It was mid-afternoon when the phone rang. Ed glanced up from his laptop; Katie shook her head. She had refused to speak to anyone, allowing the answerphone to record friends’ messages of condolence that were punctuated with awkward apologies and strained pauses.
The machine clicked on. ‘Hello. It’s Mr Spire here from the Foreign Office in London.’
A nerve in her eyelid flickered. It was Ed who reached for the phone just before the message ended. ‘This is Katie’s fiancé.’ He looked across to her and said, ‘Yes, she’s with me now.’ He nodded at her to take the phone.
She held it at arm’s length, as if it were a gun she was being asked to put to her head. Mr Spire had called twice since Mia’s death, first to request permission for an autopsy to go ahead, and later to discuss the repatriation of Mia’s body. After a moment, Katie pressed her lips together and cleared her throat. Bringing the phone towards her mouth, she said slowly, ‘This is Katie.’
‘I hope this is a convenient time to talk?’
‘Yes, fine.’ The dry, musty warmth of the central heating caught at the back of her throat.
‘The British Consulate in Bali have been in touch. They have some further news concerning Mia’s death.’
She closed her eyes. ‘Go on.’
‘In cases such as Mia’s, a toxicology report is sometimes requested as part of the autopsy procedure. I have a copy of it in front of me, which I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘Right.’
‘The results indicate that at the time of death, Mia was intoxicated. Her blood alcohol content was 0.13, which means she may have had impaired reflexes and reaction times.’ He paused. ‘And there’s something else.’
She moved into the lounge doorway and gripped the wooden frame, anchoring herself.
‘The Balinese police have interviewed two witnesses who claim to have seen Mia on the evening of her death.’ He hesitated and she sensed he was struggling with something. ‘Katie, I’m very sorry, but in their statement, they have said that Mia jumped.’
The ground pitched, her stomach dropped away. She hinged forward from the waist. Footsteps crossed the lounge and she felt Ed’s hand on her back. She pushed him away, straightening. ‘You think she …’ Her voice was strained like elastic set to snap. ‘You think it was suicide?’
‘I am afraid that based on witness statements and the autopsy, the cause of death has been established as suicide.’
Katie reached a hand to her forehead.
‘I understand this must be incredibly hard—’
‘The witnesses, who are they?’
‘I have copies of their statements.’ She heard the creak of a chair and pictured him leaning across a wide desk to reach them. ‘Yes, here. The witnesses are a 30-year-old couple who were honeymooning in Bali. In their statement, they say that they had taken an evening walk along the lower cliff path in Umanuk and paused at a lookout point – this was close to midnight. A young woman, matching Mia’s description, ran past them looking extremely anxious. The male witness asked if she needed help and Mia is said to have responded, “No.” She then disappeared along what used to be the upper cliff path, which has apparently been disused for several years. Between five and eight minutes later, the witnesses looked up and saw Mia standing very near the cliff’s edge. The report says that they were concerned for her safety, but before they were able to act, she jumped.’
‘My God.’ Katie began to tremble.
Mr Spire waited a moment before continuing. ‘The autopsy suggested that, from the injuries sustained, it is likely that Mia went over the cliff edge facing forwards, which collaborates with the witnesses’ reports.’ He continued to expand on further details, but Katie was no longer listening. Her mind had already drifted to the cliff top.
He’s wrong, Mia, isn’t he? You didn’t jump. I won’t believe it. What I said when you called – oh, God, please don’t let what I said …
‘Katie,’ he was saying. ‘The arrangements are in place to have Mia’s body repatriated to the UK a week on Wednesday.’ He required details of the funeral parlour she had selected, and then the call ended.
She felt shooting pains behind her eyes and pressed the arched bones beneath her eyebrows with her thumb and index finger. In the flat below the baby was wailing.
Ed turned her slowly to face him.
‘They are saying it was suicide,’ she said in a small, strained voice. ‘But it wasn’t.’
He placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘You will get through this, Katie.’
But how could he know? She hadn’t told him about the terrible argument she’d had with Mia. She hadn’t told him of the hateful, shameful things she’d said. She hadn’t told him about the anger and hurt that had been festering between them for months. She hadn’t told Ed any of this because there are some currents in a relationship between sisters that are so dark and run so deep, it’s better for the people swimming on the surface never to know what’s beneath.
She turned from Ed and stole to her room where she lay on the bed with her eyes closed, trying to fix on something good between her and Mia. Her thoughts led her back to the last time she had seen her, as they hugged goodbye at the airport. She recalled the willowy feel of Mia’s body, the muscular ridges of her forearms and the press of her collarbone.
Katie would have held on for longer, treasured every detail, had she known it would be the last time she’d feel her sister in her arms.
London, October Last Year
Mia felt the soft cushion of her sister’s cheek pressed against hers as they held each other. She absorbed the curve of her chest, the slightness of her shoulders, the way Katie had to stand on the balls of her feet to reach.
Mia and Katie rarely hugged. There had been a time, as children, when they were entirely uninhibited with each other’s bodies – squeezing onto the same armchair with their hips pressed tight, plaiting thin sections of each other’s hair and securing bright beads at the ends, practising flying angels on the sun-warmed sand with their fingers interlaced. She couldn’t say at what point that physical closeness was lost to her. Katie remained warmly tactile; she welcomed people with a hug or kiss, and had an inclusive way of reaching out mid-story to place her hand on someone’s arm.
The last time they had embraced like this must have been on the morning of their mother’s funeral, a year ago. Dressed in black, they had exchanged forthright
