Shadow Sister (23 page)

There’s a moment of silence in the classroom.

‘Miss, you’re right.’ Yussef says. Yussef has stayed back a year and is older than the rest. He’s been a calming influence over the other students right from the start. ‘It’s not right to say those kinds of things. Women deserve respect. The Koran says that, it’s true. Women are the bearers of new life, they’re important.’

He doesn’t address Ismael, but it’s clear who he’s talking to. I smile at him. Thank you, Yussef, dear Yussef, my beacon in this stormy class.

Everyone is nodding now. Ismael gazes around, sees his support dwindling and backs down, giving Funda a crooked smile.

‘I was just messing, Funda. It won’t happen again, all right?’

Funda nods.

‘Fine.’ I come out from behind my desk with a smile and stand in front of the board. ‘Then I propose that we look at spelling for the rest of the lesson.’

‘Were they at it again?’ Jasmine is waiting for me in the corridor at the end of the morning and a single glance at my face tells all.

It’s nice to share these things with a colleague, particularly with Jasmine. I can discuss every trifle with her because she teaches the same children and has to deal with the same problems, big and small.

We enter the staffroom discussing the many Ismaels in this school and join the queue for the coffee machine.

When it’s our turn, we fill our cups with coffee and sit down at the long table in the middle. ‘What a shame you’d already taken that anonymous letter to the police. I’d have liked to have seen it,’ Jasmine says.

‘Who knows, perhaps I’ll get another one!’

‘I hope not, but why didn’t you bring it to school first? Of course I believe that you got one, but some people have their doubts.’

I’ve just taken a salami sandwich out of my lunchbox, but Jasmine’s words ruin my appetite. ‘What? Do they think I made it up? But that’s ridiculous. Why would I do that?’

Jasmine lays a calming hand on my arm. ‘Not everyone thinks that, and I certainly don’t. But there are a few colleagues who doubt you received a letter.’

‘Why?’ I ask, hearing my voice shake. ‘Why on earth would I make something like that up? To have a reason to go to the police? If I’d wanted to go nothing would have stopped me – I already had reason enough!’

‘I know that,’ Jasmine placates, ‘and deep down the others do too. The problem is that everybody is afraid of losing their job. There are going to be redundancies, especially now the press have got wind of this. It won’t do anything for the school’s reputation.’

‘I’m not out to drag the school’s name through the mud, but if I don’t get any support here, what do you expect? I can’t just drop this, can I?’

‘Cut the comedy, won’t you,’ a voice says behind me.

I turn around and see Nora, her eyes glittering, her mouth pulled into a small strip.

‘Pardon?’ I say with raised eyebrows.

Nora takes up position on the other side of the table and glares at me. ‘As if none of us have ever had to handle something similar. If every teacher went to the police at the drop of a hat, we’d have to shut down the school. But you, you’re a rich kid, you’d be all right waiting at home for another job to come along.’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ I cry out. ‘I don’t want another job.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ Nora bites back. ‘It’s always the same with you and your big mouth. It’s attention seeking! You never stop to think that there are people in this school who depend on their jobs for survival.’

I give her a scornful look. ‘I don’t care what you think, Nora. It’s a waste of energy discussing things with people like you.’

Nora opens her mouth to reply, but I don’t give her the chance. I grab my stuff and leave the staffroom before I say something indefensible. Jasmine comes after me.

‘Don’t take it to heart, she’s crazy. Shall we go for a drink after school?’

I shake my head. I’ve had it up to here with this whole school.

At three o’clock when I get into a car that feels like an oven, I wouldn’t be surprised if my head actually exploded. When Valerie and I arrive home, I check the doormat right away but there’s nothing there. No letters, no anonymous letters. In contrast, there are twelve messages flashing on my answering machine and when I play them back, they all turn out to be from the press.

‘Good afternoon, this is the
Rotterdam Daily News.
Is it correct that…?’

‘Mrs Salentijn,
The Times
would like to interview you. Would you call us back?’

‘This is a message from RTL 4, we’d like to check a few facts…’

It doesn’t stop, and just when I’ve listened to all the messages with growing astonishment, the telephone goes again. I look at the display – it’s my sister.

‘Elisa!’ I snap. ‘Why did you tell Thomas what happened? I told you in confidence. There were journalists waiting for me at school this morning!’

