The Sister-In-Law
Susan Watson
To Sharon Beswick, my friend and fellow Northerner, who lives too far away under a hotter sun.
PROLOGUE
I looked down onto the pool, trying to make sense of what I thought I could see in the water. Long hair billowing out, opening and closing slowly like a golden parachute, her body floating on the bright, bright blue.
I sometimes wonder – if I’d known what was going to happen last summer, would I have gone? Would I have taken my family to that whitewashed villa on the Amalfi Coast where secrets were spilled and lives imploded in the beautiful, dreadful heat? But then – how could I have known what malevolent thing would fly in on the citrus-scented breeze and transform all our lives forever?
A year on and I remember the details so clearly. The way she smelled like salt and lemons. The way her skin shone gold, and the way she laughed, throwing back her head, white teeth bared, lost in the moment. I sometimes hear her voice: honeyed, and sickly-sweet, even when she said the cruellest things. I think I see her sometimes, disappearing around a corner in the supermarket, ahead of me in the queue at the post office, walking with me through the park on cold autumn mornings. Slipping through the dark trees, she’s suddenly there, shrouding me in guilt and fear – reminding me of what happened. She finds me, she always finds me.
And no matter where I go, I know she’ll always be there, my sister for a season, my nemesis, the woman who changed everything.
CHAPTER ONE
It was only a year ago, yet it seems like a lifetime since we drove along the spectacular Italian coast road, and I felt my stress unfurling behind me like a long, floaty scarf. Danger was the last thing on my mind as I abandoned my angst to the pristine white clouds gobbling up the debris of daily life. Even the fringe of fear that had recently been edging around my stomach was slowly being nibbled away.
Dan was with me, the children were on the back seat all fast asleep, and I remember thinking, I have everything I need now, here in this car, and no one can take it from me. We needed this break, I was excited at the prospect of spending time together as a family – two whole weeks of fun and no worries. I couldn’t wait to play with the children, eat tonnes of pasta and lie under that hot sun. Most of all, I looked forward to me and Dan just spending time together, talking about everything and nothing, enjoying each other’s company, remembering why we were together.
I turned away and gazed out of the passenger window. ‘You have to work at a marriage; the best marriages don’t just happen,’ my motherin-law had said. And she was right. Joy was always right.
Dan was driving too fast again. I clutched the passenger seat with one hand and my seat belt with the other, but didn’t comment. I didn’t want to spoil the mood so tried to focus on the shimmer of heat rising from the road ahead. My inner voice was begging him to slow down, our children were sleeping on the back seat, this was precious cargo. The winding roads were too narrow for more than one car, and I held my breath as we swept along, climbing up into the hillside rising above the glittering sea now. I stopped myself from saying anything about his speed. I would feel like a killjoy – the nagging wife as opposed to the sexy carefree one I wanted to be.
But, after fifteen years of marriage, we sometimes communicated without words, and when he glanced over, Dan must have caught the panic on my face.
‘So, you don’t like doing 100 miles an hour on high coastal roads?’ he said, with a smile. ‘Weird.’
‘No, I bloody don’t,’ I laughed, ‘and I’m not weird,’ I added, slapping his arm affectionately. ‘We might be in Italy, but you’re not part of the Ferrari team and this isn’t a race track.’
‘A boy can dream.’ He glanced over at me and smiled, squeezing my knee affectionately.
‘Eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel please,’ I said in mock indignation, leaving his hand on my knee, enjoying his attention. With three children under ten, a hand on my knee was as close to foreplay as it got for us, but I was sure this holiday would put everything right.
I turned around again to check the three perfect, sleeping faces on the back seat and was, as always, filled with a rush of love.
‘Can’t believe they’re being so considerate and sleeping in sync,’ I said. ‘Such delicious peace, but it’s almost too quiet.’
‘Not for long. We’ll be there soon, and then they’ll wake up. Let’s enjoy the peace,’ he said, his eyes on the road. ‘I can’t wait, big pool, loads of vino, big blue sky – chasing them round the pool,’ he said, gesturing to the back seat with his head, and finally slamming on the brakes. I felt sick.
You’re still going quite fast, Dan,’ I said in an attempt at a light-hearted voice, sheathed in panic. Dan wasn’t usually a fast driver, it felt dangerous – he felt dangerous. Was he becoming a middle-aged thrill seeker? My thoughts flickered briefly to my friend Jackie’s husband, who bought a sports car and left her for a teenager.
Eventually, Dan slowed down and I relaxed slightly, enjoying the gorgeous view, as we climbed higher up the mountain road.
We were spending our annual holiday, as always, with Dan’s family, his parents and brother. This year was something of a watershed as Dan’s parents, Joy and Bob, had decided to retire from the family business and wouldn’t be returning to work after our two weeks away. Dan had been part of the company for twenty years, but now as their parents stepped down, his younger brother Jamie had suddenly decided to come home and join ‘the firm’.