The Sisters: A gripping psychological suspense. Claire Douglas

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СКАЧАТЬ quickly fall into our roles, Beatrice as the sales person, me as the cashier, and in spite of how busy it gets I find that I’m enjoying myself. Beatrice interacts with everyone with such confidence and aplomb that I can’t help but admire her. I’m disappointed when Pam pops her head around the door at seven to ask if they should call it a day.

      ‘Definitely, I’m exhausted,’ says Beatrice as she flops on to her bed. Pam rolls her eyes good-naturedly and I can hear her heavy footsteps as she disappears off down the corridor. ‘Well, that was good fun. You will stay for a glass of wine?’ Beatrice asks me. ‘I think we need to celebrate.’

      ‘I’d love to,’ I say, although I would prefer to stay up here with her. We’ve had such a lovely afternoon, the two of us and I’ve enjoyed her company more than I thought possible. We were a team and I don’t want it to end. If we go downstairs I would have to make small talk with the others. I’d have to share Beatrice. I feel slightly deflated as I help her pack the few items of jewellery she has left into their respective boxes.

      ‘I wonder what Ben’s been doing all afternoon?’ she muses as she forces the lid shut on a bangle. ‘I think he wanted to steer clear of the whole thing.’ She gives a small sharp laugh but I sense her disappointment that Ben didn’t come up to see how she was getting on.

      ‘Is he older than you?’ I say as I hand her a pair of earrings.

      She takes the earrings from me and shoves them in a drawer. ‘Only by a couple of minutes. We’re twins.’

      I’m aware of the blood draining from my face. Twins.

      Beatrice pauses. ‘Are you okay, Abi? You’ve gone pale.’

      I clear my throat. ‘It’s … well, I’m also a twin. Was a twin. Am a twin.’ I’m rambling because I hate telling people about Lucy. I hate the way they look at me, with a mixture of pity and embarrassment, terrified that I might dissolve into tears. Inevitably there is an awkward silence, then they turn away to glance at their shoes, or at their hands, anywhere but at me, while mumbling how sorry they are before they change the subject, leaving me worrying if I’ve made a massive faux pas by mentioning my dead sister. Some of my old friends have avoided me since Lucy died. Nia assures me it’s because they don’t know what to say to me, but why can’t they understand that saying something, anything, is better than not acknowledging it at all?

      I hold my breath, expecting something similar from Beatrice. But she stops what she’s doing and looks me directly in the eye. ‘What happened?’ she asks, and I can tell she genuinely wants to know. She’s not pushing me away, afraid of my grief. She’s not embarrassed by it. She’s facing it head on. I’m so relieved that she’s not like everyone else that I want to hug her.

      ‘She … she died.’ Tears cloud my vision. And it was my fault, I want to add. But I don’t. If she knew the truth about me it would ruin everything.

      ‘Abi, I’m so sorry,’ she says and she places a hand on my arm. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

      I pause, knowing I can’t talk about Lucy. What is there to say? That she was my identical twin sister, that I loved her more than anyone else in the world, that she was the other part of me, my other half, my better half, and that without her I am lost, in limbo, that it doesn’t seem right being alive without her, that it’s my fault and that I can never forgive myself even if the courts of law did exonerate me. I shake my head.

      ‘I understand,’ she says, her voice gentle. ‘Our parents died when Ben and I were small but I still find it hard to talk about it, even after all this time. I don’t think you ever get over losing a loved one.’

      And in that moment I sense it, the bond between us; formed over a shared grief and the special relationship that can only be understood by twins.

      By midnight I’ve lost count of the amount of champagne I’ve consumed to stem my nerves and give me the confidence to talk to all of Beatrice’s friends. I excuse myself from her gathering and lock myself in the downstairs loo, afraid I’m going to be sick. I should have eaten more. I lean over the sink and take deep breaths until the nausea subsides. I need to go home, I think as I splash cold water on my face and assess myself in the glass of the bathroom cabinet. As always, I jolt at my reflection; at the dark circles under my eyes, the blonde hair that has long grown out of its neat bob, the too-big mouth that always gives the impression of jollity even when I’m anything but happy.

      I see Lucy everywhere, but never more than when I look in the mirror.

       Chapter Three

      The front door slams. Beatrice moves to her bedroom window just in time to see two dark figures weaving out of the front gate and towards the bus stop at the end of the road. They’re giggling, stumbling, quite obviously a little drunk. He has his arms about her slim waist as if to keep her from folding in on herself and their pose reminds her of a puppet-master holding up his marionette.

      They pass a streetlamp, thrusting them into the spotlight and her stomach falls when she realizes it’s Ben. And Abi.

      The number fourteen bus trundles past her window like a lethargic old man, the brakes squeaking against the still-hot tarmac as it halts. Beatrice watches as Abi disappears on to it, watches as Ben continues to wave even after the bus has rounded the corner out of sight. It’s too dark to see the expression on her brother’s face, but she can imagine it. The twinkle in his hazel eyes, the crooked smile on his full lips. It’s the look of a man who’s been stupefied, it’s a look she’s only ever seen on his face once before.

      And as he turns slowly, reluctantly back towards the house, she knows – in that special way that only a twin can – that this is the start of something.

      Beatrice thrusts the curtains together so vigorously that they continue to swing even when she turns away from them to pace the room. She refrains from switching the light on, preferring to listen out for the telltale sounds of the key in the lock, the clip-clop of Ben’s Chelsea boots on the flagstone hallway, the thud as he climbs the stairs two at a time to her room. Why does the realization that her brother might have found someone he likes make her want to cry?

      He flings open the door, flooding the bedroom with light from the landing.

      ‘Why are you in the dark, you mad cow?’ he laughs, flicking the switch.

      She shrugs and perches at her dressing table. Ben sits heavily on her double bed, the mattress sighs under his weight. ‘Cass and Jodie have gone out and Pam has fallen asleep at her easel again. So, how do you think it went?’ He seems genuinely concerned for her, which tugs at her heart.

      ‘Okay, I guess.’ She pulls the earrings from her ears. ‘I sold some pieces of jewellery. I gave Abi a necklace.’ She watches Ben’s expression carefully in the mirror, looking for signs. She notices the shy smile at the mention of Abi’s name, then his eyes meet hers and the smile snaps off his face.

      He frowns. ‘Are you okay, Bea?’

      ‘I saw you with Abi.’ She knows she shouldn’t but she can’t help it. ‘You fancy her, don’t you? That wasn’t in the plan, Ben.’

      ‘Plan?’ СКАЧАТЬ