Beatrice hardly ever allows herself to think of that time; it was thirteen years ago now and so much has happened since, so much wasted time, so many regrets. Her heart was broken and she had no choice but to leave, not only the university but the country as well. A few years later she heard through Laila that he had a new girlfriend, and it was as if her heart was being ripped out of her chest all over again.
She jumps as the front door bangs, bringing with it hushed voices, a giggle that echoes around the house. Beatrice rushes out into the hallway to see Ben with his arms around Abi’s waist. Their hair is wet and plastered to their heads, Abi’s hanging in cute tendrils, a limp umbrella dripping water falls from her hand and on to the doormat. She’s looking up at Ben with her beautiful open face and Beatrice is surprised to see her expression is full of adoration. She never expected Abi to fall for him, not this quickly. They are both laughing and the sight of them together brings back unwanted memories. Memories that she tries hard to keep buried. She only wishes she could find someone to fall in love with and then the past could be erased as easily as a pencil drawing.
‘All right, Bea.’ Ben flashes her his lopsided smile, but Abi doesn’t even glance in her direction. Standing by the old school radiator, Beatrice is suddenly awkward in her own home. There’s something different about Abi tonight, she realizes, an aloofness that wasn’t evident in her persona before. It’s true that Abi has always been slightly jittery, with a shyness, a vulnerability that endeared her to Beatrice, but she was always so eager to please, so polite. When Abi told her, that day in her bedroom, that she reminded her of Lucy, she had been flattered, had felt that maybe this was the beginning of a long friendship that both of them so obviously needed.
‘Have you had a good night?’ she says in an effort to stem her jealousy. It’s not their fault that she’s single.
‘Yes, thanks,’ replies Abi shortly, still looking up at Ben, her arms encircling his waist. Beatrice is taken aback by her abruptness. Was it all an act, Abi, your eagerness to be my friend? Was it only so you could get into my brother’s pants? Perhaps Ben’s told her about yesterday, how upset she became in the park when she thought they were sleeping together. Would he be so disloyal? It wasn’t the fact he was sleeping with Abi that had bothered her so much. Not really. She just doesn’t want them to get too serious. Even she can see it’s going too fast, that one of them is going to end up getting hurt, and Abi is so vulnerable. Putting a halt to their intimacy might slow things down, give each of them a chance to get some perspective on their relationship. Sex gets in the way. It’s easier when you take it out of the equation, she thinks.
Abi uncoils herself from Ben and, clutching his hand, leads him up the stairs. ‘Goodnight, Beatrice,’ she calls over her shoulder, and there is something about the way she says it, the way she leads her brother up the stairs, that makes Beatrice think that she’s taunting her, letting her know that she won’t let Beatrice win.
It’s not a fucking game, Abi. This is my life.
Ben has a stupid lovestruck grin on his face as he follows Abi up the stone staircase. Beatrice knows she must look like a disapproving landlady, standing at the bottom, wrapped in her thick woolly cardigan, arms folded across her chest, but surely Ben wouldn’t go against her wishes? Surely he wouldn’t be so cruel as to still have sex with Abi after everything she said yesterday? Not when he knows she has the ability to pull the plug on it all.
Beatrice sighs and flicks the switch to turn the light off in the studio. She must trust that Ben will do the right thing. She can’t keep tabs on him as if she’s his overprotective mother.
Her eyes pause on the velvet box on her desk, and she makes a mental note not to forget to post it to her client first thing. Another giggle emanates from the landing, causing her to forget all about the bracelet, and, closing the door on it, she follows her brother and his girlfriend up the stairs.
She’s trapped on the top floor of the house, banging on the attic window and I know she’s screaming although the sound is muffled by the glass, by the flames roaring around her. Her eyes are huge, terrified, and I run towards the house, trying to break down the front door, ignoring the fire licking the paint and causing it to warp, but the smoke knocks me back and I’m crying, exhausted, and she’s getting smaller and smaller so that I can hardly see her. She’s vanishing in front of my very eyes, and before I know it Callum’s grabbing me around the waist, pulling me away from Beatrice’s house, telling me there is nothing I can do.
‘She’s gone, Abi. She’s gone. You have to let her go.’
‘But I can’t,’ I scream, and I carry on screaming until my blood runs cold and my throat hurts. Suddenly Luke’s face is in front of mine, his usual good-looking features contorted with anger so that he’s ugly, scary, and he’s turning on me, telling me it’s all my fault. The house disappears and instead my old Audi is on its side in the ditch and Lucy’s in Luke’s arms and he’s cradling her, crying, as he did that terrible, terrible night. And then it’s not Lucy’s face that stares up at me any more with her eyes open, unseeing. It’s Beatrice’s.
I awake with a start, my pillow wet with sweat, the sheets damp and twisted in knots at my feet, the duvet a heap on the floor. My heart bangs against my ribs as I sit up in bed, gasping for air. How I wish Ben was lying next to me, to soothe me, to remind me it was only a nightmare. It was only a nightmare, I tell myself as my heart slows, knowing that the events in my dreams might be different every time, but the outcome is always the same. As is the reality.
My twin sister is dead, Luke hates me and I will always blame myself. I will never be able to let Lucy go.
I’m rounding the stairs that lead to the basement kitchen when their raised voices stop me in my tracks. ‘It’s gone. It was on my desk last night and this morning it’s vanished,’ says Beatrice.
‘Are you suggesting that someone has stolen it?’ Ben’s voice is unusually acerbic, his Scottish accent more pronounced. I’ve never heard them argue before and my heart skitters.
‘It was there last night,’ she repeats, her voice rising. ‘That’s all I’m saying. And now it isn’t.’
‘Maybe you put it somewhere else?’
‘Why would I do that?’ Her voice is clipped, cold.
I hover on the stairs, not sure whether to retreat or to continue into the kitchen. Hidden by the curved wall, I try to imagine the expressions on their faces.
‘I don’t know, Beatrice. But don’t go accusing people until you’re sure.’
‘Accusing people? Who have I fucking accused, Ben? Nobody.’
His voice is calm as he answers. ‘You say it’s gone missing and your tone is accusatory. So come on, who do you think has taken it?’
I freeze, waiting. Her voice, with its hint of a Scottish accent but so much softer than Ben’s, is barely audible over the whirl of the washing machine. ‘Cass was in London last night and Pam was at her boyfriend’s house. So there’s only one person who could have taken it, unless of course you were with her all night? Were you? Were you with her all night, Ben?’
She means me.
Blood rushes to my head, making me dizzy so that