‘I didn’t tell Thomas anything. Only that you had a few problems at school, but I didn’t say what they were,’ Elisa retorts.

‘Well, he was there waiting for me with his camera! How do you explain that?’

‘How should I know?’ Elisa shouts in the same tone. ‘I didn’t tell him. Calm down, will you?’

‘Who else did you tell?’ I ask. It’s not meant to be an accusation, but it comes across as one, I realise. Elisa takes it the wrong way.

‘If I remember correctly, we talked to Mum and Dad about it yesterday,’ she says coolly. ‘Perhaps you should start by asking them why they called the press.’

I’m silent for a while as I look at the answering machine with all its insistent requests. I delete them with a single press of a button. I wish I could do the same with the unsettling feeling I’m getting. Someone told the press, but who?

‘Please don’t take it the wrong way, but did you really not tell anyone else? Could anyone have overheard one of our phone calls?’ I ask.

‘Sylvie knows about it,’ Elisa says. ‘She came by when you were at mine, remember? But she only knew about the threats in the classroom. I didn’t tell her anything about a letter. I couldn’t have either, I didn’t even speak to her this weekend.’

‘I don’t understand,’ I say in exhaustion.

‘Perhaps it came from the police,’ Elisa proposes. ‘You know how those balls get set rolling. And good god, the whole school knew about it too!’

That’s true, it’s probably impossible to find out who blabbed. ‘Sorry that I started shouting at you.’

‘You’re stressed, I understand that.’

Her generosity makes me feel guilty, but I’m too tired to talk about it further. ‘If you don’t mind, I’m going to hang up. I’ve got a thumping headache and all I want to do is sink into a hot bath,’ I sigh.

‘Enjoy it.’

As soon as I’ve climbed into my bubbles, the telephone rings again. Not just once, but four times within a quarter of an hour. Valerie is in her room playing with her cuddly toys and her imaginary friend and comes to the bathroom.

‘Mummy, the telephone keeps ringing,’ she says.

‘I can hear it, darling,’ I say. ‘Just let it ring. Mummy doesn’t feel like talking.’

She disappears back into her bedroom. I smile as I hear her playing with her Barbies.

‘Don’t do that, meany. You’re not allowed to have a knife. I’m going to tell on you.’

My smile disappears and I feel my headache returning. I float in the warm water, my eyes closed, and massage my temples.

Something is miaowing in the bathroom. I start, still not used to the new ringtone on my mobile. I think about letting it ring, but finally grab my phone from the bathroom cabinet.

‘Lydia speaking.’

It’s Thomas and I’m so surprised that he’s calling me that I forget to speak. He says Elisa told him he should call and apologise for taking photos of me this morning.

‘I had to do it,’ he says, defensively.

‘Who made you? You’re a freelancer, aren’t you?’ There’s no compromise in my voice.

‘In a way, yes, but I do get commissions,’ Thomas answers. ‘When I left the house I had no idea it was about you. I’d just heard that there was trouble at one of the local schools. I only got the details later from the journalist who’s writing the piece.’

I don’t know what to think, but I give him the benefit of the doubt. The damage is already done.

Thomas misinterprets my silence and says, ‘Well, I just wanted to say it. Maybe you don’t believe a word of it but that’s not my problem. Here’s Elisa for you.’

I get my sister on the line who suggests we go out for dinner. I don’t feel like it, but it’s more appealing than staying in and brooding. I could ask Jasmine to have Valerie over to dinner at hers.

‘All right,’ I say. ‘But I have to make some arrangements for Valerie first.’

‘I can come and get you at half past five if that works.’

I call Jasmine and arrange for Valerie to eat there.

‘She can stay over too, otherwise you’ll have to come home early,’ Jasmine says. ‘Jennifer would love it, I’m sure.’

Soon I’m outside Jasmine’s front door; Valerie has a small case with her. Jasmine opens up and Valerie rushes in to find Jennifer. I set Valerie’s case down under the stairs.

‘You go and have a nice dinner,’Jasmine says. ‘I’ve been thinking for ages that you don’t go out enough. Raoul comes and goes but you’re always home alone with Valerie. Is Raoul getting back late today as well?’

‘Yes, that’s how it’s been recently.’

‘I saw him at the weekend in the Euromast restaurant.’
Jasmine leads me into the sitting room, where the girls are already getting puzzles out of a cupboard.

