The Silent Sister_An gripping psychological thriller with a nail-biting twist Read online

  ‘Tell you what, Ems, let’s agree not to talk about Mum this evening.’

  ‘Agreed. I’ll just call Mike and let him know what’s going on.’

  ‘Okay, and while you’re doing that, I’m going to nip next door.’

  Emma holds a finger up as Mike has already answered the phone.

  I leave her talking to her fiancé and head back out. This time I go to Mrs P’s house. It’s after 8 p.m., so I hope she hasn’t turned in early. I needn’t have worried; she answers the door almost immediately.

  ‘Lizzy, hello.’

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Looks like we’re about to have a storm.’ She eyes up the darkening sky. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Sort of. Yes. But I was wondering. Is there any chance you could look after Frank for the next couple of days?’

  ‘You going away, dear? Want me to pop in and feed him? No problem.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s all right? Sorry it’s a bit short notice. The thing is, you can’t let him out at all, because…’ Even though Mrs P knows about the letters, I don’t want to freak her out by explaining the rest of it. ‘Because Frank’s hurt his paw and has to stay inside until it’s healed properly.’

  ‘Not a problem at all. I’ll make sure he stays in.’

  ‘Thank you so much. I should be back by Sunday at the latest, so it’s just tomorrow and Sunday morning. I’ll leave his food out in the kitchen on the side. Here’s the spare key.’

  ‘That’s absolutely fine, dear. Any news on who wrote those awful letters? I’ve been thinking about you.’ She pats my shoulder. ‘Wondering about it, you know. About who would do such a thing.’

  ‘The police don’t know anything yet.’

  She tuts. ‘But you’re okay, yes?’

  I pause. I don’t have time to get into the saga of my life right now. ‘Yes, I’m fine, thanks. Just going away with my sister for a few days.’

  She frowns and then her eyes light up. ‘Ah, yes, Emma Beresford. Haven’t seen her since school. One of the brightest pupils we ever had. Not that you weren’t bright, dear,’ she adds. ‘It’s just that Emma had an extremely scientific brain. What’s she up to these days?’

  ‘Cancer research scientist.’

  ‘Is she, by golly? Well, isn’t that something. Do pass on my best wishes.’

  ‘Of course, and thanks so much again for looking after Frank.’

  ‘My pleasure. Where is it you’re off to?’

  ‘Only up the road – a holiday home just outside Rodmarton.’

  ‘Lovely. And what about Joe? Is he going with you?’

  My breath catches in my throat. ‘No. Just me and Emma. Joe… he’s not here at the moment.’

  ‘Well, do have a wonderful time. I hope this storm doesn’t ruin your stay.’

  ‘I don’t mind a bit of rain. Hoping it’ll clear up by tomorrow. Thanks, Mrs P.’

  She gives me one of her twinkly smiles and we wave goodbye to one another. As I head back home, my stomach flutters with nerves and anticipation. I can’t believe my sister and I are back on speaking terms. I never thought it would happen. I thought she had crossed a line over which there was no coming back. And while my heart is happy to have her in my life again, it’s also aching from Joe’s betrayal.

  Emma and I spend the next half hour packing. ‘We can take my car if you like?’ she says, carrying a small case down the stairs.

  I follow her down with a holdall full of swimming gear and towels. ‘We’d better go in separate cars. I still have work tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. Okay.’

  Finally, with a last cuddle for Frank, I lock up the house, and Emma and I step out into the dusky gloom, the first heavy spots of rain beginning to fall. Now that we’re actually going, I’m panicking about leaving Frank on his own in the storm. Thunder doesn’t normally bother him, but I still feel guilty. Don’t be ridiculous, he’ll be fine. Mrs P will look out for him. And anyway, I need this break.

  Emma follows my battered Polo in her grown-up Prius, its headlights a steady glare in my rear-view mirror as I crawl along, squinting through the windscreen. The rain is hammering down now and my wipers are almost ineffective, even though they’re on full blast. The sky is black as thunder, and lightning growls and flashes in unison, a violent concerto accompanying our journey. Of all the times for the weather to break, why did it have to choose now, when we’re heading to a beautiful house and garden with a swimming pool? Never mind. Think positive. Might be fun to have a midnight swim in the rain.

