Chapter Twenty
I meet Louise for lunch at La Giravolta, the Italian bistro on the corner. It’s her day off on the new shift rota, but she looks tired, like she ought to be in bed. She’s pale, her black hair limp on her shoulders, and there are shadows under her eyes which a few dabs of concealer have not managed to erase. It must be all the night shifts she’s been doing, I decide. Dominic is exactly the same after a long stint on nights. He keeps me up too, as I find it so hard to sleep when he’s not in the bed with me. It’s even harder now that we’ve moved in with my parents.
‘How are you?’ Louise asks, standing up to kiss me on the cheek. She sits down again, her hand going automatically to her wine glass, and I realise she has started drinking without me. ‘Dominic said you had a wonderful time on honeymoon. Slept late nearly every day. God, what I wouldn’t do for a whole week of lie-ins.’
‘So book some holiday leave,’ I say lightly as I take my seat. I nod to her glass. ‘Is that a dry white?’
‘House Chardonnay.’
I turn to call the cheerful waitress, Bianca, who knows me well. ‘Two lunch menus, please. And a bottle of Chardonnay.’
‘Pronto.’
Bianca disappears into the kitchen, singing softly under her breath in Italian.
‘Oh, you know me.’ Louise shrugs. ‘I get so bored on holiday.’
‘Same here,’ I say, though it’s not entirely true.
‘Not on your honeymoon though.’ She winks at me and drains her wine. ‘Sounds like you two spent most of your time in bed.’
I blush, and glance about the restaurant. ‘Shush.’
‘Prude.’
‘Lush.’ I nod at her empty wine glass. ‘I didn’t think I was that late. How long have you been here?’
‘I only had a glass while I was waiting. And not long. Fifteen minutes?’ She looks at me with suddenly intent eyes. ‘So come on, spill. What was so urgent you had to speak to me today?’
First, I check over my shoulder, as though I half expect Sharon to be standing in the bistro doorway, which is ridiculous. Then I flick through the photos on my phone for the snap I took of one of the forms. I had to do it sneakily while Sharon was out of the office for a few minutes, dealing with an unfortunate young woman who’d started screaming at Petra. It made me nervous, knowing I was breaking all the rules. But it was my only chance to get a photocopy of my dead sister’s apparent ‘signature’.
I hand the phone across the table, and she studies the photograph while Bianca arrives with the menus and wine. She drags the cork out of the bottle with ease, then pours two large glasses. I pretend to study the menu until Bianca’s gone, then close it and look at Louise impatiently.
‘Well?’
‘Sorry.’ She is as mystified as I was on first being handed the forms. ‘What am I looking at?’
I point out the signature. ‘I’m certain I left that box blank for Sharon to sign. So how the hell did that signature get there?’ I lean forward, hoping she can advise me. Louise is always so level-headed. ‘And why would someone pull a trick like that?’
‘To get you into trouble, presumably,’ she says, studying the photo again. ‘So did you?’
‘I told you,’ I say hotly. ‘I didn’t write that.’
‘No, crosspatch. I meant, did you get into trouble?’
‘Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to jump down your throat.’ I make a face. ‘A slapped wrist, that’s all. Though it wasn’t very pleasant. Sharon didn’t believe a word I said. She thinks I signed the wrong name deliberately.’
‘Why?’
‘She’s been giving me her paperwork to complete. That’s against the rules, and I think she assumed I wanted someone at the charity headquarters to notice.’
‘Like signing “Mickey Mouse” on a cheque?’
‘Exactly.’
‘So did you tell her who Rachel is?’
‘God, no. I denied the whole thing.’ I drink some wine, which is dry and nicely chilled, but rather sharp. ‘Sharon would think I was mad if I told her the truth.’ When Louise looks perplexed, I add, ‘How does “My dead sister signed it” sound to you?’
She grins. ‘Fair enough.’
Bianca comes back to take our order. ‘What can I get for you ladies?’ she asks briskly.
Without bothering to open the menu again, I order my usual lunch, a tuna salad baguette, and add a bowl of green and black olives to start.
Louise orders the Special of the Day, Fusilli Giravolta, served with salad and garlic bread. ‘I bet it’s delicious,’ she says, flirting a little with the waitress.
Bianca smiles, her whole face lighting up. ‘Our new chef’s speciality. He stole the recipe from his Sicilian grandmother, or so he claims.’
‘Sicilian?’ Louise raises her brows. ‘He should be careful. She sounds positively dangerous.’
Bianca laughs. ‘That’s what my brother says.’
‘Is he a chef too?’
‘Giacomo? No, he’s a locksmith.’ She points to a stack of business cards in a holder next to the salt cellar, then plucks one out and hands it to Louise, smiling self-consciously. ‘Please, take one. In case you ever get locked out . . .’
Someone calls her from the kitchen and she hurries away, threading her way through the tables with one quick look back at Louise.
‘You’re such a wicked flirt,’ I tell Louise, shaking my head. ‘What would your girlfriend say?’
‘Amita knows what I’m like. She’s okay with it, so long as I don’t go too far.’ She studies the business card, then passes it to me with a shrug and leans back against the alcove seat, her smile mischievous. ‘Besides, it doesn’t hurt to browse occasionally. Just in case something better turns up.’
There’s a crash behind me and I jump, my heart pounding as I look round. But it was only a wine glass, knocked off a table. People are laughing. A few clap mockingly.
I slip the card into my bag, then glance at the clock on the wall opposite to check the time. Still forty minutes before I have to be back at work. Plenty of time for both of us to eat, and even have a coffee afterwards.
‘Have you told Dominic about this business with Rachel’s signature?’ Louise asks suddenly.
‘He’s at work.’
‘But will you?’ She studies me curiously. ‘You didn’t tell him about that eyeball in the snow globe. He cornered me about it a few days before the wedding. Gave me quite a talking-to.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘That’s okay. I can handle irate men.’ Louise hands back my phone in a conspiratorial manner. ‘But this is probably something you need to discuss with your husband, rather than me. And besides, I don’t know anything much about Rachel, except what you told me at the hospital.’
‘I haven’t told Dom much either.’
‘However bad it is, you have to tell him,’ she says bluntly.
I know Louise is right, but I hate the thought of having that conversation.
‘I’ve told him most of it,’ I say.
‘Most?’
‘There’s more.’ I lower my voice and lean forward. I don’t want anyone else to hear what we’re talking about. But it’s time I was straight with Louise about the extent of my sister’s mental health issues. ‘There’s always more with Rachel.’
Louise leans forward too, intrigued. ‘Go on.’
‘Oh God, where do I start?’ I shake my head. ‘Rachel used to hear voices. Voices in her head. Devils on her shoulder, telling her what to do. Bad stuff, usually.’
‘Sounds like schizophrenia.’
‘I thought it was just a neat way of getting out of trouble. Though Mum did say that when she was little, Rachel was always looking for angels in the ceiling.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
Bianca stops next to our table and puts down a bowl of olives. ‘There you go,’ she says, smiling at Louise before disappearing again.
Louise watches her go, then makes an appreciative noise, gazing at my side order.
‘Have one,’ I say.