Читать книгу Sister Sister: A gripping psychological thriller - Sue Fortin, Sue Fortin - Страница 8

Dear Marion

I am sure this letter must come as a total surprise to you, or at least a shock. I’ve been debating for some time whether I should write and I have started this letter so many times only to scrap it and start again. I mean, what do you say to your mom when you haven’t seen her for twenty years? I didn’t know if contacting you was the right thing to do, but not contacting you seemed the wrong thing.

You may wonder why I haven’t written to you before, but up until recently, I’ve not had your contact details and it’s not been something I’ve been able to discuss with my father. It was just something I knew right from an early age I wasn’t to ask about. I was so young when I came to America, I only have a few fragmented memories of England, but the ones I do have are precious to me.

I can remember baking cakes with you, those butter-cream ones with multi-coloured sprinkles, and being allowed to lick the bowl afterwards. Being read a bedtime story, my favourite one was about a cat who didn’t like fish. I have a strong memory of being pushed on a swing, squealing with delight as I begged to go higher and higher. I wanted to kick the clouds with my feet, which I imagined would be soft and squidgy like marshmallows.

I remember your smile, such a lovely smile. In my mind you laughed a lot and always wore pink lipstick. Not a bright, vivid colour, but a pale pink, which shimmered when you spoke. Sometimes, when I played dressing-up with Clare, you’d let us wear your lipstick. I would make an ‘o’ shape with my mouth, just as I had seen you do every day.

I’ve really tried to hang onto these memories, they have always been very special to me. My father didn’t like me talking about England and as the time passed and the time apart from England grew, so did the distance in my mind. I don’t know when I stopped thinking about my home in England every night, when the days in between those thoughts stretched into weeks and then into months but the memories have always been there, I just stopped visiting them.

I hope you can understand that I haven’t ever forgotten you or Clare, I was just so young and my life was being steered in a different direction. I always secretly fantasised that one day I would find you or you would find me and now that I have, I hope so much that we can be in touch.

I don’t know if you are aware but my father, Patrick, died last year and your address was given to me by my stepmom, Roma. She said it was the right thing to do, that she had always wanted me to be able to contact you, it’s just that my father had prevented this. I don’t know what happened between you and my father, as I say, it’s always been a taboo subject. But whatever happened, I want you to know that I have always had this sense that I was very loved by you and, ultimately, this is what has convinced me to write to you.

I hope this letter isn’t too painful – I’m sorry if it has opened up old wounds.

I would LOVE to hear from you and Clare, even if it’s just to have closure for us all, although in my heart, I hope it will be more than that.

Your daughter

Alice

Xx

P.S. It wasn’t until my father passed away that I found my birth certificate and realised that my name wasn’t Kendrick as I thought, but Kennedy. It seems Dad changed our surname when we came over here and, as I’ve never had need of a passport before now, I’ve never been aware of this. It might also explain why you’ve not found me if you’ve ever looked for me. x

I run my fingers over the page, the piece of paper that has been touched by my beautiful little sister. The name change explains everything. No wonder we could never find her, we weren’t looking for the right person. All along we had been giving the name of Patrick Kennedy to the private investigators. I remember one of them feeling quite confident he would find my father. Although Patrick Kennedy was an American citizen, the PI thought it would be easy to track him down. When he couldn’t be found, the investigator had given the excuse that there were lots of Patrick Kennedys in America, given the number of Irish people who had crossed the pond, and that he couldn’t identify the one we were looking for. God, I wish we had somehow known about the name change!

Thinking about it now, it makes sense. My father hadn’t ever meant to be found. He must have planned it all before he left. I can’t mourn his passing. How can I when I think of the pain he has put us through – put Mum through? What he did was unforgiveable.

My father had duped everyone and that was the mark of the man; nasty, spiteful and devoid of empathy. Still, it’s no use tearing myself to ribbons about it now. We have a letter from Alice and that is the most amazing thing ever. Whatever he did I don’t care about; I only care about the future

I look up at Mum and can see her eyes shining with tears. The lump in my throat grows bigger and in two strides I’m across the room, on my knees in front of her, hugging her. The tears flow as twenty years of anguish pour out of us like a tidal wave.

‘Oh, Clare, she’s come back to us,’ says Mum through her sobs, her mouth pressed into my hair. ‘We’re going to get her back.’