  We turn off the main road onto a narrow country lane with no road markings, bordered by high hedgerows. The lane twists and turns and I’m glad I didn’t decide to come here alone. It already feels a long way from civilisation. Up ahead I spy a pale wooden signpost, so I slow down even further until I’m right up close to it. The sign says The Elms and then underneath Private lane, no turning. This is the place.

  The signpost points left, so I switch on my indicator and turn down the lane, which soon opens up into an impressive tree-lined driveway with open fields to my left and right. I flick my headlights on to full beam and gasp as a building is illuminated up ahead. Even in the torrential rain, it is beautiful – a honey-coloured, stone country house with a slate roof topped off with several clusters of chimney pots. Two bright yellow urns of conical clipped box hedge sit sentry-like outside a wooden front door and swaying wisteria clings to the exterior, determined that the storm won’t shake it free.

  I come to a stop on the vast gravel drive and Emma pulls up alongside me as the ultra-bright security lights flick on. After I switch off the engine, the sound and scale of the storm becomes even more apparent. The whine of the wind and the hammering rain outside seem even more ferocious this far from town. I push open the car door and make a run for the front entrance, which luckily has a wooden porch to shelter me somewhat. Emma joins me, panting and laughing. We’re already soaked from the short run from car to porch.

  ‘This is unbelievable!’ she cries.

  ‘What, the house or the weather?’

  ‘Both!’

  I locate the metal box on the wall and punch in the code. After a couple of failed attempts, the front of the box finally drops open and I take out the bunch of keys and unlock the door.

  Emma and I step into the wide hallway, but before I can take in my new surroundings, I have to deal with the alarm. It’s beeping on the wall to my right and I fumble with my phone to find the code Ruby sent. Finally I locate her message and key in the four digits. The beeping stops.

  Emma is walking in a slow circle, staring wide-eyed around the massive entrance hall. The interior is more gorgeous in real life than we could have imagined, with limestone floors and twinkling chandeliers. There’s a warm, homely smell of herbs and vanilla, and of lilies from the fresh flowers, which sit in crystal vases on the polished antique console table. We walk through glass doors to a massive kitchen with dove-grey units and marble counter tops. A cream Aga sits in the corner, and there’s a silver American-style fridge-freezer as well as a breakfast bar lined with Heritage-coloured stools.

  ‘Can we live here permanently?’ Emma asks.

  I nod. ‘I vote we stay here forever and never leave.’

  The kitchen leads on to a more formal dining area which, in turn, leads into a spacious but cosy lounge furnished with velvet sofas and scatter cushions, and a marble fireplace framing a wood-burning stove. But the real joy of this place has to be the vaulted-ceilinged, wooden-framed garden room, which looks out on to what must be a thirty-foot, floodlit outdoor swimming pool, its aqua surface churning and frothing beneath the relentless rain. Emma and I gaze in wonder at the pool, unable to tear our eyes away.

  ‘I know it’s peeing down out there, but we have to go in, right?’ Emma asks.

  I grin.

  We get our stuff from the cars, get changed and run, squealing, across the dark slate patio and into the pool. As I dive beneath the surface, the stress and anxiety of the past few days recede
along with the noise of the storm. All I hear is a dull whooshing in my ears as the warm water ripples over my skin. Before too long, my lungs cry out for air and I surface with a gasp, treading water. Emma is lying on her back with her eyes closed, letting the rainwater batter her skin.

  Although it’s only up the road from Malmesbury, this place feels like a million miles away from home, from reality, from all my problems. I swim to the edge and rest my arms on the side. Night stretches away into darkness beyond the pool, until a flash of lightning illuminates the countryside – swathes of dark green velvet rolling on into infinity. As the landscape is plunged back into darkness, I give a shiver as though someone has walked over my grave. I’m reminded that somewhere out there in the storm-lashed darkness, our stalker could be planning their next move. But at least here in this secret spot we’re safe for a while.

  At least, I hope so.

  With just one small step, I can change everything.

