I’m about to turn the lights out downstairs when Emily appears at the foot of the stairs. James and Chloe have gone to bed, and we’re alone. Emily falls against me, her arms clinging to my back in an embrace that takes me back, far, far back into early childhood when we would grab on to each other in a fierce gesture of affectionate play, a jaw-clenching pleasure of happiness and safety.
‘I’m so scared, Jess,’ she says, her words muffled against the shoulder of my sweater. The press have been hammering down the door again, and earlier this evening one of them climbed into the back garden and came right up to the kitchen window, photographing Emily in her dressing gown. It had shaken her terribly, and we were all grateful to have DC Piper here to chase them off with threats of arrest.
I run my hand over the dome of her head, kissing the top of it, moving her away from me so I can look into her face. ‘I know, Ems.’ I nod, and I know she understands that I mean to say more, but that no words can really convey what either of us are feeling. ‘Hot chocolate?’ I offer, and somehow it’s the right thing to say.
Emily smiles gratefully, and we move into the kitchen, where she pulls out the stools around the island unit as I fetch mugs and milk to make the drinks. Outside, the moon is high over the house, and through the back window the garden is illuminated as brightly as if it was lit up by a street lamp. The light is so clean and clear that you can see the detail of every shrub, every paving slab, every neatly tended blade of grass. Daisy’s out there somewhere, perhaps even with that woman, under this same moon. When I turn back to look at Emily, to pass her her drink, I see she is gazing out into the moonlit night too, and for a moment that long-buried sisterly connection revives, the intense feeling of it stronger than ever. I know what she’s thinking.
‘She’ll be fine, Ems,’ I say. ‘We can’t know for sure that she’s with Avril, but, if she is, she’ll be safe, I’m sure of it. Avril thinks she’s taken her own daughter – Chloe – and James said she’d never hurt a hair on her head.’
Emily lifts her mug with great effort, and it saddens me to note the sedative-slow responses that have become the norm for her lately. I’ve mentioned it to James, but the doctor says she’s taking the right amount, that she’s probably better off with them at the moment than without.
She looks at me directly, and it seems all the fight has left her. Before the news of Avril emerged, when we had no idea where Daisy was or what had happened to her, Emily’s anger and spite lived right on the surface where we could all see it – ready to erupt into a rage at the slightest provocation. Poor Chloe seemed to have had the worst of it, as if her very presence made the absence of Daisy all the more visible.
‘Jess, I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch,’ Emily says.
I’m startled. I can’t think of another time in our lives when she’s apologised like this; in childhood we’d simply move past it, pretending that any unpleasantness had never happened. ‘That’s OK.’ I smile at her. ‘We’re all allowed to fly off the handle once in a while. And these are pretty exceptional circumstances, Ems.’
‘No, I mean it, Jess. I don’t know what I was thinking back there for a while – I’ve been feeling so paranoid about everything. I even thought you and James – I saw you meeting him for lunch a few days back, and –’
‘Oh, Emily! Oh, no, you mustn’t think that! It was my idea, not his – we just met for a quick bite in town, because – well, because I’ve been worried about you and I just wanted to talk it through, away from here. Oh, Ems! I’m sorry!’ I put down my cup and grapple her into a tight embrace.
When I release her and return to my own seat, I see her cheeks are flushed with embarrassment.
‘You know I was convinced James was involved with someone else, and I’ve been hating him for it for months, certain he was lying about something – and then there was this letter I found, signed from “A”. With a kiss. Oh, what a bloody fool I am, Jess. Of course, I realise now it must have been from her. From Avril. I completely misread the meaning in it. She said she wanted to see him, “to talk about things” – and I just thought – well, I jumped to all the wrong conclusions. It wasn’t James she wanted. It was Chloe.’
I remember the day I had walked in on Emily, going through James’s desk: the naked shame on her face as she tried to pass it off casually, before confessing her fears that he was having an affair. That would have cost her a lot, admitting to me that everything wasn’t completely rosy in the garden. And that letter – he should have destroyed it; these things have a habit of coming back to haunt you.
‘It’s hardly surprising, Ems. He told you she was dead! You’d hardly be likely to think this letter you saw was from a dead wife rather than a lover!’
She manages a small laugh, dropping her face into her hands to smooth back the tension and tiredness that etches her features.
‘Is that why you did it?’ I ask, softly.
Emily looks up, her face scrunched in a frown. ‘What – Marcus?’ she replies, and I nod. ‘No,’ she says casually, and the old, unrepentant Emily is back. ‘Well, yes, I suppose. I guess part of me was lashing out at James, because I thought he was playing away with someone else. But another part of me just wanted to, to do something for myself, something reckless. You know? None of that’s important now, though, is it? And he’s still lying to me, every day – I just know it.’
