Sister Sister(100)

‘Too fucking right I am!’

‘Which is exactly why you shouldn’t confront him now. Come and sit down. Have some more wine.’ Tom coaxes me over to the sofa and places my glass in my hand. ‘I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but I thought it was best coming from me.’

I nod and shake my head at the same time, trying to dismiss the image of Luke and Martha kissing. How could he do this to me? ‘Oh, God, Tom, what an awful mess everything is,’ I say at last. My shoulders sag as the energy seeps out of me. ‘I’m tired of all this. I don’t know how much more I can take.’

Tom puts his arm around me, careful not to squash my plastered arm. ‘It’s okay. I’m here for you. Always have been. Always will be.’ I rest my head on his shoulder. Even my neck seems to have lost the ability to hold my head up. ‘That’s it, just relax.’

We stay like that for several minutes as I take comfort in the warmth of his arms. ‘You’re a good friend,’ I mumble into his jumper.

‘Have you ever wondered about us?’ he says. ‘What would have happened between us if you hadn’t called it off?’

‘Oh, Tom. Let’s not go there,’ I say softly. ‘Too much water under the bridge since then.’

‘But have you never wondered?’

I sit up. ‘Not for a long time,’ I say.

Tom nods thoughtfully. After a moment, he leans forwards and picks up the wine bottle. ‘Ah, empty!’ He stands up. ‘I’ll go grab us another from the off-license across the road. Won’t be a minute.’

‘No, it’s okay, Tom. I shouldn’t really. I ought to go back. It was silly of me to run away like that. I need to face up to everything. I’ve got the police interviewing me tomorrow.’

But he isn’t listening and is out the door before I’ve even finished speaking. I pick up my glass and loll back into the sofa, momentarily forgetting about my bad arm. It jars and I jump with the sharpness of the pain, in the process spilling red wine down my top. ‘Oh, for goodness sake.’

I go into the kitchen and sponge the stain out as much as I can, resigning myself to the fact that the top is probably ruined. As I leave the kitchen, the screen saver of the laptop in the second bedroom catches my eye, as an image of James Bond marches across the screen and turns to fire his gun. I smile to myself. Typical Tom. He loves his computers and is such a geek at times. I’m sure he’d have made a great spy.

I wander into the room and tap the screen to have another look at the figures and spreadsheets Tom showed me earlier. It’s a hollow gesture as I know I still won’t be able to make any more sense of them. My head feels a bit fuzzy and I stumble slightly, my thigh knocking the chair, which, in turn, spins around and the arm catches the box of memory sticks. It falls to the floor, spilling the contents across the carpet.

‘Bugger!’ I kneel and collect them up. As I pick the last one up, the sticky label on the side catches my eye.

Martha Phone Call 0.2

I look at the others and they are labelled with Photos 0.1, 0.2 and 0.3. Work files A-L, Work files M-Z, Personal 0.1, 0.2.

I drop all of them into the box, except for the one marked with Martha’s name.

With a shaking hand, I slide the memory stick into the free USB.

I feel sick and I’m not sure if this is from nerves or from the wine.

The laptop gives a whir and the icon for disc drive F pops up. I click on it.

Surprisingly, there’s only one file. It’s an audio clip, which I recognise from the recorded telephone conversations I have on file at work. I press ‘play’ as the dizziness strikes me again and I have to sit down.

The first voice is Tom’s.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

The next voice is unmistakable. It’s Martha.

‘Oh, that’s a nice way to greet someone.’

‘Fuck the niceties, Martha. When I told you to alienate Clare from everyone, I didn’t mean to push that fucking kid of Pippa’s over. She’s got a broken arm, thanks to you.’

‘Granted, the broken arm wasn’t part of the plan, but really, Tom, you should actually be thanking me because now that bitch Pippa is so pissed at Clare she won’t speak to her.’

‘That’s as maybe, but ease up on the kids.’

‘Okay. Is that it?’

‘No. Are you okay to stay on the phone for a bit longer?’

‘A little while. Marion’s gone to one of her coffee mornings but is due back soon. I managed to wriggle out of it, claiming I have a migraine.’

‘Where’s Luke?’

‘In his studio. I’m out in the garden.’