  * * *

  I can walk away and take the ‘sane’ route. Or I can carry on and see what happens. See if I can even things up a little. Make them feel how I feel. Make them know that their safe, secure, cosy little life is balanced on the edge of a razor-sharp blade. I could push them off into an abyss or I could push down hard and slice their life in two.

  * * *

  No. It’s too late to walk away.

  Forty-Two

  Dried off from our swim, and wearing the fluffy grey robes we found in our rooms, Emma and I open a bottle of complimentary wine and curl up on squashy sofas in the garden room. We sit in companionable silence for a few moments while I drink in my surroundings: the dark rain bouncing off the indigo pool, the liquid gold of my wine.

  ‘What a place,’ Emma says with a yawn. ‘When I got that fake text message, I never for one second thought it would lead to us relaxing in a five-star holiday home. What a mad evening.’

  I take a sip of wine, enjoying the burn at the back of my throat. ‘Here’s to my lovely neighbour,’ I say, lifting my glass in a toast.

  ‘Yeah, massive cheers to your neighbour.’ Emma raises her glass too and then gives me a long look. ‘How are you doing, Lizzy?’

  ‘How am I doing?’

  ‘Yeah, you know, after Joe…’

  I purse my lips and remember the leaden feeling in my guts. ‘I don’t know how I’m doing, to be honest. It’s all a bit surreal. I wish I could erase Joe from my mind. I wish I’d never met him.’ My voice cracks. ‘And it’s even weirder because of all this other stuff going on.’

  Emma nods. ‘I know.’

  ‘Who do you think it could be?’

  She stares out at the floodlit pool for a moment. ‘I know I might be way off base, but you don’t think it could be Joe, do you?’

  I give a grim laugh. ‘Believe me, I’ve thought about it. But you didn’t see his reaction when I told him about getting the letters. He went all protective and macho. Whoever it is, he wanted to beat them up. I really don’t think it is him. Although, to be honest, I have no real idea.’

  ‘Okay. I just thought, because of our history, and the fact that he lied to you for so long. Maybe he’s…’ She tails off.

  ‘Got a screw loose?’ I inhale deeply. ‘Do you know what, Ems? I’m sick of the whole bloody thing. Shall we make a pact not to talk about Joe or the “S” word while we’re here? Treat this place like it’s a real holiday from our lives out there.’ I use my glass to point to the dark fields beyond the pool.

  ‘Okay, yes. Good idea. Agreed.’

  Emma and I spend the next couple of hours reminiscing about our shared past and catching up on our careers, on funny incidents at work and other non-threatening topics of conversation. We polish off the wine and demolish the complimentary bread, cheese and olives.

  ‘I wish you didn’t have to go into work tomorrow,’ she says.

  ‘I know, but I’ll come straight back here afterwards and we can have another fab evening. I’ll pick up some groceries on the way over so we can have something proper to eat.’

  ‘No, that’s okay. You’re working. I’ll nip out and get some stuff during the day.’

  ‘Thanks, Ems. I’m so happy we’re friends again. It’s weird, but it feels like we were never not friends. Almost like it never happened.’

  She shrugs, and I see a shadow flit across her features.

  ‘Sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. Of course it happened. And it was my fault for letting it happen.’

  ‘Let’s not rake over it all again,’ Emma says. ‘I’m just nipping to the loo.’ She gets to her feet and leaves the garden room. The rain has eased a little, the thunder now a distant rumble from another village. I’m tired and a little drunk and I think I need to go to bed, especially as I have to get up early tomorrow. I close my eyes, but I mustn’t fall asleep here. I need to brush my teeth and take my make-up off. I need to take advantage of that lovely big bed upstairs.

  * * *

  I wake to a strange, dull, clanking sound. Like metal on concrete. It’s pitch-black and everything feels strange. Then I remember, I’m in the holiday house. I fell asleep on the sofa. Emma woke me up, and helped me stagger into my beautiful bedroom with its French-style furniture and floral bedspread.

  What is that noise? My head thumps along with the weird banging from outside. I drank far too much wine last night; I’m not used to it. I reach out to the side, hoping my fingers will alight upon a bedside light. After a few seconds of finding nothing, bingo. I locate the switch, turn it on and blink my eyes open in the soft light.

