Little Sister by David Hewson Page A

Much worse to see after that.
    He took the lead from her, wrapped his arm around it and tugged the snarling animal away, back to the line of trees. She followed.
    ‘Do what you can,’ he ordered, handing over the dog. ‘Just keep him away. I need to call.’
    Hand out, phone in his fingers, he wandered back into the wood seeking a signal.
    Just when he got one Sara Klerk ran out from the car park, shrieking again, arms flailing.
    ‘What is it?
What did you find?
’
    Van der Berg got in the way and held her back.
    ‘Stay here,’ he said.
    ‘What—’
    ‘Please. Mrs Klerk. Stay here.’
    She was a strong woman and brushed past him easily. The dog was barking again. Bea Arends was shrieking at it.
    The call got through. Then the screams got louder. Two women this time.
    ‘Pieter,’ he said when Vos answered. ‘There’s a body here. Down by the shoreline. Buried. I don’t know how long.’

17
    The sisters were back in their room, bored. Mia was reading a teenage magazine Vera had bought them. It was about boys and music and clothes. And sex, though that was handled
in guarded terms as if the subject were too dirty and embarrassing to be approached directly. Kim pretended to sleep. Both of them were aware of the city noise from beyond the grimy windows. People
and traffic. Planes overhead, music from open windows. The distant clatter of a tram across iron tracks.
    A church bell somewhere sounded four. Not long after the door opened and Vera returned and called for them. She had a plastic shopping bag with her.
    ‘Got presents for the pair of you,’ she said and took out two blonde wigs.
    The sisters stared at them wondering if this was a joke. They were blonde before. And then they changed hair colour. Now this odd, controlling woman seemed to wish to turn back the clock.
    Mia took the first wig as the woman offered it. Kim the second.
    ‘Is this real hair?’ Mia asked.
    ‘Maybe.’
    ‘Whose?’
    ‘How would I know?’
    Mia ran her fingers through the things. The locks were long, quite like their own hair before the previous evening’s scissors and colouring changed things. A reasonable impersonation.
Inside the scalp was a kind of cotton mesh.
    ‘It’s not real at all,’ she said. ‘It’s like . . . like . . . plastic’
    ‘Yeah,’ the Englishwoman agreed. ‘Still cost a pretty penny though. It’s not as if you have to wear them much. There are people out there looking for you two girls. They
don’t know how you look now. They just think you look like before. So we fool them a bit.’
    She took out her phone and told them to put the wigs on and stand by the window.
    ‘Why?’ Kim wanted to know.
    ‘Because I want you to. Come on.’
    They did and she lifted the phone and snapped them, five times or more. Vera fiddled with the thing then showed them a series of snaps. Blonde hair. Puzzled expressions.
    ‘That’s what they think you look like, kiddos. That’s how we want it to stay.’
    ‘If they don’t know what we look like,’ Kim said, taking off her wig, ‘we can go somewhere and they won’t chase us. We can be free. Like—’
    ‘Free?’ Vera had a hard, cruel laugh sometimes. ‘What do you mean . . . free? You two have been locked up for the best part of your lives. Without me you can’t do
nothing. Can’t walk them streets. Can’t buy a thing. Catch a bus. A train. Go anywhere.’ She picked up the blonde wigs and stroked the odd, stiff hair. ‘Haven’t I got
this across to you yet? Without your friends you’re buggered. They’ll just pick you up, chuck you back in a cell somewhere and throw away the keys.’
    ‘Is Little Jo a friend?’ Kim asked and didn’t notice the quick intake of breath from her sister with those words.
    Vera looked downcast, guilty.
    ‘Little Jo’s . . .’ She tapped her head. ‘Your sister’s up here now, isn’t she? That’s where she lives.’
    The one phone they had left had gone missing. Only Vera could have taken it. The message