Shadow Sister Read Online Free PDF Page A

out of her hair.
    ‘I don’t mind helping you. I’ve still got space on my card.’
    ‘It’s fine. You look a bit tired, are you feeling all right?’ Thomas’s eyes glided over my face in concern.
    ‘I didn’t sleep very well last night.’
    ‘Well, get an early night then. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Thomas put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me towards him, holding me tighter and for slightly longer than was strictly necessary. Not that it bothered me, but I wondered if he considered every instance of bodily contact as a point in his favour.
    I knew the feeling, only it wasn’t Thomas who inspired it.
    I drove back to Rotterdam, to Sylvie’s, and left a note ofthanks under the windscreen wipers, then caught the tram to Karel Doorman Street. I’d have preferred to go home and settle down on the sofa with a cup of tea and packet of fudge – my addiction – but I’d promised Thomas I’d get to work on the pictures straight away.
    I unlocked the studio door and went through the exhibition space to the back where I’ve got an office and a small kitchen. The kitchen opens onto a badly kept garden. It’s overrun with weeds, which always winds my father up. My father loves gardening and made several attempts to tame the plants shooting up in all directions, but each time he came back, he had to start all over again. Finally he had to accept that this garden would never amount to much unless he spent more time in it, and he already looks after the garden of my summer house in Kralingen, as well as Lydia’s, which is huge. And his own garden.
    I looked over my computer screen at the garden and sighed. First a cup of tea.
    I made a pot of camomile tea – I swear by herbal tea when I’m anxious – and took it out into the garden.
    It’s actually quite nice. I don’t like stylised flower beds and themed areas. Just give me a garden that’s alive, even if it’s so exuberant you can hardly get into it. Lawns with a few rickety bistro chairs are not really my thing.
    I wandered through the jungle, pulling out a few random stalks, and finally went inside to do some work.
    For a while I concentrated so hard that I forgot everything else. Even my tiredness slipped away. When the doorbell rang, my concentration was shattered and the uneasiness rolled over me again. I didn’t need to get up to see who it was.
    ‘Elisa?’ Her voice was higher pitched than usual.
    ‘I’m out back!’
    Lydia’s footsteps came towards the office, dragging a little. I swivelled around in my desk chair and got up. Lydia appeared in the doorway, groomed from top to toe as usual, with a tightblack skirt and a fairly sexy black wraparound top. She seemed tired and irritated.
    I pushed my hair back out of my face.
    ‘Hey sis,’ I said cautiously. ‘You don’t usually finish until much later on Mondays.’
    ‘Yes,’ she said simply.
    Then I knew for sure. ‘Something has happened,’ I said softly.

Lydia
8.
    I’m no longer surprised that I don’t need to explain much to Elisa. A single word, a single glance at my face is enough for her to know that I’m not paying a social call.
    ‘Lydia? What is it? Here, have my chair.’ She pushes me into her place and strides into the kitchen. Within a few seconds she’s back with a glass of cold water, exactly what I need. I drink deeply while my sister stands there with her arms crossed and peers down at me.
    ‘What happened?’ she says again, as soon as I’ve emptied the glass.
    ‘Bilal Assrouti.’
    Only my parents – who’ve both taught difficult children in the past – can understand what it feels like to matter to another person, to make a difference, and what you have to go through to get there. Apart from my parents, Elisa and Raoul are the closest people to me, but they’ve never understood what drives me to work in a profession that takes so much energy anddelivers so few rewards. That’s my own fault for being so open about how bad it can be. I don’t tell them