The Silent Twin (28 page)

I
could not concentrate
on my tenth party because I knew what was coming. But I had faith. With my sister to look out for me, everything would be fine. I smiled at her as she opened her presents, and briefly, she smiled back. Yes, I thought, helping myself to a second slice of cake. Everything would be all right.

T
hen
he
gave
me the look. The one that said I had an appointment to keep. By the time the children had left, I was back at the studio ‘helping’ the man I called Father. But he didn’t know I had arranged for a surprise. I had promised Joanna my Space Hopper if she would play a special game of hide and seek. She had burst her own months ago, after she bounced on a rock in the garden. Mine was barely used, and she didn’t need to be asked twice.

I unlocked the studio door when he was in the dark room, then took my place in front of the cameras. My eyes were on the door, waiting for my sister to turn up and put a halt to the abuse. Then I heard it . . . the
tap, tap, tap
of her patent shoes as she ran up the path. The door handle groaned as she opened the door. I froze, ready to put my plan into action.

‘Please don’t,’ I pleaded, an instant gush of tears pouring down my face. ‘Please, no more.’

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Father said. ‘I didn’t say you could get dressed.’

‘I can’t,’ I said, making my voice sound as if I was scared stiff. ‘Please don’t hurt me that way again.’

I knew she was on the other side of the door, and began to pull my clothes back on. Because I knew that, that way, he would come out from behind the camera.

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘We’re not finished yet.’ And in a show of brute force, he walked over and yanked off my skirt.

‘Not again, please Daddy, not again!’ I screamed in anguish, just as the door opened a fraction.

Joanna’s young eyes were wide and disbelieving, her face white with shock. It was bad enough that he took photos of me scantily dressed, but I had to make the scenario as bad as I possibly could. It was the only way to get him sent to jail for good. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. But Joanna simply withdrew without saying a word. I screamed, I howled, and my father clamped a hand against my mouth, whispering venomous threats, his warm spittle landing on my cheeks. My heart plummeted in my chest. I waited for the police, for Mother, for someone to come. But the camera still flashed, as he took his position behind the lens, mumbling about my outburst.

The sense of betrayal was crippling. Sometimes I would give her a look, imagining it boring right through her. She must have believed he did far worse than take pictures, and yet she did nothing. After minutes of absorbing my stare, she would whine to Mother that I was ‘acting weird again’, and I would be gifted my mother’s disapproval. My special friendship ended.

I couldn’t live with her treachery. Self-harming became an obsession, easing the pain and providing an outlet. But even when I showed her my scars, she didn’t ask why. She tried to join in, scratching herself in an act of camaraderie. It was pathetic. I hoped the cuts would make me less attractive or, best of all, make the monster stop. But he carried on, covering up the scars with scarves and sheets. Then one day, after my mother discovered me cutting, she packed our bags and we simply upped and left. She never said why. Perhaps she knew all along. So we started again, just the two of us – us and her ever-growing army of cats. I was finally able to shut the door on that chapter of my life. But I knew even then, that one day it would come back to haunt me.

E
yes streaming from the wind
, Jennifer made it to her car before Nick, who had slowed in his efforts to keep Olivia safe.

‘What about Joanna?’ Jennifer said, as Nick buckled his daughter into the back seat.

‘She’s got the Land Rover, she can follow on,’ Nick said, his thoughts firmly with Abigail.

The car skidded out of the yard as Nick took over the police radio, requesting control contact the fire services to ascertain if they were aware. But updates were slow to come, due to a factory fire in Lexton taking up all their resources. Cutting through the country lanes, Jennifer eased her foot from the accelerator as she negotiated the hairpin turns. She had a child in the back, and she could not afford another tragedy.

