Читать книгу The Grip Lit Collection: The Sisters, Mother, Mother and Dark Rooms - Koren Zailckas, Claire Douglas - Страница 45

Chapter Twenty-Two

I lie on my bed with my eyes closed. I can hear the sounds of the party – the rhythmic thump of dance music, the clink of glasses, the low hum of various conversations – being played out beneath me, occasionally broken by a sudden burst of laughter, a door slamming, feet on stairs. I can’t face any of it.

As the light begins to fade, Ben pushes the door open with an anguished expression on his face and he hurries to my bedside. He kneels beside me as if in prayer, assuring me that he’s sorry, that he loves me, that he wishes he could be the boyfriend I want him to be. Wordlessly I move up to allow him to squeeze next to me on the narrow single bed and we lie this way for a while, in silence. When he takes my hand, I let him.

‘You know,’ he says eventually, into the darkness. ‘I don’t understand what’s happened between you and Bea. You used to be so fond of each other.’

‘I can’t understand it either,’ I admit, thinking of all that’s happened.

‘She thinks you’re paranoid and jealous.’

‘I probably am.’ I’m close to tears. ‘But I think she’s possessive and controlling. Look, the dead bird can be explained away. Maybe. But the photograph? It was menacing, surely you get that?’

He nods, but doesn’t interrupt me.

‘I was so happy about the thought of going away, spending time just the two of us. To get away from this house. Away from Beatrice’s bloody rules. Does that make me possessive?’

He reaches over and hugs me in answer.

‘And the flowers, who would do something so cruel? Some of my letters have gone missing too. It’s all weird stuff, Ben. Surely it can’t be in my head? You saw the flowers.’

He clears his throat and fidgets, clearly uncomfortable about what he’s going to say next. ‘I found a number for the flower shop, an independent little place near Pulteney Bridge. I rang them and they remember a woman placing the order, she came into the shop.’

My heart pounds and I wait.

‘Abi,’ his voice is full of concern. ‘They described you.’

My blood runs cold and I think of Lucy, remembering the note that came with the flowers. Love Lucy. How could it be possible when she’s dead?

And then I think of Beatrice. The florist described me but they could also be talking about her. Tall, slim, blonde …

Before I have the chance to answer, Beatrice bursts into the room saying she needs to talk to me urgently. Nia is close behind her. Ben looks from me to his sister, as if terrified about what Beatrice is about to reveal. She clicks on the main light, illuminating how pale, how anxious, both she and Nia look. Ben and I sit up simultaneously. ‘What’s going on?’ he says.

Nia perches at the foot of the bed, looking wretched. ‘I’m so sorry, Abi. We’re all worried about you, I had to tell her.’

I don’t know what she’s talking about. ‘Tell her what?’

She looks at me imploringly with her huge brown eyes. Eyes that have always reminded me of a basset hound. ‘About Alicia.’

The room swims and, with a sickening thud of clarity, I’m aware that I can’t trust my oldest friend. That I’m forever going to be tied with the mental illness tag, that I’m never going to be believed because Abi’s a sandwich short of a picnic, she’s been in a mental facility, didn’t you know? How can you believe anything she says? She’s paranoid, delusional. It’s as if I’m in a nightmare, where I’m trying to explain myself, trying to tell everyone that I’m perfectly sane, that it was a stupid mistake, a one-off, I’m not dangerous, I’m not a nutter, but no sound comes out of my mouth.

My eyes fill with tears.

‘I’m so sorry, but Beatrice says you’re not taking your medication and I’m worried for you, Abi.’ She stares at me with her forthright expression. ‘I’m worried for you,’ she repeats, tears appearing in her eyes.

‘Why does everyone keep saying that?’ I say, finding my voice at last. ‘And I am taking my antidepressants.’

Beatrice makes a disbelieving sound and wrinkles up her nose. She’s still standing by the doorway as if she’s afraid to come near me. I want to tell her that I know she’s been in my bedroom, that she’s been moving my antidepressants, playing with my mind. But by the way they are all staring at me, as if I’m a complete nutcase, I know they wouldn’t believe me anyway.

I take Ben’s hand and stare at him imploringly. ‘The thing with Alicia – yes, it’s true.’

‘What happened?’ he asks.

‘I got a bit obsessed with her.’ I flinch when I notice Ben’s incredulous expression, and I know how bonkers, how screwed up I must sound. I close my eyes, like a child who believes nobody else can see them if they shut their eyes tightly. ‘Basically I stalked her, and when she told me to fuck off, as she had every right to do, I … well, I went for her.’

‘You did what?’

I open my eyes. Ben looks appalled.

‘I hit her,’ I clarify.

‘She had to be pulled off her,’ states Beatrice, gleefully it seems.

‘Did … did she go to the police?’ asks Ben.

‘The police were called, but she didn’t press charges. I gave her a black eye. I felt terrible about it and I … I …’ I let the implication of my suicide attempt hang in the air. ‘I was admitted to hospital a few days later.’

