The Sisters (22 page)

‘Of course not,’ I moan, covering my face with my hands, fighting the urge to vomit my recently ingested breakfast. ‘How would she have known I’d be living here? Anyway, there’s no way Lucy would have been that organized. She died nearly two years ago.’

Ben massages my shoulders comfortingly. ‘It’s okay, Abi. It’s someone’s sick idea of a prank.’

‘And the photograph.’ I grab it from the table and wave it at Cass’s startled face. ‘This is identical to the one I found in my bedroom.’ I explain about the scratched-off face, but they all gawp at me as if I’m making the whole thing up.

‘You’re upset, understandably,’ says Beatrice. ‘I’ll get rid of the flowers.’ I can hear her footsteps behind me, hear the squelch as the flowers are lifted out of the vase, the gurgle of water sluicing through the plughole, the wet stems dripping on to the cold tiles. She says she will put them in the recycling box and her voice is brisk, conciliatory, helpful. I turn to see Cass and Pam hovering by the stairs, unsure of what to do or say. They hurry out of the room after Beatrice as she holds the dripping flowers away from her as if they are poisoned.

‘I’m so sorry.’ Ben sinks into Beatrice’s recently vacated seat. ‘Please don’t let it ruin your birthday.’

I shake my head. ‘Can’t you see?’ I groan. ‘Someone is out to get me.’ I’m aware of how paranoid I sound.

He takes my hand and kisses it in answer. ‘That’s not true.’

‘Then how do you explain all this?’ I wail. ‘It’s got to be someone from Bath,’ I say, ripping up the photograph that Cass had given me for my birthday. It’s a reminder of all the horrible things that have happened since I’ve moved in. From the corner of my eye I can see Ben staring at me in shock, but he doesn’t say anything. ‘Nobody from my old life, apart from Nia, knows this address.’

He raises an eyebrow.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I snap. ‘I’ve known Nia since I was eighteen.’

‘What about Callum?’

I pull my hand from his. ‘Callum would never do this.’ I think of Luke and I discount him quickly. As much as he might hate me for the accident, he would never stoop this low or use Lucy to get at me. It’s got to be someone who never knew her. Someone who lives in this house.

‘Where did the flowers come from? Which shop?’

Ben’s head shoots up. He reaches for the card that he slung on the table. ‘It doesn’t say. And neither does the envelope.’

I think of Beatrice, standing by the front door this morning with the flowers already in her arms. I never saw a delivery person. She could have rung the doorbell herself and waited in the hallway for me to come down. I close my eyes, biting my lip so that I draw blood. I thought we had a truce. Surely Beatrice wouldn’t be that cruel?

I remind myself that I hardly know Beatrice at all.

I try not to let it ruin the rest of my birthday, telling myself it’s exactly what the culprit would want. But I watch Beatrice carefully, noting she’s chirpier than she has been in weeks as she bustles around the house, singing under her breath. I want to believe it’s because we’ve put our differences behind us and not some other, more disturbing reason.

I’m in my room packing a small overnight bag when Nia calls to wish me happy birthday. I can hear the echo of a tannoy announcer in the background and Nia explains she’s at the train station. When I enquire as to her whereabouts she manages to avoid the question, instead asking about my plans and I tell her about Ben’s birthday surprise, that I’m hoping the hotel will be in Lyme Regis as I’ve never been. I decide to keep quiet about how we’re unable to spend nights together because he doesn’t want to be ‘disrespectful to Beatrice’s house rules’ – words which irk me because they remind me how much of a control freak and how possessive his sister is. For reasons that aren’t clear even to me, I find that I don’t tell her about the flowers or the photograph.

‘You’re going away tonight?’ She sounds puzzled.

‘Well, hopefully this afternoon, although Ben hasn’t said.’

‘It’s, well …’ She falls silent and for a minute I think we’ve been cut off, but her voice comes back on the line, faint and indistinct, telling me she hopes I have a lovely time, that she will come and visit soon. The phone goes dead, making me wonder why she’s acting so mysteriously.

