The Grip Lit Collection: The Sisters, Mother, Mother and Dark Rooms. Koren Zailckas

favour by going to his car and closing the boot. I haven’t got keys, but at least if I close the boot nobody will know that the car isn’t locked.

      ‘Okay,’ I say.

      ‘Go, go, go,’ she says, sounding like a sergeant major. I run down the stairs and into the street, looking both ways to make sure nobody is watching me before daring to approach his car, mobile still to my ear. ‘Are you there?’ she says. ‘Are you at the car?’

      ‘Yes.’ I ping the windscreen wipers back against the windscreen and walk around to the boot.

      ‘You have to have a good look inside the car, for clues,’ barks Nia, channelling her inner Miss Marple.

      ‘For goodness’ sake, Nia,’ I snap. This is wrong, snooping around his car. I don’t want to think badly of Ben, I love him and I can’t bear the thought that he might be lying to me, that he would rather let me think I’m going crazy than tell me the truth.

      Nia, sensing my ambivalence, says quietly, ‘I can imagine this is horrible for you, Abi. But something isn’t right here. And you know it.’

      ‘Jodie thinks so,’ I admit, tears springing to my eyes. I fill her in on what Jodie told me.

      ‘He’s hiding something, they both are.’

      I nod, although I know Nia can’t see me. A tear drips down my face and I tell her I will call her back soon. She’s disappointed, but makes me promise to call if I find anything out that explains Ben’s strange behaviour. I assure her I will.

      ‘And, Abi …’ She pauses, as if debating whether to be honest with me.

      ‘What is it? You can tell me, Nia. You’re the only one I trust at this moment.’ It’s not until I say it that it hits me how true it is.

      ‘Okay. When I came to stay with you last month, I thought something seemed off with the two of them. I couldn’t put my finger on it, I still can’t. I know you were worried about Beatrice … but there was something about Ben …’ she hesitates. ‘I can’t put my finger on it. But it was enough to make me concerned about leaving you with them. Please be careful.’ Her words unnerve me, but I tell her that I’m fine and end the call. My fingers are trembling as I place my mobile in the back pocket of my jeans. I poke my head over the parcel shelf to see into the main body of the car, but it’s remarkably tidy. Ben’s neatness almost borders on OCD, he won’t even let me eat in the car. What was I hoping to find?

      And I realize then that I have no choice but to trust him. I’m sure he will tell me what’s going on when he gets back, there must be a simple explanation for it all. There has to be. Because I can’t bear the thought of losing Ben, he’s been my life raft these last few months, keeping me afloat. He’s the reason I can get up in the morning, that I can face the day without Lucy. I can’t bear to think about what it means for us, for me, if he’s been lying.

      I’m reaching up to close the boot when I notice something out of the corner of my eye. At first I think it’s a speck of flint, or fabric poking out from under the matting where the spare wheel is kept, but on further inspection I can see that it is pink and paper-thin, contrasting sharply with the black interior. I give it a tug. It’s stiff like the corner of a piece of paper. Blood rushes to my head as I feel desperately around for the latch, but before I even manage to wrench it open I have an idea of what it is. But I still gasp in shock. I still stumble backwards as if I’ve been punched. Because nestled on top of the spare wheel, lifting and falling gently in the breeze, are three pink envelopes, dog-eared with age, my name and university address scribbled on them in Lucy’s familiar scrawl. And next to them, curled up in the spare wheel is a silver bracelet, its rich blue sapphires glinting in the late afternoon sun.

       Chapter Twenty-Eight

      There is a chill in the air as Beatrice steps off the bus. The sun is hiding behind a large ash-grey cloud, taking with it the little warmth that is left of the day. She wraps her chunky knitted cardigan around her body, a burst of wind whipping at the silk of her tea-dress so that her bare knees are exposed, her toes retracting in her pumps. She falters at the estate agent’s window to peruse the flats available to rent. Why does she continue to do this, to torture herself?

      He’s leaving me. He’s really leaving me.

      It’s been days since he told her, but only now is she beginning to believe it. She’s lost him, the last of her family. The one thing she has dreaded for years is actually happening, and as the realization dawns on her, something unexpected shifts inside her. Relief. She has been so desperate to cling on to him, terrified of losing him, but now she’s experiencing a certain kind of freedom that she hasn’t felt in years.