I nod. ‘He had to meet a customer on Saturday.’

‘It was Saturday. Lydia, he was with a woman, a very beautiful woman.’

I know her well enough to realise that she’s not telling me this without reason. The room full of furniture and other possessions seems to heave for a few seconds, but my face remains impassive.

‘He does have some female customers. Women are doing well in business. The days are gone when only men could get into top positions. Eve is waking up!’

I force a laugh, until I see that Jasmine is giving me a sympathetic look.

‘Can you describe her in detail?’ I ask.

‘I’m not sure anymore. Now I come to think about it, she was wearing a scarf wrapped around her hair. That was something odd, I thought – who wears a scarf like that these days? But I didn’t really get a good look at her.’

You’ve got to be kidding, I think. You almost fell over yourself trying to see who Raoul was with. Otherwise how do you know that she was so beautiful?

I don’t say anything. Jasmine is a good friend, but these are the kinds of things I don’t find easy to share. I bend down to say goodbye to Valerie.

‘Bye-bye darling, Daddy will fetch you tomorrow morning and take you to school. All right?’

‘All right, bye Mummy!’

Two small arms wrap around my neck, I get a wet kiss and then she’s back with the jigsaw puzzles. Thank god for children who part from their parents easily. On one hand it feels like a small stab to a mother’s heart when they let you go without looking up, but it can also be very handy.

We don’t talk for a few seconds, we just stand there. Then Sylvie begins to laugh.

‘I want a lawyer!’ she cries. ‘I’m standing trial in my own house, who’d have thought it?’

I give her a stern look and wonder how I’m managing to stay so calm.

Sylvie smiles as she picks up her glass and takes a sip. When I don’t speak, her expression turns circumspect. ‘You mean it, don’t you? You really think I murdered Lydia. Jesus, Elisa!’

‘You have a motive,’ I say.

‘You do too,’ Sylvie counters. ‘You’re crazy about Raoul. Don’t think I don’t know it.’

‘But I know that I didn’t do it.’

‘Oh, so I did it then. Funny logic.’

‘Not that funny,’ I comment, ‘given that the bullet found in Lydia’s head came from your stepfather’s service weapon. There has to be a connection.’

Sylvie looks at me through half-lidded eyes. For a moment she looks just like a cat, then her face relaxes. ‘What’s that got to do with anything? What are you talking about?’

‘You’re not going to deny that Hubert Ykema’s your stepfather, are you?’

‘My mother’s boyfriend,’ Sylvie corrects.

‘No, your mother’s husband. They got married, but that’s irrelevant. Years ago, fifteen years ago to be precise, Hubert Ykema reported his service weapon missing. It was a Walther P5, the gun used to kill Lydia.’

I pay close attention to Sylvie’s reaction. She turns pale, but recovers quickly.

‘Oh, is that what you were looking for? Aha, now I see! You didn’t look very well, doll.’ Sylvie pulls open a drawer in the dining table. I’d never realised that there was a drawer on that side of the table, let alone what Sylvie kept in it.

One moment she’s opening the drawer and the next there’s a gleaming black pistol in her hand. I stare into a dark round hole. I forget to breathe. I don’t blink. I stare at the barrel of the gun. It’s the same barrel Lydia looked down a few seconds before she died.

My eyes search for Sylvie’s and plead for her to remember our friendship, which has been long and deep.

Sylvie closes one eye, looks along the gun and says, ‘Pow!’

I recoil – I can’t help it – and she laughs and puts the gun down on the table beyond my reach.

‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘That wasn’t very nice.’

I take a deep breath, tighten my muscles and relax them again. Meanwhile I keep a close eye on Sylvie’s face. She’s acting strangely, with a kind of forced light-heartedness – she’s definitely not herself. Anyone else would have been furious to find an intruder in their house and then to be falsely accused of murder.

I study Sylvie. Her blue eyes are clear and challenging; she’s not going to admit anything.

I sigh and feel my fighting instinct subside.

‘Why? Why did she have to die?’

Sylvie shrugs. ‘How should I know? I didn’t have anything to do with it.’

‘Who did do it then? Raoul perhaps?’ I laugh.

But Sylvie shrugs again and says, ‘Who knows. They didn’t have a very violent relationship though, and he was under her thumb, both financially and emotionally.’