‘Peridot,’ she says watching my reaction. ‘The birthstone for a Leo.’
‘I always thought my birthstone was a ruby.’ I’m amazed at her thoughtfulness. I gently touch the bracelet, then slide it on my wrist. It’s a perfect fit.
‘Not for an August-born Leo. I’ve done my research. Do you like it?’ And by the childlike eagerness in her voice I realize that it’s important to her that I do and it confuses me. What’s going on? Is this another of her tricks to play with my mind?
‘I love it,’ I say, trying to sound normal. Deep down I am touched, but I don’t trust her motives. Not any more. She smiles in answer then gets up and empties her dirty plate.
‘Oh, don’t forget this—’ She hands me a tiny envelope that’s next to the vase. ‘It came with the flowers. Don’t you want to know who they’re from?’
I take it from her and slide the card from the envelope, frowning as I read the words. They’re so unexpected, so shocking, that the ink swims in front of my eyes. And I cry out, the card falling from my hand and on to the stone tiles, only semi-aware that Ben is picking it up, that the others are all watching my reaction as he reads out the card.
Happy Birthday, Abi. Have a great thirtieth. Wish I could be with you.
Love Lucy xx
There is a deathly silence as they all digest what’s been written, as the realization dawns on them that I’ve been sent flowers by my dead twin sister.
I can barely breathe. Beatrice breaks the silence first. ‘Could she … could she have ordered them before she died?’
‘Of course not,’ I moan, covering my face with my hands, fighting the urge to vomit my recently ingested breakfast. ‘How would she have known I’d be living here? Anyway, there’s no way Lucy would have been that organized. She died nearly two years ago.’
Ben massages my shoulders comfortingly. ‘It’s okay, Abi. It’s someone’s sick idea of a prank.’
‘And the photograph.’ I grab it from the table and wave it at Cass’s startled face. ‘This is identical to the one I found in my bedroom.’ I explain about the scratched-off face, but they all gawp at me as if I’m making the whole thing up.
‘You’re upset, understandably,’ says Beatrice. ‘I’ll get rid of the flowers.’ I can hear her footsteps behind me, hear the squelch as the flowers are lifted out of the vase, the gurgle of water sluicing through the plughole, the wet stems dripping on to the cold tiles. She says she will put them in the recycling box and her voice is brisk, conciliatory, helpful. I turn to see Cass and Pam hovering by the stairs, unsure of what to do or say. They hurry out of the room after Beatrice as she holds the dripping flowers away from her as if they are poisoned.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Ben sinks into Beatrice’s recently vacated seat. ‘Please don’t let it ruin your birthday.’
I shake my head. ‘Can’t you see?’ I groan. ‘Someone is out to get me.’ I’m aware of how paranoid I sound.
He takes my hand and kisses it in answer. ‘That’s not true.’
‘Then how do you explain all this?’ I wail. ‘It’s got to be someone from Bath,’ I say, ripping up the photograph that Cass had given me for my birthday. It’s a reminder of all the horrible things that have happened since I’ve moved in. From the corner of my eye I can see Ben staring at me in shock, but he doesn’t say anything. ‘Nobody from my old life, apart from Nia, knows this address.’
He raises an eyebrow.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I snap. ‘I’ve known Nia since I was eighteen.’
‘What about Callum?’
I pull my hand from his. ‘Callum would never do this.’ I think of Luke and I discount him quickly. As much as he might hate me for the accident, he would never stoop this low or use Lucy to get at me. It’s got to be someone who never knew her. Someone who lives in this house.
‘Where did the flowers come from? Which shop?’
Ben’s head shoots up. He reaches for the card that he slung on the table. ‘It doesn’t say. And neither does the envelope.’
I think of Beatrice, standing by the front door this morning with the flowers already in her arms. I never saw a delivery person. She could have rung the doorbell herself and waited in the hallway for me to come down. I close my eyes, biting my lip so that I draw blood. I thought we had a truce. Surely Beatrice wouldn’t be that cruel?
I remind myself that I hardly know Beatrice at all.
I try not to let it ruin the rest of my birthday, telling myself it’s exactly what the culprit would want. But I watch Beatrice carefully, noting she’s chirpier than she has been in weeks as she bustles around the house, singing under her breath. I want to believe it’s because we’ve put our differences behind us and not some other, more disturbing reason.
I’m in my room packing a small overnight bag when Nia calls to wish me happy birthday. I can hear the echo of a tannoy announcer in the background and Nia explains she’s at the train station. When I enquire as to her whereabouts she manages to avoid the question, instead asking about my plans and I tell her about Ben’s birthday surprise, that I’m hoping the hotel will be in Lyme Regis as I’ve never been. I decide to keep quiet about how we’re unable to spend nights together because he doesn’t want to be ‘disrespectful to Beatrice’s house rules’ – words which irk me because they remind me how much of a control freak and how possessive his sister is. For reasons that aren’t clear even to me, I find that I don’t tell her about the flowers or the photograph.
‘You’re going away tonight?’ She sounds puzzled.
‘Well, hopefully this afternoon, although Ben hasn’t said.’
‘It’s, well …’ She falls silent and for a minute I think we’ve been cut off, but her voice comes back on the line, faint and indistinct, telling me she hopes I have a lovely time, that she will come and visit soon. The phone goes dead, making me wonder why she’s acting so mysteriously.
By mid-morning Ben still hasn’t revealed where he’s taking me. I tell him I’m going to my parents’ for lunch. He seems relieved that I’m going out, ushering me to the door, telling me not to come back before teatime. The hours I spend with my parents are long, excruciating as we all do our best to pretend we haven’t noticed Lucy’s absence, that only one of us is turning thirty today. We sit around chatting, with plates of birthday cake on our laps that none of us have got the stomach for. By teatime I tell them I need to get back as Ben is taking me to Lyme Regis.
‘When are we going to meet this new boyfriend of yours?’ says Mum as she hugs me goodbye. I laugh and tell her soon, and I put my arms around her, surprised as always by her thin frame, by how tiny she has become since Lucy died, and I’m worried that if I hug her too hard I will crush her.
As I arrive back at Beatrice’s house, the sun disappears and I pause, my hand on the wrought-iron gate, and turn my face up to the greying skies, closing my eyes as I remember those birthday parties in the rain, and I sense it – exactly as I did that day in the car on the Isle of Wight – that she’s with me, and as the first drops of rain fall, I take it as a sign that she’s acknowledging those wet parties of our childhood. ‘Happy Birthday, Luce,’ I whisper.
‘Abi?’ I open my eyes to see Ben standing in the doorway, frowning. ‘What are you doing? It’s pissing down.’ It’s then I notice the balloons bobbing, like decapitated heads, tied to the gate, the daisy-shaped fairy lights above the front door, the lanterns in the garden lighting the pathway. I tentatively push open the gate, brushing past the balloons with Happy 30th printed all over them, and I’m suddenly cold to the bone. The romantic night I envisioned with Ben in Lyme Regis fades before my eyes.
‘We’re