The Silent Ones: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller(5)

I used to believe everything my older sister said then, but now… now I’m not so sure it really is going to be OK.

We approach Conmore Road, which is about a ten-minute walk from Mum’s house. I sit bolt upright as we pass it, lengths of blue and white police tape fluttering in the light breeze like wedding ribbons. Uniformed officers place bright orange cones strategically to close off the road to pedestrians and traffic.

There are police officers clustered past the tape at the far end of the road, next to police vehicles and a stationary ambulance with flashing blue lights. A couple of photographers loiter on the edge of a group of local rubberneckers, pressing up against the tape.

‘What’s happened up there?’ Chloe gasps, but there’s no response from the front.

She pats the pockets of her jeans and pulls out her phone.

‘It can’t be anything to do with the girls,’ I whisper as Google’s home page loads on her screen. ‘They wouldn’t stray that far from Mum’s house.’

She doesn’t respond, and I look down and see her fingers gripping the phone so tightly, her knuckles have turned white.

‘Is our mum at the police station too?’ Chloe’s tone is frosty as she addresses the two officers. ‘Have you told her what’s happening? She’s supposed to be looking after the girls today.’

Hesitation from the front, then: ‘I’m not sure, ma’am. We can establish that once we get there.’

‘Mum will be beside herself if nobody’s told her where they are.’ Chloe presses her fingers to her forehead and closes her eyes. ‘She’s got enough to worry about.’

She clicks into her contact list and calls a number. After a few seconds, she rolls her eyes and speaks quickly to what is obviously our parents’ answerphone.

‘Mum, Dad, it’s me. The police came to the lock-up unit; apparently the girls are at the police station, so we’re on our way there now. I’ll call as soon as I know more.’ She ends the call. ‘Just in case no one’s told them yet.’ Chloe sends a withering glance to the front of the car.

I wonder what she meant when she said Mum has enough to worry about. She could be referring to her health problems, but it sounded like it was more than that.

Mum doesn’t confide in me the same way she does Chloe. I don’t know why; it’s just the way it’s always been – perhaps something to do with our ages and the fact that Chloe is two years older than me. Mum’s firstborn, her unofficial favourite.

Two years shouldn’t add up to the difference it has made in our lives, shouldn’t carry the extra weight our mother silently attaches to it. Yet the realisation and the unquestioning acceptance of it has always been there inside me like a bone-deep ache.

‘Sounds like some kind of break-in and attack on Conmore Road,’ Chloe murmurs, staring at her phone screen. ‘You’d think the police would need all their resources there, instead of rounding us up.’

I realise I have another text to send. I’d arranged for Beth to come over at 2 p.m. to look through some new footwear samples with me.

I tap at my screen.

Hi Beth, sorry, something’s come up, can’t make our appt now. Will be in touch soon. J x

‘Who are you texting now?’ Chloe whispers, leaning in to read my message. Her face darkens. ‘Not her again. Why do you have to involve her in everything?’

I ignore her, pressing send and tucking my phone back in my handbag. To me, Beth is like another sister; to Chloe, she’s an irritation she’d rather not have around. And the feeling is mutual.

Sometimes I feel like I’m caught between a rock and a hard place with the two of them.

The police car bears left and we pass the row of small shops – the butcher’s, a hair and beauty salon, the off licence – before continuing along Forest Road.

My house stands about two thirds of the way down on the left. It’s a red-brick semi with a long, narrow back garden that Tom and I stretched ourselves to buy twelve years ago. When Tom lost his job, we had to face the fact that we might lose our home too. Thankfully it never came to that.

Later, when this mess has been sorted out, I’ll relish walking into the cool, airy hallway with the new wooden floor we had laid earlier this year. I’ll slip my shoes off at the door and head directly into the spacious kitchen with its oversized island that I’m always grumbling has become a dumping ground for dirty dishes, junk mail and a hundred other things that get parked there instead of being put away.

Perhaps I’ll open the French doors slightly and stand there for a few moments enjoying the breeze on my face, feeling grateful that normal life has been resumed.

It’s those little routines that reassure me, anchor me, and it’s what I’m craving right now. Ironically, it’s also the exact same stuff I sometimes take for granted when I find myself wishing life was just a touch less mundane.

Another few hours at work today and I’d have been back home, having picked Maddy up from Mum’s. I’d put tea in the oven and try and get a bit more work done so I’d be ready to ask Tom all about how his interview went.

Finally, the management promotion he’s been waiting for since taking a job several levels below his last position is here. Today is his big day, his chance to shine before a panel and increase his salary by a hefty eight thousand pounds a year.