Putting her police driver skills to use, Jennifer took the shortest route to the allotment in the quickest possible time. She prayed that she had been mistaken, that the fire originated from someone burning rubbish in the garden, but given the amount of smoke it was unlikely. The allotment was practically deserted, but Jennifer noticed Fiona had been the last person to return from the hospital. Had she made a detour to the allotment on the way back to Blackwater farm? She tried to do the maths. It was coming up to half an hour since Fiona had been arrested. Surely the house would have been burnt to the ground by now? But then it was hardly a tinderbox. Left in ruin and neglect, the boarded up building would surely be infused with damp, and the recent downpours of rain would buy them extra time. Devoid of furniture, the most flammable parts of the building would be the wooden window frames and doors. But as the smell of smoke filtered through the car’s air vents, Jennifer’s optimism faded away.

Parking the car on the edge of the path, she turned to Nick, who was liaising with control regarding back-up.

‘Stay here with Olivia, at least until Joanna gets here.’

‘Like hell I will,’ Nick said, reaching for the door handle. ‘That’s my daughter in there.’

Jennifer grabbed him firmly by the wrist, her words low and insistent. ‘And that’s your daughter back there.’ She nodded towards the back seat. ‘Please, Nick. At least until Joanna comes. Olivia’s been through enough. She doesn’t need to see this.’

Nick dropped his hand, reluctantly staying to comfort his daughter. The smoke was getting thicker now, and it billowed above the trees. But Jennifer couldn’t see its origin. The allotment was set on an acre of ground, some way back from the forest, and surrounded by thick hedges. The bungalow was situated on the edge of the grounds, flanked by two potting sheds and high hedges, with access through a chewed up path. Satisfied that Nick was waiting for back-up, Jennifer sprinted down the path, the bungalow coming into full view when she reached the wooden gate, which led on to the fields.

‘No,’ Jennifer said in a horrified moan.

Thick black smoke bloomed from each of the windows, licked by flames spiralling out of control. All hope died inside her as she ran through the plots of overgrown land. Discarded wheelbarrows, rusted trowels and empty orange pots lay around the deserted allotment, as if the occupants had simply disappeared. She raced through the debris, towards the burning building. The heat was immense, beating her back and making her eyes stream. She circled the house, trying to find access. But it was no use. Tightly sealed, with accelerant to ignite the flame, it had gone up in a matter of minutes. The fire raged on, having consumed all in its path. And as the ceiling collapsed, she knew it was too late. A sob caught the back of her throat as the words tumbled out to the backdrop of the hissing, spitting fire.

‘We’re too late.’

But then she heard it. Through the spit of burning timbers, and the rage of the sirens drawing near. Jennifer crept towards the potting shed as she approached the soft whine, praying beyond hope it was not a kitten or a puppy abandoned by its owner.

The door creaked as she pushed it aside, her heart pounding in hope and fear. A bedraggled, soot-stained little girl lay weakly curled in a ball, singed but alive. Dropping to her knees, Jennifer got down beside her. She was weak, pale and thin, but she was alive.

‘Abigail,’ Jennifer said, the word feeling like magic on her tongue. ‘Is it really you?’

For a dreadful moment, she thought of the young man who had accompanied the psychic, how she had thought he was alive too when he had already passed to the other side. She held her breath, waiting for an answer.

E
very birthday was a reminder
. It stuck in my throat that Joanna would be enjoying cake on the day that marked the anniversary of her betrayal. She had everything I did not. A handsome husband, beautiful twin girls, money, a career. I took in my dingy flat, stinking of stale beer and crawling with vermin. Fresh anger bloomed as the
boom boom boom
of a stereo system vibrated through the walls from next door. I spent a lot of time wondering. It drove me to the brink of suicide.

That night I could not sleep. I paced my tiny room, wondering if I was up for a confrontation. Barefoot and wearing my pyjamas, I took the graffiti-smeared lift to the roof of my block of flats. I remember standing there, gulping the polluted night air as I stared onto the rain-slicked streets below. I lifted my foot, allowing it to dangle over the edge as I played with the thought. It would be so easy to step off and end all my suffering. What was the point in meeting Joanna? It would only remind me just how unfair my life was. But surely someone must pay? I must have stood on that ledge for half an hour, arguing the toss. It was then, with the wind chilling my bones, that I made a pact. I would visit Joanna and repay her betrayal. If it didn’t work out, I could come back onto the roof and simply step off. I had nothing to lose.