  My phone says it’s 2.45 a.m. What the hell is going on out there? Maybe the house is next to a farm and it’s some weird machinery making that noise. But come on, at this time of the morning? And anyway, the clanking sounds closer than that. Like it’s emanating from the back of the house… by the pool. My skin tightens and the hairs stand up on my bare arms. I sit up, suddenly wide awake, my senses on high alert. Could it be Emma out there? No. What would she be doing at this time of night? I slide out of bed and scrabble about in my case for something to wear. I throw a cotton dress over my head and pad out onto the landing. The noise is definitely louder out here.

  Emma’s room is next to mine, but her door is closed. I wonder, should I knock? Or should I just tiptoe in? Maybe I should leave her sleeping and go to investigate the noise myself. But I’m scared. It’s dark outside. I don’t even remember locking up last night. Did we leave any of the doors open?

  The clanking noise stops. I freeze and cock my ear.

  What if that means whoever was making the noise is already inside the house?

  With a dry mouth and shaking knees, I open my sister’s door and creep into her room. I daren’t turn on her light in case we have an intruder and they see the sudden brightness.

  ‘Emma!’ I hiss. ‘Emma, wake up!’ Is she even in here? Maybe it is her downstairs. But goodness knows what she’s doing if it is. Maybe she’s sleepwalking. I bash my shin into the end of the bed and swear under my breath.

  A moan comes from the bed.

  ‘Emma?’ I say, a little louder this time.

  Another unintelligible mumble. And then, ‘Lizzy? Is that you? What’s the matter?’ Her voice is thick with sleep and confusion.

  ‘I think there’s someone outside.’

  ‘What? Are you sure?’

  ‘No, but I heard a weird noise out there, and now it’s gone quiet.’ I make out the dark shape of my sister sitting up in bed.

  ‘Probably foxes.’

  ‘I don’t think so. It was loud. It sounded… metallic.’

  ‘Okay, give me a sec to wake up.’ She stretches noisily and I shush her.

  ‘There might be someone inside the house,’ I warn.

  ‘Shit. Really? Do you think so?’ Now she sounds properly wide awake. The bed creaks as she gets out and takes my hand. I grip it tightly.

  Out on the landing, I notice she’s wearing the nightshirt I lent her, but it swamps her slender frame. The lamp from my bedroom g
ives us just enough light to see by as we make our way cautiously down the carpeted stairs. We stop and I stifle a squeal at a sudden noise from outside. It sounds like a piece of patio furniture being dragged across the ground.

  ‘Okay, there’s definitely someone out there,’ I whisper.

  ‘Ya think?’ Emma replies, her sarcasm trying to cover up her fear.

  We head across the hall through the dark kitchen and over to the garden room, our tiptoes as light as dandelion seeds. The house no longer feels like a safe hideaway or a sanctuary. It’s too big, too strange and unfamiliar. I realise too late – it’s too remote. I want to be at home in my little cottage.

  The garden room doors are wide open, creaking back and forth in the breeze. The rain has stopped, but the air is cool and damp. The pool area beyond is in darkness.

  ‘Did you close those doors before we went to bed?’ I whisper to Emma.

  ‘Yes, I bloody did. Someone’s opened them.’

  ‘Shall we just run?’ I suggest. ‘Go back to our cars and get the hell out of here?’

  ‘Good idea,’ Emma says, pulling me back. ‘Have you got your phone?’

  I grimace. ‘No. Left it upstairs.’

  ‘Leave it. Let’s just go.’

  ‘My car keys are upstairs too.’

  ‘Fuck, so are mine.’

  My eyes are becoming accustomed to the gloom, and out through the doors, I spy a dark shape moving beyond the pool. ‘Emma,’ I hiss.

  ‘I see,’ she says.

  We’re frozen in place, rooted to the spot in the garden room, staring outside. I think about running into the kitchen and grabbing a knife. But my legs won’t move, and I can’t leave Emma.

  Around the side of the pool, a shadowy figure is walking towards us.

  Slowly, deliberately, someone is heading our way.

  Forty-Three

  The security lights click on as the person draws closer to the house. When I see who it is, I relax and let go of my sister’s hand.