By mid-morning Ben still hasn’t revealed where he’s taking me. I tell him I’m going to my parents’ for lunch. He seems relieved that I’m going out, ushering me to the door, telling me not to come back before teatime. The hours I spend with my parents are long, excruciating as we all do our best to pretend we haven’t noticed Lucy’s absence, that only one of us is turning thirty today. We sit around chatting, with plates of birthday cake on our laps that none of us have got the stomach for. By teatime I tell them I need to get back as Ben is taking me to Lyme Regis.

‘When are we going to meet this new boyfriend of yours?’ says Mum as she hugs me goodbye. I laugh and tell her soon, and I put my arms around her, surprised as always by her thin frame, by how tiny she has become since Lucy died, and I’m worried that if I hug her too hard I will crush her.

As I arrive back at Beatrice’s house, the sun disappears and I pause, my hand on the wrought-iron gate, and turn my face up to the greying skies, closing my eyes as I remember those birthday parties in the rain, and I sense it – exactly as I did that day in the car on the Isle of Wight – that she’s with me, and as the first drops of rain fall, I take it as a sign that she’s acknowledging those wet parties of our childhood. ‘Happy Birthday, Luce,’ I whisper.

‘Abi?’ I open my eyes to see Ben standing in the doorway, frowning. ‘What are you doing? It’s pissing down.’ It’s then I notice the balloons bobbing, like decapitated heads, tied to the gate, the daisy-shaped fairy lights above the front door, the lanterns in the garden lighting the pathway. I tentatively push open the gate, brushing past the balloons with Happy 30th printed all over them, and I’m suddenly cold to the bone. The romantic night I envisioned with Ben in Lyme Regis fades before my eyes.

‘We’re not going away tonight, are we?’

A shadow of doubt passes across his face. Wordlessly he holds his hand out to help me over the step. He leans into me and I can smell his familiar aftershave, as his lips brush my ear. ‘I’m sorry, Abi. Please look surprised.’ And before my brain can even process what he means he’s leading me down the hallway and up the stairs to the colourful drawing room. He’s simultaneously opening the door while pushing me into a roomful of people who all chorus ‘Surprise’. Someone pops a party banger, another thrusts a glass of champagne into my hand, and I can do nothing but blink in astonishment as I take in Beatrice, smiling widely as she stands in front of Monty, Niall, Maria and Grace, with Cass at her elbow as if she’s a toddler hanging on to her mother’s skirt. I can see Pam snogging her boyfriend (a different one, lanky with a ponytail) by the fireplace and Nia hovering awkwardly beside them. ‘Nia?’ I’m so shocked I almost drop my glass. She edges past the others looking shamefaced.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you,’ she says when she reaches me. She pulls me into her arms and I swallow back tears. ‘Is this okay?’ she whispers into my ear and I manage to nod, to squeak that of course it’s okay, when really a hard lump of disappointment lodges in my throat, and even though I’m delighted that my oldest friend is here with me to celebrate my birthday, a party is the last thing I want. A party only highlights that Lucy isn’t here.

Later, when everyone is dancing to ‘Groove Is In The Heart’, I spot Ben through the melee, laughing with Beatrice and Nia. I go up to him and take his arm, asking if we can talk in private. Not waiting for an answer, I lead him through the living room and out on to the terrace. The sky has turned violet-grey, the threat of rain still hanging in the air. I see Monty in deep conversation with Pam and her new bloke in the corner, Niall is perched on one of the wet sun-loungers with some people I don’t recognize, sharing a spliff. Ben follows me to the railings and leans back against them. The distant screech of a seagull makes me shudder, I’m always surprised by how many seagulls there are in Bath.

‘Are you okay?’ he says distractedly. He’s watching the smokers on the sun-loungers. ‘I hope they’re not going to burn their fags out on that wood. It’s teak. Those loungers were bloody expensive.’ I want to tell him I couldn’t give a toss about the sun-loungers. He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve his cigarettes, tapping one out of its packet and into the palm of his hand, and offers it to me. When I shake my head he places it between his lips and lights it. I’ve noticed how twitchy he is when he doesn’t have a fag in his hand. ‘Are you enjoying the party?’

‘Not particularly.’ I’m pleased when I see the hurt in his eyes. ‘What happened to the romantic weekend break you promised me?’

He takes a deep drag of his cigarette before answering. ‘It was only an idea. But Beatrice said a party would be better.’