Fiona killing herself seemed like fate. The silly cow was always mistaking my coat for hers. I knew she wasn’t right from the minute I moved in, and I never resisted an opportunity to twist the knife. She was everything I used to be: a fat, ugly loser. I hated every fibre of her being, and enjoyed telling her just how worthless she was. When the police came knocking on our door, I knew what she’d done. She’d been talking about it for days, and I had made no effort to stop her. Taking her identity was an unexpected bonus.

I was seeing this guy named Chaz, a heavy drug user. He was always on the scrounge. I put him to work, using his computer skills to infiltrate Joanna’s email account. She was looking for a housekeeper, someone to help manage the twins while she spent more time on the business. She had bought a farm and wanted to convert it into one of those petting zoos where inner-city kids could come and visit. Ever the saint, my sister, when it came to helping others. As long as she was helping herself.

Fiona’s CV and references made her sound like Mary Poppins, and I added a few personal details that I knew my sister would like. Shared taste in music, similar political views. I only intended on turning up at her house to challenge her, and I didn’t think she would give me her address if she knew who I really was.

So there I was, on her own doorstep, my heart pounding as I prepared to face a sister I hadn’t seen in over twenty years. The fact that she didn’t remember me took me by complete surprise. There was not a flicker of recognition on her face. Sure, I had lost weight, and dyed my hair to a mousy brown, but I never thought for a second she wouldn’t know who I was.

Then I saw Nick. He was even more handsome in the flesh than in the pictures on Facebook. Strong. Kind. Protective. Yet I sensed an unease between them. So when she offered me the job, I said yes. And I hatched a new plan. Killing was too easy – where was the satisfaction in that? It would be far more satisfying to push Joanna out, be the cuckoo in the nest.

Little by little I chipped away at her self-confidence. The so-called meditation sessions were, in reality, hypnosis, and I gently implanted memories of the past, making them her memories, not mine. I enjoyed studying the art of regression in my spare time. Things would go missing, confusing her, making her feel stupid. And I was always on hand with tablets to calm her. Sometimes they ended up in her tea. Messages from her friends were deleted on her phone, bank cards lost. I scratched away at her sanity, gaining strength from her deterioration – and in doing so, I began to feel clean. I was Fiona, not Doreen. I spoke to Nick about Joanna’s self-harming, describing the scratches on her arms. Of course they were nothing compared to the chunks of flesh I had torn from my thighs, stomach, and arms. All out of view as I played the perfect keeper of home and family. I drove a wedge between Joanna and Nick. I even pretended to love their children. Mother’s cats were better company than those whining brats.

Then came the day that changed everything. Olivia, running in with tear-streaked face. Something had happened to Abigail, and Olivia was scared. Inwardly, I smiled. Whatever it was, I could turn it to my advantage. Olivia approached me when we were alone. She told me everything, and said it was all her fault. Abigail had fallen into a deep hole and she didn’t know what to do. She was crying because Abigail’s glasses had come off when she fell, and she handed me the frames, asking for my help. I bent down, my face inches from hers, hugging her in mock sympathy. It was too late, I said, as I threw them away. Hadn’t she heard about the curse of Haven? Abigail had been swallowed up by the land, and she must leave well alone. She had killed her sister and must be quiet, because if the police found out she would end up in jail. Then she told me about her daddy, and I said people like that couldn’t be trusted. This mirrored what her religious grandparents had said many times before. Gay people were wicked, unclean, and destined for Hell. Her face was a picture. I think she actually wet herself. I said I would be her protector. All she had to do was not to speak a word.

T
he first thing
Jennifer noticed when she visited Blackwater farm was the ‘Sold’ sign staked in the jagged earth. Today’s visit was to see how the family was coping in the aftermath of recent events. The week of Abigail’s disappearance had been exhausting, and Jennifer had broken all her own rules, experiencing the gamut of emotions as if the little girl were one of her own.

