Sisters - Michelle Frances Page 0,46

spread some of the camembert on the bread and handed it over.

Ellie viewed it distantly.

‘Eat,’ instructed Abby, and Ellie took the sandwich her sister proffered.

‘The man in the phone shop set this up so it’s good to go,’ said Abby, taking the new phone out of the bag.

Ellie watched as her sister pushed a few buttons.

‘I’ve got an old email here somewhere, from Jamie’s work account. I’m sure it has his mobile on it. Bingo!’ said Abby triumphantly, and she dialled. While the phone was ringing, she looked sternly over at Ellie and indicated the baguette.

Ellie looked down at the crusty bread with its creamy filling. Abby, phone to her ear, was watching her expectantly. Ellie slowly lifted the bread to her mouth, waiting for Abby to turn away, but she didn’t. There was nowhere else for her jaw to go but down and she bit into the baguette, the cheese oozing through her teeth. She started chewing, the mouthful seeming to last forever, then she swallowed, forcing it down her throat.

Abby tutted and Ellie looked up to see her sister mouth, ‘Answerphone.’

‘Hi, Jamie, it’s Abby Spencer,’ she said in a bright voice. ‘It’s been a while . . . I’m actually in a bit of a fix over something and could do with some advice. Please could you call me?’ She paused. ‘As soon as you can,’ she added, the urgency finally breaking into her voice. She left her number and hung up.

‘He’ll call back,’ she said, only it seemed more to reassure herself than anything. Then she leaned over the back again, got something else out of the shopping bag.

‘Here,’ she said, handing Ellie a road map. ‘This’ll make it easier to follow the minor roads; keep us off radar.’

Ellie took it wordlessly.

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ asked Abby, frowning.

Ellie mentally shook herself. She had to get a grip. ‘Fine,’ she muttered. She opened the map and located where they were.

‘We just have to buy some time until Jamie calls us back,’ said Abby, pulling away from the car park.

Do we? Mum isn’t dead after all, thought Ellie. But then, maybe Abby already knows that. What if she’d pretended that she couldn’t feel their mother’s pulse? Lied about her being dead? She stole a glance at her sister. Was she a pathological liar?

‘Where am I going?’ asked Abby as they came to a roundabout.

Ellie looked down at the map. Keep to the minor roads. ‘Third exit.’

Abby continued driving. ‘Ellie, what do you know about this stuff?’

‘What stuff?’

‘Avoiding the police. Not getting caught. We’ve just been in that shopping centre. Must be CCTV everywhere. Except, of course, they don’t know where we are.’

Ellie’s stomach lurched. The payphone she’d just called her mother from – Susanna would now have a record of it on her mobile. She felt certain the police would be able to trace their location.

‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I don’t know anything.’

‘OK. We just keep driving for as long as possible. Until we can speak to Jamie.’

And then what? thought Ellie anxiously. What would happen next? Who was Jamie, anyway? Had her sister actually called a Jamie? Did he even exist? Her mind was blurring with uncertainty as she tried to still the fear growing in her stomach. But there was one thing she knew for sure. Her mother had sounded genuinely scared on the phone.

THIRTY-FOUR

1993

Snap! went the girl’s gum as she popped it against her teeth. Then she chewed, oblivious to the noises she was making, oblivious to anything, including Abby, who was sitting on a seat in the reception area of East Surrey Radio, staring at this exotic being with pink hair and black fingernails. She had her nose pierced and also, Abby had noticed, wide-eyed, when the girl had stood to reach a file behind the desk, her belly button. There was something about this receptionist girl that Abby admired: her obvious independence, her freedom to do what she wanted.

Seeing this girl was the only upside of being here. Abby hadn’t wanted to come. She wasn’t allowed in the recording studio and had to sit out here with nothing to do. She’d begged to be allowed to stay at home by herself but her mum had refused. ‘Not until secondary school,’ she’d said. Abby couldn’t wait: only one more year.

The radio was on, loud, and The Bluebells finished singing ‘Young At Heart’.

‘So, back to our guests, Ellie Spencer and her mum, Susanna,’ said the jaunty DJ. ‘So, tell me, Ellie, what would it mean for