right?” Mum asked in the way people do when they don’t require a truthful answer.

“Yes.”

“Dog had a drink?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Sorry, you had to leave work.”

“Doesn’t matter. Lenny is managing fine without me.”

“Even so—” She broke off, stirred, eyes flickering toward the doorway, to where Dad stood. Tall and solidly built, there suddenly seemed less of him in that moment. Purple shadows etched upon his face and underneath his eyes gave him the appearance of the gravely ill. As he walked silently towards us, I read all kinds of emotions in his brown eyes. That’s when I knew. Indubitably. And so did my mother. Her hand gripping mine told me so.

My throat cramped. “Dad?”

In a voice stained with pain, he said, “Scarlet died this morning.”