Mirrorland, Carole Johnstone [spiritual books to read .txt] 📗

I won’t protest my innocence and El’s guilt. It never does any good.

Anna doesn’t say anything more until I’m handing over my money, and then she reaches out to close cool fingers around my wrist.

‘El had them too.’

‘What?’ I try to pull out of her grip, but it’s surprisingly strong.

A nod to my arm and outstretched hand. The bruise is already a couple of days old and doesn’t hurt at all, but it makes me think about the tiny chains of finger bruises all along my forearms; makes me flush when I remember how I got them. Pushed up against the Smeg fridge-freezer, Ross’s breath moving hot along the inside of my thigh as he pinned my arms behind me: Don’t move, don’t move.

‘Let go of me,’ I say, in a voice so cold I’m nearly impressed with myself.

But she doesn’t. Instead she tightens her fingers, pulls me closer. Her expression softens, becomes almost beseeching. ‘I meant it when I said she wouldn’t want you to be here, Cat. You should go.’

I wrench my arm free. ‘I don’t know what she told you,’ I say, rubbing my wrist, turning away. My face is burning. Two pensioners are eyeing us like we’re opponents in a Wimbledon final. ‘I don’t want to know what she told you. She lies, Anna. That’s all she does. I’m fine. And she’s fine.’

I snatch up my bag and practically run out the door, desperate to escape into the cold fresh air. I barge headfirst into Marie. She’s wearing a beautiful headscarf the same sapphire blue as the Smeg fridge-freezer, and my skin grows hotter, pricklier.

‘There is news?’ She looks panicked, out of breath. I wonder if she was watching me from her window and that’s why she’s here.

I slow my breathing, make myself calm down. ‘No. No news.’ Which isn’t entirely true. I think of Rafiq and Logan’s last visit, its poor prognosis. I think of all the wild sex I’ve been having with my missing sister’s husband.

‘I saw the police parked outside a few days ago.’ The scarred skin on her face is more visible today. It looks like a burn. Her frown deepens, and she steps forwards into my space. ‘She is my friend, Catriona.’

I don’t step back. ‘Were you the one who reported seeing someone suspicious outside the house?’

‘What?’

‘The police, they said a resident from your terrace reported seeing someone loitering outside the house on the day of El’s disappearance. I just wondered if you’d seen anything?’

‘Non,’ she says. ‘I didn’t see anything.’ But something changes in her eyes.

‘Did you know she was getting threatening cards?’

‘Oui. She told us about them.’

‘Did she say she knew or suspected who they were from?’

‘Why do you ask, Catriona?’ She’s suddenly very still. ‘You don’t think whatever has happened to her is an accident?’

I glance back through the window at Anna. She’s pretending not to look at us as she serves one of the pensioners.

‘No.’ Which is the truth, inasmuch as I don’t believe any of this is an accident at all.

‘She was scared,’ Marie finally says. She follows my gaze to Anna, and then turns back to me. ‘She tried to hide it from us at first. But she was very scared.’

I snort without meaning to, and Marie’s expression tightens.

‘I always thought, how sad and strange that sœurs jumelles should never speak. She said you hated her.’

‘I hated her? For fuck’s sake—’ But it’s too late. Even if you stuff a jack back inside his box, everyone still knows what he looks like. And there are only so many times that I can bite my tongue, can bear blame for what she has done. ‘El hated me. And she kept on hating me until I left. Do you understand? This was my home too.’ And I don’t know if I’m referring to the country, the city, or the house, or all three. Maybe even Mirrorland, or Ross, or what it was to be a sister, a Mirror Twin. ‘She took it away. She made me leave. It was her.’

‘Some of my friends come from places, countries, that are nothing like this one,’ Marie says, as if I haven’t spoken at all. ‘And they have nothing. Sometimes – often – people are afraid of those who have nothing. Your sister wasn’t.’

I want to snort again, but don’t. There’s a hot weight inside my chest.

‘On sunny days, she used to take my friends down to the Links or the sea, and she’d show them how to draw, how to paint.’ She refocuses on me again, and I know it’s because she’s comparing us. That’s what people always do, as though character traits must be divvied up between us. ‘She’d show them how to be free.’

I don’t trust myself to reply. I’m angry. I feel wronged, persecuted, unbelieved. It’s a feeling I haven’t had for many, many years, and I’ve forgotten how much it hurts. I’m appalled to realise that I’m trembling.

‘Maybe Ellice was right.’ The darkness comes back into Marie’s eyes, like a shutter over a window. ‘She said you never listen. You never learn.’

I bristle. The rage inside me physically hurts. ‘Ross said he didn’t know you,’ I say. Too loud. Too defensive. ‘Her very good friend – and he said he didn’t have a clue who you were.’

She pulls her scarred fingers into fists. ‘He told me to stay away from her.’ The look she gives me is withering. ‘He threatened me.’

When I say nothing, she shakes her head, turns on her heel, and marches back towards the road and her house. And then she stops. Looks back over her shoulder. ‘Ask him about that.’

*

13 April 2018 at 11:31

Inbox

john.smith120594@gmail.com

Re: HE KNOWS

To: Me

CLUE 6. EL CAN STILL SEE YOU

Sent from my iPhone

*

I’ve stormed around most of the house, snatching up photos of El to look behind them before I remember the self-portrait in the Princess Tower. I march to the white-painted cupboard and pull open its door. Try very hard not to waver when El glares back