The Forgotten Sister Page 9

‘They did, did they?’

  Grace knew that it was best to retreat. ‘Okay. Well, I said I’d mention it, that’s all. If you really don’t want us to get involved, we won’t.’ She scooped up a pile of ironing and left it at that.

  Except that she didn’t. Steph’s request clung to her, whispering in her ear every time she looked at Cassie. The call had resuscitated Leah as a living, breathing, hurting human being and, as much as Grace wanted to recommit her to a disregarded corner of her mind, she couldn’t. So she raised it again with Tom, appealing to his kindness and his desire to placate her. And, after lot more discussion, he finally agreed to her writing a brief update on how Cassie was doing. She knew Tom had little faith that a letter would make any difference, and perhaps it wouldn’t, but deep down Grace believed it was important that they write one; if not for Leah, then for Cassie. It was true that Cassie was theirs now, legally and emotionally, and nothing was ever going to change that, but she wasn’t going to be small child for ever. At some point they’d have to tell her about her adoption and explain, and defend, the decisions they’d made on her behalf.

  Grace sipped her coffee. Going over everything in her mind was just another form of procrastination. The page was still blank. She straightened her spine, put down her mug and started typing. She was still at it an hour later, when a thud upstairs alerted her to the end of Cassie’s nap.

  Tom read the letter swiftly, put it down quickly, then spoke slowly. ‘Yeah. It’s very good.’ He picked up the piece of paper again and reread it, his eyes drawn to the descriptions of Cassie. Grace had captured her so well.

  Grace waited, feeling defensive. ‘There’s a “but”?’

  Tom stared past her at the dishes spread across the counter tops. ‘I’m not sure that it’s quite right.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Grace sat down, blocking his view.

  ‘It’s very well written. It must have taken you ages. I just don’t think we should give so much away. I feel really uncomfortable letting Leah know so much about us.’ He pushed the paper around on the table top, wishing he could loosen the words from the page.

  ‘I was trying to give her sense of how well she’s doing.’ To her own ears, Grace sounded prickly.

  ‘And you have. It’s very…real, but I think it’s too detailed. It’s too identifiably…Cassie.’

  ‘Isn’t that the whole point of it?’

  Tom put the paper down and looked at her properly. ‘No, not really. All we have to do is tell her the basics. We’re not doing this to encourage her, are we?’ Grace took it as a rhetorical question and kept silent. Tom stroked the top of his hand, rubbing his fingers across the veins. ‘To be honest, I’d be happy if we never heard from Leah, or about her, ever again. I’m sorry if that’s brutal, but I can’t see how them having any contact is ever going to be anything other than bad – for Cassie, and for us. It would be too disruptive.’ He paused as if waiting for Grace to object. She said nothing. ‘So, no; I’m sorry, but I’m not happy for us to send it, not as it is.’

  ‘I see,’ Grace said.

  Tom was uncertain of her mood. ‘Cassie is ours now. Our job is to protect her, and I think keeping her as far away from her past as possible is part of that. It’s the best way of ensuring she grows up safe and happy.’

  ‘You really think we have that right?’ Grace asked him.

  Tom continued to meet her gaze. ‘Yes, I do. We’re her parents.’ The letter lay on the table between them. Eventually Grace drew it towards her and folded it in half, very precisely. Tom watched her walk out of the room, nervous of her silence.

  As she stood in front of the bathroom mirror brushing her teeth, Grace reflected on Tom’s rejection of her painstakingly composed letter, trying to weigh up their rights against Leah’s – their healthy, wholehearted version of love pitted against Leah’s damaged, broken variety. It was an unequal equation that, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get to balance.

  Two days later Grace posted the letter as she and Cassie walked to the shops.

  Tom didn’t ask to see the new draft, and Grace didn’t offer to show it to him.

  Grace believed the letters were acts of atonement.

  Tom that they were acts of absolution.

  They were both wrong.

  Grace moved the cursor away from the ‘Leah Letters’ folder and clicked on the ‘Correspondence’ file instead. She began searching for a contact number for the Adoption Agency. Steph would, no doubt, be long gone, but there would be someone there who would be able to help. Cassie was asking for the truth, and they were going to have to come up with some answers, whether they wanted to or not.

