Читать книгу Sister Sister: A gripping psychological thriller - Sue Fortin, Sue Fortin - Страница 10

The girls are already bathed and in their pyjamas when I get home. It’s been a long day and Luke is reading Chloe a bedtime story. I feel a little annoyed that he has already started and hasn’t waited for me. I love reading to the girls at night. It’s probably more for my own benefit, to ease my conscience, my atonement for not being there. Luke knows this and it almost feels like a punishment for being home late.

‘Hey, there, precious,’ I say in a soft voice as I go into the bedroom.

Chloe immediately extracts herself from the crook of Luke’s arm and bounds across the bed. ‘Mummy! Mummy!’ She launches herself into my arms and I smother her in kisses. ‘Daddy read story. Little bunny has lost balloon.’ Her face takes on a serious look as she explains to me that the balloon was red and blew away.

‘Oh, dear, poor bunny,’ I say.

‘Come on, Chloe. Settle back down now,’ says Luke, pulling back the duvet and patting the mattress.

‘I’ll finish reading,’ I say, slipping my jacket off and dropping it on the end of the bed.

Chloe bounces up and down on the bed. ‘Mum-my! Mum-my! Mum-my!’ she chants.

Luke gives a sigh and stands up, passes me the book and gives me a peck on the cheek. ‘The King is dead. Long live the King.’ He gives Chloe a kiss. ‘Goodnight, sweetheart. Sleep tight.’

My guilt has now transferred from one of being late home to one of stealing Luke’s time with his daughter.

When I go downstairs, Chloe asleep and assured in the knowledge that the bunny found his balloon in the end, Luke and Hannah are in the living room watching television.

‘Mum not with us this evening?’ I ask, sitting down next to Hannah on the sofa. Luke is sprawled in the armchair, his leg dangling over one of the arms.

‘No, she wanted to watch some gardening programme in her own room,’ he replies. ‘I said you’d probably pop in and say hello later. There’s some dinner there if you’re hungry. Want me to warm it up for you?’

‘No, I had a late lunch,’ I say. ‘I’ll make myself a sandwich or something later. I’ve been working on the McMillan case today.’

Luke gives me a sympathetic smile and any tension over the bedtime story has evaporated.

‘How was your day, Hannah?’ I ask, hooking a strand of hair behind her ear.

‘It was okay,’ she replies, without looking away from the television. She laughs at her programme and, not wanting to interrupt her obvious pleasure, I don’t enquire any further. There’s obviously nothing to worry about or she would have said. Some days, a cross-examination over the school day isn’t necessary, just being aware she is happy is enough.

‘Did you scan those photos for Mum?’

‘Yep, all done.’

‘Thanks, love. Did she say any more about emailing?’ I pick up my phone and log onto the email account I created for Mum to use.

Luke shrugs. ‘I think she really wants to write a letter.’

‘But it will take at least five days to get there.’

‘What’s the rush? Just let your mum do it the way she wants to. Having a bit of breathing space is probably a good thing.’

Luke is right, of course. There is no rush. The more I think about it now, in the relaxed atmosphere of home, the more I think it’s better. We all need to tread with care. We’re all entering into a new relationship with people we don’t know; all we know is the memory.

I glance over at Luke. His attention has already returned to the TV. Hannah is just as engrossed. ‘I’ll go and see Mum.’

I make a cup of tea for both myself and Mum and knock on the door to her private sitting room. I balance the tray in one hand, so I can turn the door knob with the other.

‘Oh, hello, darling,’ she says, as I come in. ‘Ooh, cup of tea. You’ve timed it perfectly, my programme’s just finished.’

I place the tray on the small coffee table and take the seat opposite. It’s a bright and airy room, the high ceilings giving it a sense of space and grandeur. Mum’s furniture wouldn’t look out of place in one of those glossy lifestyle magazines, where they interview the Lady of the Manor. It’s traditional and elegant. Rather different to our family living room, which is all big squishy sofas and tactile throws and rugs, a bit of a mish-mash but homely.

‘Did you write the letter to Alice?’ I ask, sitting down in the winged-back armchair, which is covered in a rich burgundy velour.

‘Yes, it’s there on my desk.’ Mum nods towards the Edwardian bureau by the window. ‘I’ve left it open so you can pop your letter in too. Have you done it yet?

‘Not yet. I’ll get on with it after I’ve drunk my tea.’

‘Okay, well, make sure you do. I don’t want Alice to think we’re not replying to her.’

After our tea and chat, I say goodnight to Mum and, taking the letter with me, retreat to our family sitting room. I put Mum’s letter on the table, along with my phone.

‘What’s that?’ asks Luke.

