Sister Sister: A gripping psychological thriller. Sue Fortin

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       Chapter 5

      The girls are already bathed and in their pyjamas when I get home. It’s been a long day and Luke is reading Chloe a bedtime story. I feel a little annoyed that he has already started and hasn’t waited for me. I love reading to the girls at night. It’s probably more for my own benefit, to ease my conscience, my atonement for not being there. Luke knows this and it almost feels like a punishment for being home late.

      ‘Hey, there, precious,’ I say in a soft voice as I go into the bedroom.

      Chloe immediately extracts herself from the crook of Luke’s arm and bounds across the bed. ‘Mummy! Mummy!’ She launches herself into my arms and I smother her in kisses. ‘Daddy read story. Little bunny has lost balloon.’ Her face takes on a serious look as she explains to me that the balloon was red and blew away.

      ‘Oh, dear, poor bunny,’ I say.

      ‘Come on, Chloe. Settle back down now,’ says Luke, pulling back the duvet and patting the mattress.

      ‘I’ll finish reading,’ I say, slipping my jacket off and dropping it on the end of the bed.

      Chloe bounces up and down on the bed. ‘Mum-my! Mum-my! Mum-my!’ she chants.

      Luke gives a sigh and stands up, passes me the book and gives me a peck on the cheek. ‘The King is dead. Long live the King.’ He gives Chloe a kiss. ‘Goodnight, sweetheart. Sleep tight.’

      My guilt has now transferred from one of being late home to one of stealing Luke’s time with his daughter.

      When I go downstairs, Chloe asleep and assured in the knowledge that the bunny found his balloon in the end, Luke and Hannah are in the living room watching television.

      ‘Mum not with us this evening?’ I ask, sitting down next to Hannah on the sofa. Luke is sprawled in the armchair, his leg dangling over one of the arms.

      ‘No, she wanted to watch some gardening programme in her own room,’ he replies. ‘I said you’d probably pop in and say hello later. There’s some dinner there if you’re hungry. Want me to warm it up for you?’

      ‘No, I had a late lunch,’ I say. ‘I’ll make myself a sandwich or something later. I’ve been working on the McMillan case today.’

      Luke gives me a sympathetic smile and any tension over the bedtime story has evaporated.

      ‘How was your day, Hannah?’ I ask, hooking a strand of hair behind her ear.

      ‘It was okay,’ she replies, without looking away from the television. She laughs at her programme and, not wanting to interrupt her obvious pleasure, I don’t enquire any further. There’s obviously nothing to worry about or she would have said. Some days, a cross-examination over the school day isn’t necessary, just being aware she is happy is enough.

      ‘Did you scan those photos for Mum?’

      ‘Yep, all done.’

      ‘Thanks, love. Did she say any more about emailing?’ I pick up my phone and log onto the email account I created for Mum to use.

      Luke shrugs. ‘I think she really wants to write a letter.’

      ‘But it will take at least five days to get there.’

      ‘What’s the rush? Just let your mum do it the way she wants to. Having a bit of breathing space is probably a good thing.’

      Luke is right, of course. There is no rush. The more I think about it now, in the relaxed atmosphere of home, the more I think it’s better. We all need to tread with care. We’re all entering into a new relationship with people we don’t know; all we know is the memory.

      I glance over at Luke. His attention has already returned to the TV. Hannah is just as engrossed. ‘I’ll go and see Mum.’

      I make a cup of tea for both myself and Mum and knock on the door to her private sitting room. I balance the tray in one hand, so I can turn the door knob with the other.

      ‘Oh, hello, darling,’ she says, as I come in. ‘Ooh, cup of tea. You’ve timed it perfectly, my programme’s just finished.’

      I place the tray on the small coffee table and take the seat opposite. It’s a bright and airy room, the high ceilings giving it a sense of space and grandeur. Mum’s furniture wouldn’t look out of place in one of those glossy lifestyle magazines, where they interview the Lady of the Manor. It’s traditional and elegant. Rather different to our family living room, which is all big squishy sofas and tactile throws and rugs, a bit of a mish-mash but homely.

      ‘Did you write the letter to Alice?’ I ask, sitting down in the winged-back armchair, which is covered in a rich burgundy velour.

      ‘Yes, it’s there on my desk.’ Mum nods towards the Edwardian bureau by the window. ‘I’ve left it open so you can pop your letter in too. Have you done it yet?

      ‘Not yet. I’ll get on with it after I’ve drunk my tea.’

      ‘Okay, СКАЧАТЬ