  Chapter 14

  IN THE face of all the upheaval in her soul and at home, Cassie turned to Ryan. Only when she was pressed against him did the confusing roar inside her head quieten down.

  Ryan was surprised and delighted by Cassie’s renewed interest in him, and was simple enough to think it was the car that was making the difference. The rules of engagement seemed to have changed – a lot – since he’d got it. Cassie was more willing to let things go further, and for longer. He was getting handfuls of her now, rather than fingertip touches. He reckoned it couldn’t be long before she had sex with him. His penis twitched at the thought of it as he watched her work, swishing in and out of the serving area. She was the best-looking waitress by far; the other girls looked ordinary by comparison. He was definitely batting above his average. Ryan got nothing from Cassie each time she came back round to pick up another order, not even a glance, but that didn’t bother him. She’d be his after the shift.

  They’d found a tiny car park near some allotments, just round the corner from the hotel, that worked really well. It was so much better than having to schlep all the way to the top of the park, simply to cop a feel. There were no houses nearby and no one ever seemed to be around, especially once it got dark. Ryan glanced at the clock and smiled. He turned his attention back to his station, flipping over his steaks with panache; only an hour or so to go.

  When the evening shift finally ended, he drove them straight to the allotments. He parked the car in the space furthest away from the street lamp, unclicked his seatbelt and reached across to stroke Cassie’s face. He wasn’t a complete trog, he knew that she liked being coaxed and edged towards it. He was a bit put out when she didn’t respond, but he chose to ignore her initial frostiness. And when he got out of the car and climbed into the back seat, she joined him without any argument. He moved across and put his arm round her, going in for a kiss.

  They started slowly, eyes closed, blocking out anything other than each other. Ryan lost himself in the taste and smell of her. Cassie responded, and it went from there. For how long he couldn’t say. He wasn’t aware of anything, other than how good she felt and how good she was going to feel, until suddenly she was pushing against his chest. He ignored it for one beat, maybe two at most. It was part of the game – her resisting, then relenting – but this time she kept pushing, hard, the heel of her hand growing more solid and insistent against him. The pressure brought Ryan to his senses. He became aware that she was twisting her face away from him. It took another second or two for him to register that Cassie was crying.

  He stopped and climbed awkwardly off her. ‘Hey.’ She pushed herself upright and pulled her top down, all the while gulping down tears. In the fug of his confusion, Ryan sat limply next to her, like a stupid prick, which was precisely what he was. Cassie kept crying, not prettily, but with big, messy sobs. Ryan zipped up his jeans, in discomfort and dismay. What the fuck was wrong with her? She smeared tears across her face with her hand, wrecking her make-up, still refusing to meet his eye. Finally he was able to say, ‘What’s wrong? I thought you were okay.’ She shook her head. Well, you could have fooled him. He wished she’d stop with the crying. It was beginning to make him feel bad. Had he got it wrong? How the hell was he supposed to know? She sent him so many conflicting bloody signals!

  At last she spoke, her voice all clo
ggy with tears. ‘I shouldn’t have come tonight. I’m just not in the mood.’ She lifted up the hem of her top, revealing a smooth, taut flash of skin, and wiped her face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  He put his arm round her. ‘Hey, it’s okay. It is – really, it’s okay.’ He patted her. ‘Are you okay now?’

  Given that she’d stopped crying and he’d stopped trying to get into her pants, he expected her to say ‘yes’. She didn’t. Instead she started gushing words, stuff about her family and her mum, and about being adopted, which was news to Ryan. Not that it bothered him who her parents were. And there was a lot of other stuff, about drugs and being neglected, and how she was having some really weird dreams about being a baby; something about someone cuddling her and singing nursery rhymes to her and, he could have sworn, something about Justin Timberlake?

