Sophie Hannah - A Game for All the Family

So. If Anne wants to hear what Olwen has to say to her, she has to stay. If she goes, it’s the end of the conversation forever—a conversation she’ll never be able to have with anyone else.

A groveling apology from a nonexistent sister.

“Justine came to me because she wanted a dog,” Olwen tells Anne. “I believe this is why you were so convinced she was Allisande—because of her connection to me. She’d been here, her dog’s related to some of mine. I think you felt that connection, Lisette. You picked up on it.”

“Does Allisande call you Lisette, Lisette?” I undercut Olwen’s solemn tone with my own mocking one. “Or was it Lizzie, since you call her Sandie? Bit of a giveaway, isn’t it, if she can’t get your name right?”

“Sometimes Lisette and sometimes Lissy,” says Olwen.

I roll my eyes. “How can you trust this woman?” I ask Anne. “You know she’s pretending to be someone who doesn’t exist. ”

“Don’t listen to her, Lisette. The bond between us is so strong, you felt it when you were around Justine—that’s why, at first, you thought she was me.”

“Except she never was ‘around’ me. But don’t let that stop you. Let’s all just make up lies all day long! I’m the reincarnation of Michael Jackson—hooray! Even though I was born long before he died. I’m the pope, you’re St. Francis of Assisi!”

“You’re not my sister,” Anne says, looking at nobody. Her voice is dull; it could be disappointment, boredom or something quite different. I wonder who she is inside her head at this moment: Anne? Lisette? Both?

“I’m not your sister, and neither is the woman here who’s pretending to be,” I tell her. “Your sister’s called Sarah Parsons and she lives in Totnes.”

“Lisette, you know the truth when you hear it,” says Olwen. “You know I’m your sister Allisande, don’t you?”

“Anne, look at these dogs. Then think of my little puppy. That one over there’s his mother. You can really see the family resemblance, can’t you? Is there any such family resemblance between you and so-called Sandie over there? None whatsoever.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” says Olwen. “Not all siblings look alike.”

“All right, then, if you’re really her sister, tell her something about her childhood that only you and she would know. Something the two of you won’t have told anybody else.”

“Actually, that’s why I invited Lisette here. Not that it’s any of your business, Justine. We have unresolved issues from the past that we need to discuss. So, if you’d kindly leave . . .” Olwen gestures toward the door.

“Your shared past? The blood-soaked childhood of the Ingrey sisters?” I laugh. “I’m looking forward to hearing this. No, I’m not going anywhere, I’m afraid. Start talking. Convince me that you two are related and that your names were once Lisette and Allisande Ingrey.”

“I’m not saying anything in front of you. It’s a private matter.”

“Oh, Anne doesn’t mind, do you, Anne? If she’d wanted to keep her fantasies private, she’d have confined them to her imagination. How does it feel to see your lies walking around in front of you, Anne?”

It was my idea that I should keep calling her by her name—her real and only name. Part of me wants her to break down and scream, “I’m Lisette Ingrey!” That same part can’t believe that she truly believes her own fiction, but also fears she might. I’d like it settled one way or the other.

“You can’t accuse your fake sister here of lying, can you, Anne?” I say. “That would mean siding with me, which you can’t bear to do.”

“I’m not lying,” says Olwen. “I am your sister Allisande—yes, I have a different name now—Olwen Brawn—but I’m still me. I invited you here to say I’m sorry, and I’ll say it in front of Justine if I have to. I threatened and disowned you because I was frightened, after our father murdered our sister. I should have stood beside you. We could have stayed strong together, protected each other.”

Anne’s head jerks back, as if to avoid a blow.

“Oh, wait, wait.” I giggle. “Bascom Ingrey murdered Perrine? That seems incredibly unlikely—within the terms of the story, I mean.”

“He and my mother planned it together,” says Olwen. “They’re both murderers. But my father— our father, Lisette’s and mine—was the one who did the deed.”

For a moment, Anne’s eyes are full of emotion. Shock and also . . . is she impressed that Olwen was clever enough to get it right? Or convinced, finally, that this is her estranged sister Allisande talking to her? Then it passes, and she’s staring expressionlessly ahead again. It’s strange watching her reactions like this. I feel like a scientist doing an experiment. She’s different today from how she was in my kitchen. Then she was more herself. The Anne-Donbavand-ness of her burned stronger. Now she’s like a hollow, person-shaped object. With her empty-tunnel eyes blank like this, it’s almost as if there’s no one inside the flesh-and-bone container.

“Lisette, tell Allisande that her theory of Perrine’s murder makes no sense,” I say. “Bascom and Sorrel Ingrey went to every conceivable length to protect Perrine from the local hordes who were determined to hang her from trees, etcetera etcetera. What I mean is: they would have gone to those lengths, if all of this weren’t total and utter crap—but since we’re pretending it’s not . . . There’s no way Bascom and Sorrel did it. If they wanted Perrine dead, why take her out of school after the attempt on her life? Why confine her to the house to keep her safe, and build gates and fences to protect her?”

“And your next question is going to be: Why hire the music teacher, David Butcher?” Olwen tells me.

“Yes. What’s the answer?”

“Dad hired him because, when he and Mum had almost given up all hope of curing whatever was wrong inside Perrine’s head, Dad had a brainwave. Music might do the trick, he thought. David Butcher, by instilling in Perrine a love of music, might save her soul.”

“Okay, so why do that ?” I pretend to get impatient. “Why try so hard to save your daughter’s soul, and then suddenly decide to murder her?”

“Oh, there was nothing sudden about Mum and Dad’s decision,” says Olwen. “Was there, Lisette?”

Slowly, Anne starts to walk along the hall, toward the living room. She stops in the doorway, grips the doorframe with both her hands.

“Grab a chair, Anne,” I say. “Make yourself comfortable for the rest of the story. Olwen, I think you’d better wait till she’s sitting comfortably.”

“She’s right, Lisette—you ought to sit down. You look pale.”

Anne takes three more steps. Then a pause, then another two. She perches on the edge of the nearest sofa. “I don’t have to listen to either of you,” she says, not sounding entirely sure.

“True,” I agree. “You will, though.” Because Olwen’s pretending to be the sister you so badly need to believe in. She’s pretending to be sorry, to understand everything, to forgive everything. I’d take that deal if I were you—it’s the best you’re going to get.

“You’ll listen to Olwen because, even though we all know she’s talking pure nonsense, she’s right, isn’t she?” I go on. “She’s cracked the mystery. No one’s ever done that before. No one’s cared enough to try and work it out until now. Olwen, what did you mean when you said there was nothing sudden about Bascom and Sorrel’s decision?”

Olwen sits down opposite Anne. She smiles at her. “Mum and Dad disagreed about nearly everything, didn’t they, Lisette? They disagreed, and so they compromised. They took turns. Always. In everything. That was how they made family life work.”