Ben leans forwards and folds me in his arms. I’m trembling, tears running down my face. He strokes my hair, tells me it’s all going to be okay. Then he barks for the others to get out of the room, to leave us alone. I’m surprised to hear him acting so authoritarian, for actually shouting at his precious sister. I realize that he’s sticking up for me. That he’s on my side after all.

When the others have filed out, Nia mouthing apologies over her shoulder as she leaves, Ben takes me to his room, tells me he doesn’t want to leave me on my own tonight, that Nia can have my bed. ‘I regret not taking you away somewhere,’ he murmurs into my hair, as I curl up in his arms. ‘I regret so many things.’ And then he kisses me, urgently, in the way we did when we first met, before all his talk of Beatrice’s rules and respect, and as he starts to peel the clothes away from my body I ask him if he’s sure, and he tells me he is, that he is going to put me first from now on. And as we slowly begin to make love I can’t help but think that this is what makes me different to Beatrice, that sex with Ben belongs only to me.

When I wake up the next morning the sun is streaming through the curtains and I have a sense of renewal, of hope. The birthday I’ve been dreading is over, I’ve had an amazing night with Ben. Maybe it’s because of the enforced hiatus, or the drama of last night, but the sex was better than it’s ever been.

And I’m not entirely sure why, but I get the sense that the events of last night have altered things between us, made us closer. Ben has had a sudden insight into my confused, obsessive, paranoid mind, and it seems he likes what he sees.

Beatrice and I don’t talk about what happened. We’re cordial with each other at breakfast. She’s perched next to Nia, eating toast at the large oak table, her hair is damp as if she’s recently emerged from the shower and she’s wearing a yellow shirt that clashes with her hair yet still manages to look good on her. It hurts to see them sitting next to one another. My best friend and my enemy. Is this another person you’re trying to turn against me, Beatrice? Someone I’ve known nearly half my life.

When she sees me she mutters something about having a lot to do and, snatching a triangle of toast from her plate, hurries from the room. I’m aware of Nia’s eyes following me as I go to a cupboard to retrieve a mug to put under the coffee machine.

‘I’m so sorry, Abi,’ she blurts out as soon as I sit down opposite her. Irrespective of the fresh white blouse she’s wearing she looks as if she’s hardly slept. ‘I was worried about you, but I shouldn’t have told Beatrice about Alicia. It wasn’t my place.’

I tell her that she’s right, she shouldn’t have said anything, but I acknowledge how persuasive Beatrice can be, an animal ready to pounce on her prey, how she won’t give up until she’s got it firmly between her teeth. ‘I probably should have told them about Alicia anyway,’ I concede, sipping my coffee. Nothing can dampen my mood this morning, or wipe the memory of my night with Ben.

‘So you’re not angry with me?’ She smiles weakly, hopefully.

‘Not any more.’ I reach out and take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. ‘I know you only told her because you were worried about me. I do trust you, Nia.’

She slumps back against the chair with obvious relief.

‘And it’s lovely to have you here,’ I say. ‘What do you think of the house? Of the twins?’

She tells me how amazing the house is, how I’ve landed on my feet, that it’s such a coincidence, that I should find myself in a house with twins, after everything. ‘And they look so alike, don’t they? Facially, I mean. He’s the male equivalent of her,’ she finishes.

‘Except for their eyes,’ I say, thinking of Ben’s hazel eyes in comparison to Beatrice’s almond-shaped honey-coloured ones.

‘Is that why you were first drawn to her, Abi? Be honest. Was it because she resembles Lucy? And you?’

I shrug. ‘I suppose. She caught my eye because of her similarity to Lucy. But her bubbly personality is like Lucy’s too. Although not this nasty side … that was something I wasn’t expecting.’

‘Are you disappointed not to have gone to Lyme Regis?’ she asks.

‘I was, but it’s all worked out for the best. Something changed last night. Ben, well, he … we …’ I laugh as Nia squeals in disbelief. We sit in silence for a couple of seconds and then Nia adds warily, ‘I do feel sorry for her though. I know she’s over-protective, but I still don’t fully understand what you’ve got against her, Abi. Why did you rush off last night? Was it because you were disappointed about not going away? Or was there another reason?’

And then I explain everything.

She frowns as I talk, her eyes creasing up so that I can see the beginnings of crow’s feet, another reminder of how we are both ageing when Lucy isn’t. She stays silent but her face pales as I describe the dead bird on my bed, the malicious photograph, the flowers claiming to be from Lucy, and when I finally finish, slightly out of breath and dry-mouthed, she leans back in her chair, her face grave. ‘That’s fucked up. Why didn’t you tell me all of this before?’

‘I didn’t get the chance, and I was worried that you would think I’m being paranoid, what with my history.’

She considers this for a moment. ‘It sounds as though Beatrice is being very manipulative. I’m worried for you. The photograph, the flowers – there’s real malice in those things. Abi …’ She pauses as Cass skips down the steps into the kitchen. Beatrice’s ally. Beatrice’s spy. We watch in silence as Cass busies herself with the coffee machine, completely ignoring us, in a world of her own. When she takes her mug and scuttles from the kitchen, Nia speaks again. This time her voice is more insistent, threaded with fear. ‘I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here, Abi. You need to move out.’