Sister полностью

“I wanted to believe that the CF trial was totally legitimate. I didn’t want it to be associated in any way with Tess’s murder or Xavier’s death. But I was disturbed by my visit.”

“Because of Professor Rosen?” asks Mr. Wright.

“Partly, yes. I had thought he didn’t like fame because he was so uncomfortable on TV. But he was boastful about the lecture tours he’d been asked to give; he made a point of saying they were at the ‘most prestigious’ universities in the world. I knew that I’d completely misjudged him.”

“Were you suspicious of him?”

“I was wary. Before, I’d assumed he’d come to Tess’s funeral, and offered to answer my questions, out of compassion, but I was no longer sure of his reason. And I thought that for most of his life he’d have been seen as the science geek, certainly through school and probably through university. But now he’d become the man of the moment—and, through his chromosome, the future too. I thought that if anything was wrong with his trial he wouldn’t want to jeopardize his newfound status.”

But it was the power of any genetic scientist, not just Professor Rosen, that disturbed me most. As I walked away from the Chrom-Med building, I thought of the Fates: one spinning the thread of human life, one measuring it, one cutting it. I thought of the threads of our DNA, coiling on their double helix, two strands in every cell of our body with our fate coded in them. And I thought that science had never been so intimately connected to what makes us human, what makes us mortal.

16

Preoccupied after my visit to Chrom-Med, I walked much of the way to the café opposite the art college. So many of your friends had come to your funeral, but I was unsure if any of them would turn out for me.

When I went inside the café, it was packed full of students, all of them waiting for me. I was completely at a loss, tongue-tied. I’ve never liked hosting anything, even a lunch party, let alone a group meeting with strangers. And I felt so staid compared to them, with their arty clothes and attitude hair and piercings. One of them with Rasta hair and almond eyes introduced himself as Benjamin. He put his arm around me and led me to a table.

Thinking I wanted to hear more about your life, they told me stories illustrating your talent, your kindness, your humor. And as they told their lovely stories about you, I looked at their faces and wondered if one of them could have killed you. Was Annette with her copper bright hair and slender arms strong enough and vicious enough to kill? When Benjamin’s beautiful almond eyes shed tears, were they real or was he just aware of the attractive picture he made?

“Tess’s friends all described her in different ways,” I tell Mr. Wright. “But there was one phrase that everyone used. Every single person spoke of her joie de vivre.”

Joy and life together. It’s such an ironically perfect description of you.

“She had a great many friends?” asks Mr. Wright, and I am touched by the question because he doesn’t need to ask it. “Yes. She valued friendships very highly.”

It’s true, isn’t it? You’ve always made friends easily, but you don’t discard them easily. At your twenty-first birthday party you had friends from primary school. You move people from your past along with you into your present. Can you be eco about friendships? They are too valuable to be junked when they stop being immediately convenient.

“Did you ask them about the drugs?” asks Mr. Wright, bringing my thoughts back into focus.

“Yes. Like Simon, they were adamant that she never touched them. I asked them about Emilio Codi, but didn’t find out anything useful. Just that he was an ‘arrogant shit,’ and too preoccupied with his own art to be a decent tutor. They all knew about the affair and the pregnancy. Then I asked them about Simon and his relationship with Tess.”

The feeling in the café changed, the atmosphere heavier, loaded with something I didn’t understand. “You all knew Simon wanted a relationship with her?” I asked. People nodded, but no information was volunteered.

“Emilio Codi said he was jealous?” I asked, trying to provoke a conversation.

A girl with jet-black hair and ruby-red lips, like a storybook witch, spoke up. “Simon was jealous of anyone Tess loved.”

I wondered briefly if that included me.

“But she didn’t love Emilio Codi?” I said.

“No. With Emilio Codi it was more like a competitive thing for Simon,” replied the Pretty Witch. “It was Tess’s baby he was jealous of. He couldn’t bear it that she was going to love someone who hadn’t even been born yet, when she didn’t love him.”

I remembered his montage picture of a prison, made of babies’ faces.

“Was he at their funeral?” I asked.