  Ryan kept his opinions to himself, but in his experience, dreams didn’t make sense; that was the point of them. His dreams were full of scary shit – falling off cliffs, zombies with worms pouring out of their mouths, turning up to work stark-bollock-naked – more nightmares than dreams really. The sound of Cassie’s distress reminded him that he was supposed to be listening to her. So he did, but it didn’t help him make sense of what she was saying.

  Eventually the words dried up and they sat in silence, with Ryan trying his best to make her feel better. This consisted of him telling Cassie how lovely she was, despite the mascara streaked all over her face and her top. It was true. Even in the dim, stuffy confines of the car, with her features smudgy with sadness, she was still hot. Ryan stroked her shoulder, running his fingers a little further down her bare arm each time, and she leant into him. It felt good to be the one protecting her. He liked that she was relying on him, for a change. She was normally so bloody independent, and bolshie. His fingertips slid further down her arm, feeling her softness. It was so different from his roughness. He could feel the tiny hairs on the surface of her skin under his fingertips. His cock stiffened. The thought of covering her completely with his body, shielding her from everything that might hurt her, made him hard.

  ‘I want to go home.’ Her voice filled the car, clear and strong, Cassie-like once again. He jumped, jerking his body away from hers, but it was too late. She stared at him. ‘Now! Ryan.’

  Busted.

  ‘Wait, Cassie, I didn’t mean—’ He didn’t get to finish his sentence because, in the blink of an eye, she yanked open her door and climbed out. He thought she was joking, making her point, but no, she slammed the door and started walking away – long, quick strides. Still Ryan sat there, expecting her to stop and turn round. But no, she kept going, away into the night. Shit, she was pig-headed. He scrambled out of the car and shouted, ‘Don’t be stupid, Cassie. Wait. I’ll give you a lift home.’

  She didn’t even break stride. She was now merely a shape fading away into the darkness.

  Ryan scrambled back into the driver’s seat, fired up the engine and set off after her. He was alongside her in seconds, but she didn’t even glance in his direction, just kept walking, forcing him to slow to a crawl. ‘Cassie!’ Nothing. ‘Cassie. Don’t be so fucking ridiculous. Get in.’ She ignored him. Christ, she was annoying. He must have lost concentration, because there was a sudden horrible scraping noise, his wheel trim grating against the kerb. Fuck her. Let her walk home on her own. It would do her good. He put his foot down. She was such a pain in the arse.

  And yet he couldn’t just drive away. He checked in his rear-view mirror.

  There she was, head held high, walking along the unlit road, not bothered in the slightest that it was dark and late. There wasn’t a soul around, and the bushes from the allotments spilled out over the pavement, creating a weird kind of tunnel that shifted and shivered in the wind. It all added nicely to the slasher-movie vibe. It was, actually, the perfect place to jump someone – especially some fucking irritating girl, who hadn’t even the presence of mind to get her phone out and put her torch on.

  Ryan slowed and watched Cassie, feeling furious and protective in equal measure. Suddenly he became conscious that there was another soul around. There was a figure further back up the road, walking a few metres behind Cassie. The figure was too far away to see clearly, too far away to pose any kind of threat, but close enough to make Ryan sit up and concentrate.

  At the junction with the main road he stopped the car.

  He watched Cassie in his mirror as she walked towards the lit street – back to civilisation and safety. The figure kept coming as well, not gaining on her, but not turning off, either. Still Ryan waited, wanting – despite his all-round pissed-offness – to check that Cassie was okay, before he left her to her own stubborn devices. She came alongside the car, studiously refused to acknowledge his presence and turned right towards the High Street.

  Sod her! Ryan indicated left. He had to wait as a couple of cars came past, but even after they’d gone he hesitated, wanting to be absolutely certain Cassie was safe.

  His last view was of the figure, crossing over the road and taking a left at the junction, slouching away, hands in pockets, head down, walking in the opposite direction to Cassie.

  Not a threat after all.

  Just a woman in jeans and a hoodie.

  *

  So Cassidie was no better than anyone else. That was a surprise and, if Leah was honest, a bit of a disappointment. You’d have thought she’d have turned out better. Surely that was the whole point of adoption: taking bad kids and turning them into good people.