Just like the day she first attended, the wind invaded the yard, raising dust that would settle in her hair. A sliver of a breeze swept through the tubular farm gates, whistling a mournful song. Memories filtered through as it played, and she recalled walking through the churned up yard on her first day, nervous about what lay ahead. For all her reservations about becoming emotionally involved, it had happened anyway.

The house had not changed much since her visit the month before, and she glanced up at the dirty window pane, half expecting Olivia’s ashen face to be staring down at her, caught up in the memory of her nightmare. But it was empty, and the whole house had taken on a vacant feel.

She rapped on the door, the heavy metal knocker echoing through the building. There was no Fiona to welcome her in. Despite her evil deeds, the thought saddened her. Reading the woman’s diary had given Jennifer a greater understanding of what had driven her to commit her crimes, and the lack of compassion that the woman exhibited towards Abigail and Olivia. Fiona – or Doreen, according to her birth certificate – would not be going anywhere for a very long time.

The family had occupied Jennifer’s thoughts since that fateful day, and it was with a heavy heart that she stepped back from the door. Nick’s car was on the drive, so they couldn’t be too far away. And it was then that she heard it: shouting coming from the back garden. But it was not shouting like before, the long repetitive call of Nick shouting for his daughter, his voice hoarse, his stature hunched. It was the shouts of a family spending time together in the sun.

Jennifer smiled in anticipation as she strode to the back yard, pushing past the small rusted gate to enter what was now the rear paddock. A whoop rose up, follow by peals of laughter. Jennifer smiled to see her aunt Laura’s pony being put through his paces by one of the twins, who was laughing with such abandon that it had to be Abigail. Nick and Joanna were standing with their backs turned to Jennifer as they encouraged their daughter to take the jump set up before her, consisting of a pole laid across two barrels on their side. With another resolute whoop, she leaned forward and kicked the pony onwards, popping over the jump without any effort.

‘Jennifer!’ Olivia cried, running towards her. Pink and fresh-faced, she was positively glowing. Her cheeks had plumped out and she ran towards Jennifer with open arms. Jennifer bent down to return her hug, and was almost knocked off her heels. ‘We can do jumps now,’ Olivia said, ‘come see.’

Nick and Joanna turned to greet her, their smiles soft and genuine. Joanna was no longer draped in vintage wear, but dressed in a red shirt, faded jeans and Hunter wellington boots. Abigail jumped off the panting pony, passing the reins to Olivia before running towards them, flushed with excitement.

‘Darling, this is Jennifer, the police lady. You probably don’t remember her,’ Joanna said, beaming with real emotion.

Abigail’s expression suggested she did. ‘Of course I remember her, Mummy. I spoke to her, remember?’

Jennifer nodded, remembering how Abigail had come within inches of being burned alive. She placed her hand on Abigail’s shoulder, a feeling of contentment warming her from the inside out.

‘How are you feeling now?’

‘Great!’ she squeaked. ‘Thank you for the pony. We’re getting our own one soon. He’s black, with a white stripe. His name is Benji.’

‘Ooh, that’s exciting. You’re very good at it.’

Abigail beamed at the compliment, taking her father’s hand.

‘We thought it was only fair to buy one of our own,’ Nick said, looking better than he had in months. ‘I don’t think your Toby is able to keep up with their enthusiasm.’

Jennifer looked at the snorting pony and nodded her head in agreement. ‘You may have a point, although I’m sure it’s not done him any harm.’

‘Right,’ Nick said, squeezing Abigail’s hand. ‘You stink of horse. Time for a bath. Olivia, it’s your turn to turn the pony out. Make sure he cools down before you let him go.’ He touched Jennifer on the arm. ‘Pop in for a cuppa before you go. I’m sure the girls would like to talk to you some more.’

Jennifer nodded, grateful for the chance to speak to Joanna alone.