I’m not sure how long we cling to each other but eventually I pull away. I smile at Mum and she smiles back. She cups my face in her hands and rests her forehead on mine. ‘This is all I’ve ever wanted.’

‘I know, Mum. I know,’ I whisper. ‘She’s found us. After all that searching we’ve done, all those hours, days, months and years of heartache and now she’s found us.’

Mum sits back on the sofa and I move myself from the floor to sit next to her. Mum takes the letter from my hand and flattens out the creases caused by our embrace. ‘Kendrick,’ she says and shakes her head sadly. ‘If only we’d known.’

‘Let’s not focus on that, Mum. We can’t change the past,’ I say. ‘What happens now is what’s important.’

‘I know and you’re right. I just need a little time to digest that. You did note that bit about your father, didn’t you?’ Her finger points out the line.

‘I saw that. He’s dead.’ I give a shrug. I have no feelings of attachment to the man Alice talks about. All I can remember is being scared of him and of his big booming voice, but I don’t know him. I cannot grieve for someone I don’t know. I don’t remember caring when he left, I just remember caring that Alice had gone. To me, my so-called father has never been alive. Maybe that’s why I attached myself so readily to Leonard, who was as close to a father as I was getting.

We spend the rest of the morning discussing how we’re going to reply to Alice. We’re both keen to let her know how much we have thought about her over the years and how much we have longed to hear from her and how much we love her. Have never stopped loving her.

‘I’ll draft a reply,’ says Mum. ‘And then I’ll show it to you. You might want to add something yourself.’

‘That sounds good. I’ll give it some thought.’

Satisfied that Mum is now okay and over the shock, I head back to work. For once my mind can’t separate work life from my personal life and throughout the afternoon, I find my thoughts pinging back to Alice and the letter. It’s a good job I have such a competent secretary, as I put the wrong names on a legal document and quoted the wrong settlement figure for a big divorce case. Sandy spotted both mistakes, thankfully.

‘It’s no wonder you can’t concentrate,’ says Tom as he walks out to the car park with me at the end of the day. ‘I’ve hardly been able to think about much else myself.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, really. Alice being missing all these years has been such a big part of your life. By default, it’s been a big part of my life too.’

I consider this for a moment. I suppose it has. I’d never thought of it that way before. ‘Has it defined me?’ I ask.

Tom purses his lips before he answers. ‘I wouldn’t say defined you, but it is part of you. You can’t get away from it.’

‘Suppose I can’t.’

‘Hey, you’re over-thinking again.’ Tom gives me a playful nudge of the shoulder with his. ‘How does Luke feel about it all?’

‘He was very quiet,’ I admit, thinking back to earlier. Luke had pretty much sat in the chair observing. He had made cups of tea and given me a reassuring hug but, on the whole, he hadn’t passed comment.

‘How much does he know about what happened?’

‘Everything. As much as you know. As much as I know. Dad took Alice off for a holiday and never came back. There’s not much more to know.’ Unexpected tears rush to my eyes and I silently curse myself for not being able to keep my emotions under control. I’m not a crier, or I never used to be.

Tom studies me for a moment and I feel slightly self-conscious under his gaze. He reaches out and draws me into him. The years melt away and it’s like being back at university. It feels comfortable and familiar being held by Tom. Reassuring and safe. He drops a kiss on top of my head.

I jerk away, almost head-butting him as I do so. These are the wrong arms to be seeking comfort in. I take a step back. ‘Thanks,’ I say, not quite able to meet Tom’s eyes. I rummage in my bag and hook out my car keys. ‘I’d better get home and see what Mum’s written. I’ve been thinking about it this afternoon. I don’t want her to get too carried away and scare Alice off.’ I’m waffling. Embarrassed by the old feelings that have paid a fleeting visit.

Tom pushes his hands into his trouser pockets. He has a small smile on his face and his eyes are dancing with amusement.

‘What?’ I say.

He gives a shake of his head and bends down to pick up his briefcase. ‘Relax, Clare, it was only a friendly hug.’

‘Yeah. I know that,’ I say, feeling stupid for overreacting. ‘My emotions are a bit all over the place this afternoon.’ I give him a hug and a peck on the cheek, just like the sort we usually share. Good friends. Mates. Work colleagues. ‘And that’s to prove I know it.’