  She’d followed them from the hotel after their shift finished. At first she thought she was going lose them, because she was on foot – she hadn’t factored in the boyfriend’s car – but, as luck would have it, they only drove round the corner into a car park near some allotments. No other cars around. No houses. No people. No risk of being seen. It was almost as if the lad was helping her – though, in truth, he was just helping himself.

  She shifted from foot to foot and watched as the windows of the car steamed up.

  Giving it out in the back of cars. Not classy, Cassidie. Not classy at all.

  And the lad with the Golf wasn’t the only one sniffing around Cassidie. There was also the posh-looking twat of a waiter who worked with her at the hotel. The waiter had proved to be another inadvertent little helper. His addiction to selfies and his lack of privacy settings had been very helpful. It was amazing what you could find out about people, without having to leave your bedroom, once you had a name and a face. His feed had been very useful; lots of photos, including a few taken at the hotel, his arm slung round Cassidie. She really was in demand!

  Cassidie.

  Smiling. Healthy. Beautiful. Tall. Strong. White teeth and glowing skin. A grown-up face with the same halo of hair. A stranger who was unnervingly familiar. The photos of Cassidie had made Leah feel…well, just feel. And that was a rare sensation, rare and strong enough to drag her all this way and make her go to all this trouble.

  The car door suddenly opened and the light pinged on.

  Leah stepped back into the dark space created by the overhanging trees, making sure she couldn’t be seen. But she needn’t have worried. Cassidie was in no mood for taking in her surroundings. She slammed the door with a thwack and stormed off.

  A ruck. At least it showed that Cassidie had a backbone. And a quite stunning level of stupidity – making herself so vulnerable. It was a quiet, lonely, out-of-the-way spot. Not well lit. Not overlooked. Not the type of place to go waltzing off on your own. Which was precisely what Cassidie was doing: walking away into the darkness with her big, definite, there’s no way I’m coming back and apologising to you, you useless piece of shit strides.

  Leah counted slowly to five, then followed her, at a ‘safe’ distance.

  The lad was persistent. He didn’t give up without a fight. He drove slowly alongside Cassidie, trying to coax her back into the car, but she was having none of it. After a few minutes he gave up, obviously pissed off with her. He floored the accelera
tor and roared off.

  Now it was just the two of them, walking down the eerily quiet street, keeping pace. No footsteps. No heavy breathing. Nothing sinister. Simply two figures in the dark.

  Cassidie did not look round. She had no reason to. The lights of the main road drew closer and their time together dwindled. Soon they would be back where the real people lived.

  At the crossroads Cassidie turned right.

  Leah turned left.

  Chapter 15

  SHE WAS an idiot, thinking Ryan would have any answers, or even any interest in what was going on. She knew full well that he was only interested in one thing. She needed to talk to Erin, her little sister. She was the only one who would listen and understand.

  Erin was where she always was, in her room, standing at the big drawing easel that her dad had snaffled from his office for her. She put down her pencil and covered her work with a piece of paper when Cassie knocked at her door.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  Erin smiled. ‘Course. Work all right?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Ryan all right?’ Cassie shrugged. ‘So…what’s up?’

  ‘It’s this stuff about my adoption.’

  Erin moved away from her easel and sat, cross-legged, on her bed.

  Cassie came into the room, choosing to perch on the windowsill rather than sit too close. She was too agitated to settle. ‘What Mum and Dad said.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t square with what I’ve been…remembering.’

  Erin looked up, at that. ‘I thought you couldn’t remember much from when you were little.’

  Cassie rubbed her eyes and Erin noticed how tired her sister looked. ‘I didn’t, before. Now I am. It’s coming back to me in dribs and drabs.’

  Erin leant forward. ‘So what are you remembering? Bad stuff?’

  Cassie took a breath. ‘Well, no; some is, some isn’t. It’s all really jumbled up. It’s kinda upsetting, but some of my memories are okay. In them someone is being nice to me. And I don’t feel unhappy. Sometimes I almost feel…’ she looked down, feeling stupid saying it out loud, ‘loved – or at least looked after.’