‘Just the letter from Mum to Alice. I’m going to add mine tonight.’ Hannah yawns as her programme comes to an end. ‘Come on, I’ll take you up. Say goodnight to Dad.’

I hadn’t realised how tired I was. One minute I’m sitting in the chair beside Hannah’s bed, listening to her tell me about how some boy in her class got his name on the board and then got sent to the head teacher. The next, Luke is gently shaking my arm, whispering to come to bed.

‘You fell asleep,’ he says, guiding me out of the room and closing Hannah’s bedroom door behind him. ‘You’ve had an emotionally exhausting few days. It must be catching up on you.’

‘I need to write to Alice first,’ I say, following him out onto the landing. ‘I’ll be up as soon as I’ve done it.’

I go back downstairs to my study. It’s a small room at the front of the house with a small desk, bookcase and shelving. Nothing too fancy. It’s a handy space if I need to work on anything in the evenings or weekends, although I try to avoid that whenever possible.

I sit at the desk and take a sheet of writing paper. Despite Leonard’s warning about keeping home and work life separate, throughout the day I’ve been thinking about what to say to Alice.

Dear Alice

Delighted. Overwhelmed. Ecstatic. Euphoric. All these words can’t sum up how happy I was when Mum told me you had been in contact. It’s unbelievable! I keep pinching myself to check it’s not a dream.

I have thought about you so very often. My last memory of you is leaving with Dad, your little face looking out of the car window as it drove off down the drive.

I’ve never given up hope of finding you again and now you’ve found us. All this time I’ve often wondered where you are and what you’re doing.

Thank you so much for contacting us. I can’t wait to hear from you and to, hopefully, see you again. My darling little sister, you’ve come back to us.

All my love

Clare

xxx

I keep it simple. There’s so much I want to say, but can’t put it all down on paper. I want to see her in real life. To hold her and for me, Mum and Alice to all be together again. Luke’s warning hovers in the background but I push it aside. We have Alice back and, at the moment, that is all that matters.

I fold the letter in half and, retrieving Mum’s letter from the sitting room, I slip mine inside and seal the envelope, leaving it on the side ready to post tomorrow. A warm feeling of happiness stirs inside. I kiss my fingertips and transfer the kiss to Alice’s name on the envelope, smiling as I do so.

‘You’ve found us, Alice,’ I whisper, before turning the light off and heading up to bed.

The following morning is a scramble. I finally manage to haul myself out of bed on the third alarm. I’m never like this in the mornings.

Breakfast goes by in a blur as I play catch-up, but can’t quite make up the time. I’m saying hurried goodbyes and rushing out the door with that feeling that I’ve forgotten something.

I start the engine and run through my checklist. Phone. Bag. Purse. Briefcase. Yep, I’ve got all them.

It’s not until I reach the office and the postman walks up to the door, pushing his trolley, and takes out the mail, passing it to me, that I suddenly remember.

‘Shit,’ I say out loud. The postman looks taken aback. ‘Sorry, not you. I’ve just remembered I’ve forgotten to pick up a letter from home. Bugger.’

I send Luke a quick text message asking him to post Mum’s letter to Alice.

‘You’re looking a bit flustered this morning,’ says Tom, as I hand the mail over to the receptionist.

‘You know how to make a girl feel better,’ I say. ‘Why don’t you make yourself useful and put the kettle on?’

Tom gives a mock salute, clicks his heels together and marches off towards the kitchen. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

The coffee tastes good. I like a cup of tea at home, but at work I tend to thrive on the coffee buzz. ‘It always tastes nicer when someone else makes it,’ I say gratefully to Luke as we stand in the kitchen. ‘Thanks for that.’

‘Can’t have Mrs Calm-And-Collected Tennison all flustered and dishevelled, can we?’

‘Hmm. Feeling the effects of going through the proverbial emotional wringer,’ I say. My phone bleeps and I check my messages. It’s Luke telling me not to worry, he has it all under control. I put the phone down on the worktop.

‘You know you can talk to me, if you need to,’ says Tom. His voice is soft and I appreciate his kindness.

‘I feel like I’ve been wishing for this all my life, for Alice to get in touch,’ I say, looking down at the dark-brown liquid in my cup and breathing in the aroma of the coffee beans. ‘You know when you’re a kid and you blow out the candles on your birthday cake and you make a wish? Or at New Year when the clock strikes midnight or when you throw a coin into a magic wishing well? All those times, I’ve always wished for the same thing, that we would find Alice or she would find us, that someday we’d be together again as a family.’ I pause as I take a sip of my coffee to buy some time to blink back the tears.

