“We had to sack Sarah,” he says finally. “I’d let it all go too far and Violet paid the price. My parents wanted me to go to the police then and there, but I couldn’t bear for Violet to go through that. Being interviewed, going to court. God, no. That little girl has been through enough.”
Robin imagines someone watching her from behind, but when she turns around, there’s no one there; the lounge door is still closed. Her paranoia is so finely tuned it’s hard for her to know when she should switch it off. Now is probably the right time to be paranoid, she reasons.
After apologizing to Jim and hanging up, Robin opens the door and steps into the hall. She listens at the bottom of the stairs; everything is still. She walks into the kitchen, quietly opens a bottle of beer from the fridge and leans against the sideboard.
As Robin sips, she goes over Sarah’s story in her head, tries to believe it. But Jim’s words push it away and take over. He had no reason to lie to her, especially with such a tall tale. But Sarah did. If she wanted Robin to help her keep this secret baby, even try to snatch Violet or God knows what, she’d tell her anything she needed to. Robin looks at the back door.
Why would Sarah come down into the kitchen and open the door, when she said she was going to the loo?
Robin goes to listen at the bottom of the stairs again, hears nothing. She pulls on her trainers and goes back into the dimly lit kitchen. Using the light from Sarah’s phone, she fumbles with the back door and opens it as quietly as she can. To get out there, she tells herself it’s bin day. She manages to put the rubbish out sometimes, under cover of darkness. She’d manage it now.
Bin day. The letters.
Her heart bangs harder in her chest as she steps out on shaking legs. Two steps, three. The bin isn’t far, but the sky over the garden is as big and gray as death.
She flips the lid open quietly, shines the screen light inside. Two neatly tied black bags sit in there from last week, but to the side of one of them, something white catches the light. It’s very white indeed, reflective almost. Robin looks up at the flats ignoring her, leans in and grabs it.
She closes the bin, practically jumps back through the kitchen door and locks it quickly. She pulls the letter out of the opened envelope. It feels even more of a ticking bomb than it had lying in a stack for months.
She reads it.
It’s from the police.
A family member attacked by Sarah Granger, her sister. It says that Sarah should have been in contact, registering her whereabouts. That’s she’s missing. That the woman upstairs in Robin’s house right now is a possible risk to other family members. It gives a number to call, not open now until morning.
Robin knew Sarah had had some trouble before she left Birch End for good. It was hinted at in the stilted calls with Hilary that Robin had neglected for months, maybe years. But violence? Sarah was never a violent person, never a risk to anyone. At risk, more like.
Robin doesn’t know if anything that Sarah has told her since arriving today is true. Her compulsion to run from all of this is strong, but there’s nowhere to go within the house that is any safer than right here, armed with only a phone that isn’t hers.
Her only hope of making sense of this night is to fill in any blanks she can, try to understand what she’s actually dealing with. She can’t think beyond that. Robin calls the number still etched in her mind after all these years. It’s late, but she would answer. Their generation always answers late-night calls.
A click at the other end. “Hello?”
Robin’s throat is sore from using her voice more today than she has for nearly three years. Her voice croaks out the name.
“Hilary?”
A pause. “Yes?”
She clears her throat but speaks barely above a whisper. “It’s Robin. I’m sorry to call so late.”
“Robin!” Hilary’s voice is thinner than ever. “Darling! Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“Hilary,” Robin says again, feels her eyes spill sudden tears down her cheeks. For a moment, she just sobs, a sound she’s not made in a long time, while her stepmother listens and waits as she always did.
“Sorry,” Robin splutters.
“Shh, shh, what’s wrong?”
“Sarah’s here, Hilary. She just turned up today and I don’t know what to do.”
“Sarah’s there? With you, in Manchester?”
“Yes, she turned up out of the blue this morning.”
“Oh Robin.” Hilary pauses. “This is my fault. I tried to put her off. I told her you were in Manchester but I didn’t give her your address. She must have found it herself, I’m sorry.”
“But I want to see my sister, I just, there’s more…”
“Are you alone with her?”
“Yes, why?”
“Just be careful, give her room to move, okay? She’s changed a bit since…well, when did you last see her?”
“Dad’s funeral,” Robin whispers.
“Mmn,” Hilary says, pausing as she always does at the mention of Jack. Seconds tick by. “Well, between then and leaving Birch End, she had a few difficulties, you know? And she’s worked very hard to put them behind her, so be gentle with her. We don’t want her to slip back. And I don’t want…” The seconds tick by. “You just be a little careful, okay? She can be a bit unpredictable.”
“Did she hurt you?”
“Me? No, never. Why did you think that?”
“I had a letter. Saying Sarah had hurt a family member and was supposed to register her whereabouts or something. Who did she hurt? Was she in trouble with the police?”
Tick, tick, tick. “No,” Hilary eventually said, making the word as long and thin as it could be. “Not exactly. Sort of. She had a bit of a crisis, couldn’t really handle a lot of the things that had happened, maybe things we don’t even know about that she hinted at, and she…I suppose the expression is that she ‘snapped.’ But she got help and she got better.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well,” Hilary said, “we didn’t want to worry you. And you and Sarah hadn’t been close for a while. It seemed better for us to just contain it and get her some help.”
“Who is ‘us’?”
That deathly pause again. “Your mother and I.”
“Who did she attack?”
“Robin, you should probably call your mum. She can help you.”
“When has she ever helped me?”
None of this made any sense to Robin. After bidding goodbye to Hilary, promising to call with an update the next day, she dialed before she could overthink it. A number she was surprised she still knew, years and years after she’d last rung.
It rings for so long Robin has time to panic. She does not want to call this house. She does not want to hear either of the voices that might answer. Eventually, a woman’s voice says uneasily, “Hello?”
“Angela?”
“Yes. Is this…?”
She clears her throat. “Yes, it’s Robin.”
“Oh Robin.” There’s a pause. “I’m so pleased to hear your voice. Is everything okay?”
It’s been seven years since we saw each other’s faces. Is everything okay?
“I need to know something.”
“Okay.” Her mother sounds wary but not surprised.
“Did Sarah attack Drew? Did she assault him for all the harm he caused our family? And did you and Hilary keep it from me?”
There’s a pause. Robin fills it with angry thoughts.