Nicola Rayner Untitled Book 1. Nicola Rayner

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       Naomi

       Alice

       Naomi

       Kat

       Naomi

       Acknowledgements

       About the Author

       About the Publisher

       Prologue

      The last time I saw my sister she was getting ready for a party. She took particular care that night and we were quiet as we prepared, unaware of all those years of silence to come. Ruth used coconut oil, as she always did, to smooth down her unruly red hair. As she closed the hot tongs, the steam from the oil smelled like summer – suntan lotion and Malibu. It should be a happy scent, but every time I come across it now, it takes me back to that night. We had talked our way through her problem and come up with a plan. And I had confided what had been gnawing at me, too. We both knew what we had to do.

      I can see her as she pats her pale face with foundation, flicks mascara on her lashes and adds a slash of red lipstick. She pins up her hair and puts on an emerald dress. When she is ready, she grabs her handbag. It holds her cigarettes, a lighter, of course, her wallet, her lipstick and condoms. These were the last things she carried.

      Her eyes looked so bright and full of hope. I wish I had said something else, something different, but I just said: ‘Don’t forget your Dorothy slippers.’ And she grinned and slid her feet into the red sequinned shoes.

      At the top of the stairs I hugged her and was surprised once again by how little there was of her, as if she’d started disappearing already. I said, ‘Good luck.’ Then, as she left, I called down the stairs, ‘Love you.’ It was an afterthought, a superstition. The words got lost, pinging down the steep wooden staircase, and I couldn’t be sure she’d heard me as she pushed the door open and slipped through.