This is the eleventh part of a fiction serial, in 723 words.

On the long drive back to Hackney, Marian and Ros hardly spoke. It had been a long day, and so much had already been said. But as they crossed the river, Ros broke her silence.

“I can’t let you do it, Mal. I just can’t. There must be a better way than you having to have sex with him and pretend you like it”. They had stopped earlier so Ros could buy cigarettes and a disposable lighter, and ignoring the No Smoking sign in the hire car, she opened the window fully, and lit a cigarette. Marian didn’t bother to complain.

“The thing is, Ros, it means nothing. I can shag a stranger to get justice for my sister, and I think Lyndsey’s plan is solid. In fact, I think it’s a great plan. It really won’t bother me, I promise you that. I will be thinking of the revenge, for as long as it lasts. And I doubt that will be long. Just one moment in my life, then it’s the beginning of the end for Lee Fowler”.

Back at her flat, Marian sat composing the letter to Amanda. They had agreed it should be handwritten, as that was more personal. And the surnames were left off, but she used their real first names. No point lying to the woman, she was already traumatised enough, judging by what they had been told. There was no need to wear gloves either, as Amanda had zero confidence in the police, and she would be asked to burn the letter after reading it.

The sisters both read through it before Marian added the last line.

‘We are outside, sitting in a grey car. We will wait for one hour for your decision. I hope you make the right one.’

Then they went to bed. Not bothering with more food, as the Indian meal had filled them up.

Waiting until the rush hour had subsided, they left for Welwyn Garden City just before ten the next morning. On the way, they discussed how they would approach Lyndsey’s plan when they outlined it to Amanda. Essentially, her only involvement was to provide a spare room for them to stay in, and tell them everything she could remember about Lee. They could mention a barrister was involved, but were under strict instructions not to give her name or contact details.

Just in case Amanda flipped out.

The house was nice. Built before the new town, and probably ninteen-thirties. The white painted stucco was fresh, and the metal frames in the windows looked original, or sympathetically restored. Marian did not take the car into the semi-circular driveway, choosing to park on the street outside. It was a private road containing only six detached houses, three on each side. Ros was almost chain-smoking by now, and Marian opened her driver’s side window as she got out of the car to walk up to the front door.

Turning back, she spoke through the window to her sister.

“Don’t forget, you stay in the car until we have some sign that she is interested. If the door doesn’t open in an hour, I will take you for lunch at that place we saw on the A1, and we can have a rethink before contacting Lyndsey.”

The letter fell into a cage behind the door, and Marian retreated to the car, not wanting to appear to be intimidating.

Staring at the front door soon became boring, so they chatted about how they were going to get more time off work until this was all sorted. Ros was adamant that she was not going back until it was all over, and Marian decided she would ask for her five weeks of holiday time, unpaid if necessary.

The time dragged, and then seemed to have gone in a flash. Marian was just about to turn the key in the ignition, when the door opened.

In the doorway stood an overweight woman wearing a dress that looked more like a nightie. Her hair was all over the place, and she was barefoot on the doormat. But she was holding the letter, and gently waved to the car. Then her hand turned over, and changed to a beckoning gesture.

Marian operated both electric windows, then grabbed her handbag. Turning to Ros, she smiled.

“Come on sis, we’re in”.