Not My Sister: A completely gripping psychological thriller with an addictive twist by Rosie Walker

Author:Rosie Walker [Walker, Rosie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2026-03-04T00:00:00+00:00

40

ANNABEL

NOW

I spend the next couple of weeks researching art schools and courses, attending virtual open days, and reading prospectuses. For the first time in years, I feel energised and excited for what’s about to come. It’s like I’ve been trapped in a tunnel underground for years and I’ve decided to dig myself out.

Eventually I settle on the Glasgow School of Art and their BA in Fine Art. It’s a good school, and their programme is varied so I can explore all the mediums I’d wanted to look into before I was forced to leave school early all those years ago. It feels like an opportunity to make up for lost time. I only hope I can be as creative as that younger, more hopeful Annabel, the Annabel who hadn’t yet been broken down by the world.

I know a couple of old school friends who settled in Glasgow so I could even move into someone’s spare room, leave Portobello and this mess behind forever.

And then it’s the best part: I start working on my portfolio.

I never stopped making art, but my efforts since leaving school were lacklustre. I’m not sure why – perhaps because I’d been so broken down by the way I ended up in the mental health unit, never getting to finish my Highers portfolio, or perhaps because my home life was so strange and echoey after Lydia went – it was a struggle to feel creative while living in a mausoleum. In the last couple of weeks I realised what it could be – my meds.

I’ve taken them religiously since returning from the unit, terrified that if I missed a dose I’d be sent back. But when the impostor showed up, Mum’s attention was so diverted away from me that I knew she wouldn’t notice if I stopped taking them. And when I did stop, suddenly, all my creative urges returned.

It honestly makes me sad to think that I could have been making art all this time, if not for these evil little pills I’ve been prescribed. So no more. They go in the bin, one by one, and I immerse myself in my art.

And I still feel like myself without them. No mood swings, paranoia, delusions – nothing of the symptoms I was initially told I had. Maybe I grew out of them? Or maybe they were never there in the first place. Maybe I was fine all along.

I feel fine. No. I feel better than fine. I feel galvanised and inspired, like my brain is working on a new level. Every day I go out and walk for an hour after breakfast, calling for Mac and re-attaching ‘missing dog’ posters that have detached from lamp posts. And then I come home and work. All the time I’m working away at my portfolio, my mind is in overdrive, puzzling out Lydia’s disappearance, where she could have gone, how this impostor knew to come here, what she knows, what she wants, and – most importantly – where is my sister?

I sketch, I sculpt, I cut and paste, I paint, and I write.

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