I bite back my anger. ‘This was Beatrice’s idea?’

He looks confused, as if worried he might say the wrong thing. ‘Well, yes. I wanted to take you away somewhere. But Beatrice said she’d already arranged a party, had already asked Nia. She’d spent a lot of money on the catering and the wine.’

My whole body tenses. ‘And you didn’t think to tell her that I specifically told you that I didn’t want a fucking party?’ I snarl. I carefully enunciate each word to make my point.

He’s taken aback. ‘I did … But she, quite rightly, pointed out that you love parties. That you’d be happy to see Nia. I thought …’ He looks at me helplessly and I know it’s not his fault. I’m well aware of how manipulative Beatrice can be. Although I wish that, for once, he would put me first instead of always worrying about offending his precious sister. I take a deep breath but I’m unable, or unwilling, to stop the harangue that emerges. ‘Why can’t you see what she’s doing?’ I cry. ‘She doesn’t give a shit about me, this was her way of preventing us spending the weekend together. Without her. She’s got you wrapped around her little finger, Ben. Why can’t you see that?’

I turn to storm off but he grabs my upper arm, forcing me back roughly as if I’m a dog on a retractable lead, his fingers digging into my skin. His face is pinched, white and inches from mine. ‘She did this for you, Abi,’ he spits. ‘She organized all this for you, even finding out the number of your oldest friend so she could invite her too. And all you can do is bitch about her.’

‘Get. Off. Me,’ I hiss between clenched teeth. He releases his grip, shock registering on his face at his actions.

‘I’m sorry, Abi. I’m so sorry.’

‘Fuck off, Ben.’ I push my way through the crowd, tears blurring my vision, faintly aware of Nia breaking away from Beatrice to follow me as I run from the room.

Chapter Twenty-One

Beatrice has a clear view of them through the open doorway, Abi in her usual jeans and T-shirt, face pinched in agitation, Ben stooped so that his face is level with hers, his eyes narrowed in anger, the spittle flying from his mouth. Beatrice recognizes the expression on his face, the anger. She knows how Ben hates to lose control.

Next to her she senses Nia stiffen. ‘Are they having a row?’ Nia shouts over the music, concern etched across her pretty face. ‘I thought this might happen. Abi was hoping for a romantic weekend alone with Ben, not a party.’ Beatrice shrugs in an effort to appear nonchalant when inside her heart is pounding with glee. She’s unable to drag her eyes away from the scene unfolding on the balcony.

Ben is trying to stop Abi from leaving, but she pulls away from him and stumbles into the living room, her eyes wet, her face pale, pushing her way through the alcohol-fuelled crowd towards the door to the landing. ‘I’d better go after her,’ says Nia, handing her glass to Beatrice. She takes the glass wordlessly and watches as Nia darts after Abi.

She waits. One beat, two beats. And then she goes to him.

His face is set, impassive as she approaches. ‘Here,’ she hands him Nia’s untouched glass of champagne. ‘You look as though you could do with this.’ He takes it without a word, knocking back the contents in one gulp.
You poor darling,
she thinks.
Being with Abi has brought it all back to you, hasn’t it?
The past. What we’ve done.
Because she can see that now. She can finally understand why he was attracted to Abi in the first place. A gust of wind blows her thin cotton dress around her thighs and she wishes she was wearing a cardigan.

‘You were right when you warned me that she’s damaged,’ he says eventually. ‘I didn’t understand how much. I do now.’

She pulls him to her in answer, wrapping her arms around him, wishing she could make the hurt go away. When he’s in pain, so is she. She rests her head on his chest, comforted by the steady beat of his heart which reverberates through his shirt. ‘She’s jealous of me,’ she says. ‘Because I’m your twin and she knows how special that is.’

He pulls away from her, rubs his hand across his chin. ‘I know.’

‘All this stuff she’s saying, Ben. About the letters, and the bird and that photograph. She thinks I’m trying to ruin your relationship. But you know it’s rubbish, don’t you? She’s ill, Ben. I don’t think she’s taking her medication – it was in her drawer when she was on the Isle of Wight. She should have taken it with her. She stole my earring, you saw it for yourself. There’s something else too.’