‘Two more laps, then walk him off,’ she shouted to Olivia, who was smiling widely as she trotted around the paddock.

‘I was surprised to see the “Sold” sign outside the house. Are you moving?’

Joanna nodded. ‘Not far. We’ve bought a smallholding, something a bit nearer the town, with an acre of land for the pony. There are too many memories here. It’s time to move on.’

Jennifer dug her hands into her jacket pockets, nodding her approval. This family had had enough fresh starts to last a lifetime, and she hoped this would be their final move, for the children’s sake if nothing else.

‘How are you all?’

‘We’re so grateful to have Abigail back in our lives . . .’ The words faltered on Joanna’s breath, and she turned to Jennifer, her eyes wet with tears. ‘And to you, for being there when we needed you the most.’

Jennifer recalled Abigail’s tale of how she had loosened a nail from the boarded up window and squeezed through after Fiona had lit the fire. Weak and exhausted, she made it to the shed, where Jennifer had found her and draped her jacket over the little girl’s shoulders, flooded with relief to find her alive.

‘It’s wonderful to see them looking so well. No long-term damage?’

‘Abigail doesn’t remember much of the incident. It was very clever of her, loosening the boarded window.’

‘You’ve got two very special girls,’ Jennifer said. She finally understood why Abigail had been so reluctant during their communications to name the person who had pushed her down the well. She had not wanted to get her sister into trouble. ‘And Fiona?’

Joanna’s face clouded over. ‘Fiona’s betrayal has not been easy to explain. The girls are both seeing therapists, although I think the pony has provided more therapy than any counselling session. Olivia blames herself, but, as I’ve told her, Fiona was a very manipulative woman. If she hadn’t told Olivia to keep quiet, then we would have found Abigail straight away.’

‘It’s very sad,’ Jennifer said, finding it difficult to feel animosity. ‘I read the diary. Very sad indeed.’

‘I know. We found it in her bag. She gave me a diary exactly the same, about a month after she arrived. She told me to fill it in to help with the stress. I tried a couple of times, but just ended up with a blank page.’ She shook her head as the memory returned. ‘I feel sick at the thought of what my father did to her. I knew something was wrong, but I wasn’t strong enough to face it.’

‘Mmm,’ Jennifer mumbled. She had given it plenty of thought since reading the jagged words, strewn across the paper, ingrained into the pages underneath. Fiona, now revealed as Doreen, had viewed Joanna’s denial as the ultimate betrayal. To Jennifer, Joanna’s response had just been a ten-year-old girl using repression as a method of coping because she was unable to comprehend her father’s acts. Just how was Joanna coping with the fact her husband was gay? It was a question Jennifer lacked the courage to ask. And with the investigation complete, it really wasn’t her business.

‘Look at me, look at me!’ Olivia cried to Jennifer, waving as she encouraged the pony to trot in a circle.

‘Well done,’ Jennifer cheered, before lowering her voice and turning to Joanna. ‘What about their telepathic skills? Has there been any further communication between them?’

Joanna looked at her thoughtfully. ‘No. Well, not really. We’re trying to keep everything low-key. I don’t expect the next year or two to be easy, but we’ll get through it.’

‘I’m sure you will,’ Jennifer said, a chill creeping over her as the sun lowered in the sky.

She said her goodbyes to the family, after staying for one last cuppa, and pushed the front door of the house firmly shut on her way out. Her eyes crept back to the cold stone building, and she felt grateful that she did not have to spend any more time within its walls. Adjusting her eyes to the twilight, she walked the lonely path to her car. Evening fell quickly in Haven, and she turned her eyes back to the lands as a mist descended.
Jennifer.
The word was whispered in a haunting voice that only she could hear. Haven was a living, breathing entity of its own. She had felt its presence deep in the soil when she had hung in the damp, dark well, surrounded by rotting bricks and burrowing insects. It had allowed her to escape with her life that day, but she knew that many more incidents lay ahead. And the next time she might not be so lucky.