I arrive home and Luke is upstairs bathing the girls. He has a streak of yellow acrylic paint in his hair and a small smudge of blue across his cheek.

‘You found a bit of time to get some painting done, then,’ I say. ‘How’s it going?’ I kneel beside him and trickle water down Chloe’s back as she squirms and giggles in delight.

‘Not too bad,’ says Luke. ‘Couldn’t really get into it today. Might give it another go when these two terrors are in bed. Come on, Hannah, time to get out. Here’s a towel.’

‘Here, hold my hand,’ I say, helping Hannah step out of the bath and wrapping a towel around her.

‘Out. Out. Me out!’ It’s Chloe. She always wants to do what Hannah is doing. It reminds me of how Alice used to be. She would follow me around all day, asking to join in with my games or asking me to play with her. Most of the time I would, but I remember sometimes she used to annoy me. I wanted to be left alone. I would go off down to the bottom of the garden and hide from her. As usual, this thought makes me feel guilty. I’ve spent twenty years feeling remorseful, wishing I hadn’t said no to her. Wishing I could somehow make it up to her. And now I have the chance to do just that.

Between us, Luke and I get the girls ready for bed. I sit with Chloe tonight and watch her drift off to sleep as more thoughts of Alice flood my mind. It’s as if, by making contact, she has given me permission to revisit those memories.

I can see Alice in the garden. We’re having a dolly-and-teddy tea party on a pink-and-white gingham tablecloth. We have picked some blackberries and raspberries from the vegetable patch. We know it’s okay to eat those.

Then, for some reason I cannot remember, I pick a couple of mushrooms that have grown in the lawn and put them on the tea plates. When I next look up, Alice is eating one. I tell her off and think no more of it, but after we have finished playing, Alice goes indoors and is very sick.

In the end Mum calls the doctor, who can’t explain it. I’m too scared to say anything. Dad will kill me if he finds out. When Mum sees the doctor out, I make Alice promise not to tell anyone about eating the mushrooms. Fortunately, Alice is fine the next day, but I’ve still never told Mum about the incident.

The bedroom door opens and a chink of light from the landing streaks through. It’s Luke.

‘You okay, Babe?’ he whispers.

Taking one last look at Chloe sleeping peacefully, I get up and follow him through to our bedroom. ‘What’s Hannah doing?’

‘She’s downstairs with your mum, having some supper.’ He pulls me into a hug. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’m okay. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Alice all day.’

‘That’s hardly surprising.’

‘It’s exciting but it’s also a bit scary.’

Luke brushes a strand of hair back from my face. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but be careful. Don’t go rushing in. I don’t want you getting hurt.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, it’s been a long time. You don’t know each other as adults. Sometimes these reunions don’t always work out the way we expect.’

‘You sound very negative about her.’ I move from his embrace and begin undressing. I always look forward to getting out of the skirt and blouse of my working day and into my comfy tracky bottoms and T-shirt.

‘Not negative, just cautious.’ Luke goes to say something else but stops himself.

‘What?’ I press, pulling my T-shirt over my head. ‘What were you going to say?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Yes you were. I can tell.’

Luke gives a shrug. ‘You don’t know her agenda.’

‘Her agenda? What is that supposed to mean?’ He’s beginning to annoy me now. Why can’t he share in my excitement and be happy for me? He knows what this means to Mum and me, so why the negativity?

‘You don’t know what Alice has been told about the family breaking up. She might have a totally different take on it all.’ He lets out a sigh. ‘Look, Clare, I’m glad Alice has been in touch. It’s a part of you that has always been in pain, and if her coming back stops that pain, then I’m all for it. All I’m saying is, be careful, take your time and with any luck it will be a smooth ride.’

Luke goes downstairs, leaving me to think over what he has said. A small flicker of doubt begins to dance in my mind. What does Alice know about us? What has she been told? Does she remember anything of us? I think back to the day Alice left.

I was sitting in the living room, helping Alice colour, when I heard the beginnings of what I assumed would be a normal altercation between my parents.

As the argument rumbled on, I became aware my mother’s voice had risen, not just in volume but in pitch. I couldn’t hear her exact words, but I remember the sound as they were forcibly expelled, as if there wasn’t enough room in her throat for them all to come out freely.

My father’s voice, on the other hand, was so deep, it boomed through 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.