Tom puts his cup down and rubs the top of my arm with his hand. ‘Is it a case of being careful what you wish for?’

‘No. Yes. Sort of.’ I can feel the strength to keep it together seeping out from me, as if Tom’s hand is absorbing all my powers of self-control. ‘Now it’s happened, I’m … I’m scared.’

Tom takes the cup from me and rests it next to his. He steps closer and puts both arms around me. ‘It’s okay to be scared. It’s a big life-changing event. You have to try to harness that fear and turn it into a positive emotion.’ He rubs his hand up and down my back. ‘And, just for the record, this is a hug between friends. Thought I’d clarify that before you jump away from me like you’ve been electrocuted.’

I laugh into his shirt, grateful the mounting tension has been broken. ‘As if I’d do anything like that.’

Tom gives me a squeeze before stepping back, his hands moving to mine. ‘Honestly, Clare, I know what all this means to you. I haven’t forgotten. How could I?’

I smile and nod. ‘I know and I do appreciate you being here.’

‘I’ve always been here for you. I haven’t forgotten all those hours we spent huddled round your laptop, trying to trace Alice. And those phone calls! Do you remember the private investigator we hired to organise a search for her?’

I nod and smile at the memory. ‘That first one was bloody useless. What a waste of money that was.’

‘If only we’d known then that your dad had changed his and Alice’s surname.’

‘I can’t believe that having that one single piece of knowledge would have, potentially, made a difference so much sooner. Looking for Alice Kennedy was a complete waste of time and money,’ I sigh. ‘Now, if we’d been looking for Alice Kendrick …’

‘Hey, let’s not go there. It’s not constructive. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.’

‘No, it’s okay, really. And please don’t apologise. You’re absolutely right, bemoaning it all won’t actually help now. I said as much to Mum. I should start taking my own advice. We mustn’t get hung up on the past.’

We stand there for a moment, holding hands, looking at each other. I’m aware of Tom’s thumb stroking across my knuckles, a gesture from yesteryear. My last comment was referring to attempts to find Alice, but now I wonder if Tom is reading more into it. I go to speak, but change my mind, aware that I could make a complete arse of myself again. More likely it’s me who is reading too much into everything.

Tom keeps his eyes on mine when he speaks. ‘I meant what I said, about being here for you. I do understand. I’ve been down that road with you.’ His voice is quiet and low. ‘Practically all your life you’ve had this weight on your shoulders and it’s now being lifted; you’re bound to need time to adjust. Your world has been turned upside down and it will take a while for you to consolidate everything not just your feelings and emotions but your sense of place in your family. Try to be less uptight. Relax. Let Alice back into your life.’

‘You make it sound so easy.’ I break eye contact and attempt to withdraw my hands, but Tom tightens his grip.

‘Hey, hey. Come on.’ He pulls me back into his embrace. ‘You just have to take your finger off the control button for a while. I know it’s not in your nature, but as I always said, I think you being ordered and controlled as an adult stems from the emotional chaos in your childhood. You have to make an effort to switch that control off and go with the flow a bit more, otherwise you’re going to drive yourself mad.’

I laugh and return the hug he gives. ‘Thanks. I’ll do my best.’

‘I mean it, Clare. Remember what happened at Oxford?’

I wince inwardly at the memory. Of course I do. You don’t forget having some sort of blackout and not being able to get out of bed for three days. We’d both had a few drinks to drown my sorrows at yet another fruitless report from the private investigator and, for some reason, I had reacted badly to the alcohol. Or that was my theory.

Tom, on the other hand, felt it was down to stress caused by my dogged determination to find my sister. For three days Tom had looked after me as if I was a child. He’d covered for me during lectures and afterwards helped me catch up on the work I’d missed. I certainly wouldn’t have been able to pass the exam the following week without his support.

I let out a long breath in an attempt to blow away my anxieties and to show Tom that I’m already trying to relax. I don’t want him thinking I’m a basket case.

‘That’s better,’ says Tom. ‘As soon as you stop fretting and analysing everything to the nth degree, you’ll find it all so much easier to deal with. Trust me, I know these things. Now, come on, we’d better get back before Leonard finds us. He’s the last person you want poking his nose into everything.’

‘Yeah, come on,’ I say, although I’m not entirely sure I agree with Tom about Leonard. I wouldn’t go as far as saying he’s poking his nose in, although it is true he has always taken an interest in what I’m doing, but I put that down to him being Mum’s adviser and long-time family friend. ‘Leonard’s heart is in the right place, though,’ I add in his defence.

Tom opens the kitchen door and turns to look at me, raising an eyebrow as if unconvinced. ‘If you say so.’