She’s sitting upright now, her posture defiant. She brings the cup to her lips and drinks deeply, her eyes lingering on mine a second too long before she drops down off the bar stool and takes her cup to the sink. And I think, am I being paranoid now, or is she aiming that last comment at me?
In our first year at secondary school, we were placed in the same class. It was a large school – eight classes per year group – and really we should have been separated, so that we could spread our wings a little and develop our independent lives. We were given the choice, and we chose to be placed together as much out of fear of the unknown as from devotion to each other. Emily was far more vocal about it than me, but I was glad that she wanted so vehemently to remain with me, glad that my big sister needed me as much as I needed her. Arriving in our new classroom on the first day, where the tiny smattering of familiar faces was obscured by so many strange ones, I was relieved to have Emily beside me. But that feeling soon subsided, once Emily had gained the confidence of new friendships and the self-assurance to cut me loose.
When I look back on it now, I can see the very moment that her love for me began to strain. Two weeks into the new term, our form teacher, Mrs Emery, handed out thirty blank slips of paper in registration period and gave us just one minute to each nominate a class captain. The three pupils with the highest number of nominations would then have a week to rally votes for the final election the following Monday. There was a ripple of excitement around the room, followed by frantic scribbling as Mrs Emery walked from aisle to aisle, chivvying us along and collecting the anonymous nominations in a frayed wicker fruit bowl. She returned to her desk, silently sorting the paper slips, until finally she was ready to announce the three finalists.
‘Now, quiet down! If I read your name out, please stand and come to the front of the room.’ She paused momentously. ‘Our first nominee is Emily Tyler.’
Emily just about sprinted to the front, her face aglow. I was so happy: class captain was perfect for her. She was clever, confident and a born organiser – everything I wasn’t. I gave her the thumbs-up and she returned the gesture, struggling to damp down the wide smile on her face.
‘Next we have – David Simpson.’
David took his place beside Emily and they smiled good-heartedly at each other before the last name was called. Mrs Emery held up a final piece of paper.
‘And our third nominee is – Jessica Tyler!’
As my name was called out, Emily’s expression shifted from pride to anger, and she glared at me as though I had fixed it that way, as though I had done it to hurt her. I stood, hardly aware of my legs moving, and joined the two others in front of the blackboard, smiling dully at the applause of our seated classmates. I thought it was one of the worst moments of my life until a week later, when despite my devoted lobbying in favour of Emily – something that only seemed to win me more votes – I was named as class captain, and I realised that that was the worst moment of my life. My relationship with Emily would never be quite the same again.
The hard expression on Emily’s face passes as quickly as it had arrived.
‘What are you thinking about?’ I ask as I clear away the cocoa mugs and wipe up the milk spills I’ve made.
‘I was thinking about Chloe,’ she replies. I’m ready for bed, but Emily looks firmly settled back at the island unit, ready to talk. ‘About her – and her mother – and how strange it is that Avril suddenly turned up like this.’
‘What do you mean, Ems?’ I return to my stool, slide in to sit across from her.
‘Well, it would be natural enough for a teenage girl to want to know more about her real mother, wouldn’t it? And it’s not hard to find information online these days – what if she started searching for information about Avril and discovered she was still alive? What if Avril’s letter to James was in response to Chloe first having made contact with her?’
I shake my head. ‘No, Ems, she would have said something. Imagine if you’d discovered your mum wasn’t dead after all – it would be impossible to keep that secret! She would’ve been demanding answers from James, not looking for Avril secretly.’
Emily looks set on her theory. ‘I’m not so sure, Jess. She can be deceitful, that one – you don’t know her the way I do. She’s been in a real state since this all happened, behaving just like someone with an awful secret.’
‘Of course she’s in a state! Her baby sister’s been taken!’ I’m trying to keep the lightness in my tone.
Emily leans in, lowering her voice. ‘All those lies about her boyfriend,’ she whispers, ‘and about where she was on New Year’s Eve – we believed her then, didn’t we, and it all turned out to be untrue. She’s a convincing liar. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it was Chloe who first caused Avril to contact James – who gave her our address.’ Her tone is excited, and it seems that the more she talks about this, the more she is wedded to the idea. ‘I’m not saying she meant for this to happen – of course she wouldn’t have planned it this way – but it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that Chloe may have made the first contact.’
I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. Chloe? I know Emily doesn’t believe it any more than I do. She’s doing what she always does when she’s cornered, when the guilt is spilling out of her; she’s deflecting the blame. ‘There’s no way Chloe’s behind it,’ I tell her.
‘We’ll see,’ Emily replies. ‘I know you want to think the best of her, Jess. But you were wrong about James keeping secrets – and I think you’re probably wrong about his precious daughter too.’